Fergus McCreadie: The Shieling

Things tend to come in pairs. The animals went into the ark, all those years ago, two by two. Tonic water was created to control the symptoms of malaria but found its voice when mixed with gin to control the symptoms of reality. Some pairings work against the odds; until you have tried strawberries with black pepper, it is hard to imagine what a harmonious pairing they are.

The point being, if you saw Scottish folk served with jazz on a menu, you might not order it, but goodness me, you would be missing out.

And actually, as a concept, it makes sense. Scottish folk music often utilises the bagpipes which underscore the melody with a drone. And that drone is often overlaid with a mixolydian scale, which tends to emphasize the seventh. Kind of modal, if you like. Whatever the theory, it works here.

From the outset, the piano of Fergus McCreadie is front and centre. He is a great pianist; agile and imaginative, equally skilled rhythmically and harmonically. There is something about the way he finds a little hint of melody, a few interesting notes, and then explores them this way and that, which makes it hard to imagine him in any pose other than eyes shut, totally absorbed, following the music wherever it leads him. While he is soaring, his band are solid as a rock. If they are the craggy shore, he is the spindrift, where sea and air meet. If that sounds a bit hyperbolic, well, the music deserves it.

The trio recorded here have been together for a while and it shows. The wheeling piano lines in "Wayfinder" are underpinned by great rhythmic work from David Bowden on bass and Stephen Henderson on drums, the unit turning up the intensity, then backing off again in a way that suggests an almost unconscious level of sympathy between players. Each brings something splendid to the music, with refinement, imagination and always an eye on the bigger picture.

When the music is more sparse, as on "Lily Bay," each member contributes just enough at just the right time. On other tracks, they rampage together.

At times things get really, well, Scottish. The drums on "Climb Through Pinewood" roll and trill like a marching band while the piano picks out and toys with a reeling figure more typically heard on accordion or fiddle. Throughout, though, it is still absolutely jazz.

Other tracks could be from any branch of modern European jazz. "Windshelter" is perhaps the tent-pole piece here, built around an audaciously, endlessly repeated rolling left hand figure which provides the foundations for a right hand exploration of rare imagination and virtuosity. To McCreadie's huge credit, the final bars do the rest of the piece justice and it ends with the same deceptively simple assurance as it began, walking down the scale to a resolution. He should run masterclasses for other musicians in ending songs decisively.

In the liner notes, McCreadie describes taking a less structured approach to writing this than previous records. The trio workshopped loose ideas in a tiny room in a remote cottage on North Uist, an island in the Hebrides. They were joined by ever-wonderful trumpet player Laura Jurd who produced the record, a solid choice given that she has some experience in the jazz/folk crossover line.

Between them, they have done a stellar job. The record, despite being recorded in a single small room, sounds expansive and layered, capable of absorbing a listener who lets it. The writing and playing are both excellent throughout.

The final track, "The Orange Skyline," starts with a pipe-ish drone played on a keyboard which develops into a gently evocative water-colour rendering of the landscape. Grandiose in a small way, it draws a beautiful album to a close, beautifully.

This is Northern European jazz at its salty, windswept best.

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