There’s really no risk of assigning too great of value or esteeming too highly the music of Brian Blade and The Fellowship Band.  Their singular form of expression incorporating cinematic imagery, moody contemplation and dramatic surges is such a specific sound and so innate to their collaboration that it’s almost impossible not to recognize their music if blindfolded.  But more than that, their particular sound is one that has been adopted by a number of other musicians… to the point where the sphere of influence could be regarded as a school of modern jazz.  It’s that way with other seminal artists from recent times… Bill Frisell, Esbjorn Svensson, Brad Mehldau… that the gravitational pull of their specific sound can alter the course of any musicians who that music speaks to.  Blade’s 2017 release Body and Shadow captures all the magic of past releases, while conjuring up something new.  This is captivating music created by musicians who have made a career of it.

Music from Shreveport, Louisiana.

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This album is brilliant. This album is insane.

That’s how I ended my write-up of Sirene 1009 from the trio of guitarist Han-earl Park, bassist Dominic Lash, drummer Mark Sanders and vocalist Caroline Pugh.  And since I feel no differently about this fascinating album, it seems appropriate that I begin that way when speaking of its inclusion in this Best of 2017.  Unbridled creativity is something majestic to aspire to.  An ineffable vision is an endeavor to pursue.  To bring those together and still give manifest shape to something completely different and new?  That’s nothing short of remarkable.

Nothing about this album sounds normal.  Sirene 1009 is a soundtrack for a seizure.  It’s spasmodic and flails about wildly.  The music is disconcerting.  But it enters fugue states of focused intensity that border on meditative, and it is the most powerful sensation to experience even the tiniest hint of serenity at the center of so much chaos.

Nothing about this album sounds normal, and I mean that in the way alien landscapes can appear strangely familiar in the most vivid cinematic imagery or how the best fiction novels can alter reality to where you peek out the window to confirm that things are really as you remember them to be.  That’s the effect of this album.

Music from Cork, Ireland.

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On Gnosis, there’s a startling convergence of Cuba and NYC, and neither music influence is left unchanged.  The clash between a chamber music sparseness and Cuban folk flow is as dramatic as the sky during a full eclipse, as is the resultant tension of one aspect seeking ascension over the other.  Heavy on percussion and strings, this large ensemble offering from pianist David Virelles possesses both an improvisational streak and a classical framework, and it’s why at times this music seems impenetrable and then suddenly it’s a welcoming, open embrace.  At times, it can be a challenging listen.  But challenges are fun, especially in music, and it’s the kind of quality that generates some serious intrigue.  On Gnosis, there’s plenty of that.  For David Virelles, it’s becoming a common trait in his recording career.

Music from NYC.

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It’s pretty thrilling how each piece on Suite Salada begins as the thin flame of a solitary match and then gradually builds up to a raging conflagration.  Albert Cirera and his Tres Tambors unit have an exquisite touch at modulating the intensity of a piece, with an eye on a finish line located at the extremes.  But what marks this marvelous recording as something special is how the quartet focuses their lyricism through that torrent of intensity, and the miraculous way a melody not only retains its shape, but is able to express itself delicately when the moment calls.  And while this music resonates with the jazz and folk of the Barcelona scene, there are passages on this recording that echo the joyful grooves of Keith Jarrett’s 1970s output with his American Quartet.  That’s no small thing, and quite honestly, there should be a hell of a lot more of it.  I’m more than a bit addicted to this recording.  Results may vary… but probably not.  Expect for this album to hit you like a drug.

Music from Barcelona, Spain.

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Yes, there’s the political inspiration this album is built upon and there’s also the willful channeling of music from the past, but what really makes the new release from Cat Toren’s HUMAN KIND so damn thrilling is how the pianist sets in motion a series of acts where things begin to fall apart and then come back together just on the brink of annihilation.  There’s a melody.  It’s often quite beautiful and in possession of a serious magnetism.  And Toren lights the whole thing on fire, and lets it rage out of control before, somehow, guiding it all back down to a single flame.  Sometimes the conflagration is more akin to a fireplace warmth, but the transition of divide and unity is no less dramatic.  A powerful recording.  Also, bonus points for incorporating an oud into the proceedings.

Music from Brooklyn, NY.

Read more about the album on Bird is the Worm.