By Vincent Caffiaux
Multiple in form and function, keyboards absorb influences and constantly reinvent themselves. This dimension is palpable in the work of Jamaican pianist Monty Alexander, a swing and bop player who serves as a natural bridge to reggae. Prized by Manfred Eicher, this freedom also irrigates the ECM catalogue — a German imprint that offers a contemplative, sometimes minimalist vision of the piano. For her part, Vanessa Wagner sets classical repertoire in dialogue with electronic textures, as demonstrated by her work with Mexican artist Murcof and French producer Molécule. A disciple of Jimmy Smith and Booker T., Delvon Lamarr reactivates the Hammond B-3 organ as the engine of the classy Mod fringe. As for General Elektriks — shaped by the legacy of Bernie Worrell — they transform analogue modules into an incandescent funk powerhouse. Then there are the widescreen arrangements, those that create tension or breathing space, as demonstrated by Martial Solal, Michel Legrand, and Erroll Garner — musical directors for the legendary Jean-Luc Godard, Jacques Demy, and Clint Eastwood.
The Harlem-Kingston Connection
Born in Kingston but based in the United States from an early age, Monty Alexander is a singular figure in jazz, capable of setting swing, bebop, and skank in dialogue without ever ranking the genres. Endearing, his playing carries an immediately recognizable energy — a rhythmic left hand and a particularly luminous phrasing. Yet within the Caribbean constellation and its myriad instruments and particularities, the pianist occupies a place apart. Where Dominican Michel Camilo pushes virtuosity to its limits and Cuban Gonzalo Rubalcaba explores complex harmonic structures, Monty Alexander remains devoted to groove and to the historical connections between musical styles. Disarming in its coherence, this artistic approach echoes Eddie Palmieri — emperor of Nuyorican rhythms — or Chucho Valdés, master of the mystical batá drums.
The stage and live recordings are Monty Alexander's natural terrain, as proven by the performance titled Harlem-Kingston Express. More than a simple concert, it is a synergy between New York's famous African American neighborhood and the turbulent Jamdown — the cradle of his musical imagination. A relay of keyboardists such as Jackie Mittoo and Tyrone Downie, the key figures of the Dub Vendors (one of Sir Coxsone's various side bands) and the Wailers, the pianist confirms a deep bond with his native island as suggested by Stir It Up — a moving tribute to Bob Marley. Another highlight of his discography, his reinterpretation of the theme Exodus is exemplary. Subtle, the first variation recalls Otto Preminger's film and the emblematic ship of the State of Israel, while the second part of this historical fresco invokes the long Afrocentric track signed by the king of reggae. This dual reference encapsulates his desire to connect cinema, jazz, and tropical music in a single gesture — a captivating framework that Monty Alexander shares with his compatriot, guitarist Ernest Ranglin.
Less Is More
The Edition of Contemporary Music — known as ECM Records — has built an immediately identifiable aesthetic: a sound and an approach to arrangement, certainly, but also a way of living music. Founded in 1969 by Manfred Eicher, a former double bassist trained in the classical tradition, this catalogue developed a philosophy that extends well beyond the boundaries of jazz. The label's famous motto — "The most beautiful sound next to silence" — eloquently captures this poetic stance. Space, acoustic precision, and the refusal of all stylistic excess are the essential elements of this universe. Immaculate, its recordings and the material they contain favor depth, reverberation, and a surprisingly architectural panorama. The gravitational center is the piano, embodied here by Keith Jarrett and his many ECM releases — among them the celebrated Köln Concert of 1975.
Often borrowing from the codes of contemporary art through abstract photographs, dreamlike landscapes, and understated typography, album covers reflect a clear taste for Scandinavian design. Mal Waldron — the Bavarian label's first signing — Paul Bley, author of the definitive Open, To Love, and the deeply moving Fred Hersch — in solo or alongside Italian bugle player and trumpeter Enrico Rava — embody the intrinsic relationship between form and content. Available on Qwest TV through fascinating programs, these composers fuel a roster whose primary quest remains distillation. Reissued in recent months, certain cornerstones of the catalogue are benefiting from the vinyl revival to reaffirm this elegant charter. Among them is Saudades, the superb opus by Naná Vasconcelos — virtuoso of the berimbau, the Brazilian percussion instrument inseparable from capoeira and Afro-descendant religions. Captured in 1979, this record is now available as part of the superb audiophile collection Luminessence.
Creativity Above All
Like the British trio Mammal Hands, Israeli pianist Yaron Herman, or his compatriot Paul Lay, pianist Vanessa Wagner embodies a generation of classical musicians who no longer see aesthetic boundaries as endless dividing lines, but rather as points of intersection. A pioneer, her career testifies to a gradual opening toward electronic music. Without abandoning the demands of touch, she explores forms in which repetition and sonic texture carry as much weight as virtuosity. This approach is most evident in her collaborations with Murcof — a major Mexican figure generating a bold atmospheric output. Together they develop a dialogue in which the acoustic piano meets digital soundscapes. More than a fusion, it is a presentation of classical music as living matter. A power that Vanessa Wagner also exercises with Molécule, whose work — grounded in field recordings (he notably recorded an album aboard a trawler during an epic fishing expedition in the North Sea) — recalls the field recordings beloved by Alan Lomax and the musique concrète invented by Pierre Henry and Pierre Schaeffer.
Redemptive, this encounter is part of a much larger history. As early as the 1970s, Brian Eno — the extravagant keyboardist of Roxy Music — was already claiming Erik Satie and his famous furniture music as an influence. In another register, Herbie Hancock demonstrated that a jazz instrumentalist could become enamored of technology and urban mythology. From his passion for analogue and digital keyboards to the experiments of the underappreciated trilogy Future Shock, Sound System, and Perfect Machine, he swept away a host of class prejudices in one stroke. Produced by France TV, the Variations collection broadens the lens through unprecedented encounters. Alongside Vanessa Wagner and Molécule, a handful of creators come together around a theme or a composer. Among these pairings: Thomas Enhco, who brings his academic background into dialogue with the digital melodies of Zadig for a tribute to Bernard Herrmann; and harpsichordist Tamar Halperin, delivering a brilliant performance alongside beatmaker Marc Romboy, around the baroque work of Henry Purcell.
All the Mod Cons
Emerging from the modern jazz current before being amplified by albums from The Who, The Kinks, and The Small Faces, Mod culture left a deep imprint on the English working class. Appearing in the late 1950s, this movement — symbolized by Ivy League suits, the famous military surplus parkas, and Italian loafers — developed a passion for sounds from the United States and Jamaica: rhythm and blues, (Northern) soul, ska. Inseparable from record shops and clubs — including the famous Ronnie Scott's in Soho — these young working-class dandies traveled exclusively by scooter (Lambretta, if at all possible) while maintaining a fierce rivalry with the rockers.
In this highly codified world, the Hammond organ occupies a privileged position. From the 1950s onward, Jimmy Smith, Jimmy McGriff, Rhoda Scott, and then Booker T. imposed a unique sound. This keyboard became the emblem of the crucible, as demonstrated by Jerry Dammers — founder of 2 Tone Records and keyboardist of the Specials. Inseparable from British heritage, this contribution found new life through Paul Weller. With The Jam, The Style Council, and then as a solo artist, this author of sharp-edged short stories — close to producer Eddie Piller and actor Martin Freeman — kept the Mod spirit alive while opening it to contemporary influences.
Like Daptone, Lachy Doley, or certain organ accents from Lucky Peterson, the Delvon Lamarr Organ Trio today stands as the distillation of this history. Understated but innovative, the group — signed to Colemine Records (one can't help but think of Allen Toussaint and Lee Dorsey's Working in the Coal Mine) — has established itself through strong critical and live success. Proverbial in its ease, this combo perpetuates the golden age of the 1960s organ with spontaneity. As with certain bands — most famously The Doors — it is Delvon Lamarr himself who handles the bass lines. This distinctive sound is palpable on Close But No Cigar, the group's first LP, with instrumental vignettes like the title track and its 1970s spirit, or Little Booker T — a proper tribute to the MG's organist and Stax musical director.
Under High Voltage
With its name as a clever pun, General Elektriks embodies a certain vision of French funk. Before launching this project, leader Hervé Salters made his name with Vercoquin — a band whose name nodded to Boris Vian and whose ranks included guitarist Sébastien Martel. Close to the Hôpital Éphémère, a squat that also brought together FFF and Human Spirit (the first band of Magic Malik), this devotee of the Fender Rhodes, Clavinet, and Farfisa built, in the process, a solid foundation in classical piano.
In the late 1990s, this Mozart of the riff left Paris for San Francisco and the Berkeley campus in the Bay Area. There he encountered Quannum — a hotbed of alternative rap talent. Steeped in Afro-American references, the General Elektriks collective went on to collaborate with adventurous MCs such as Blackalicious and Lateef the Truthspeaker — two talents close to the brilliant DJ Shadow. Far from the grandstanding of mainstream hip-hop, this Californian immersion profoundly shaped their musical approach.
Author of accomplished records such as Cliquety Kliqk and Good City For Dreamers, General Elektriks truly distinguishes themselves live. Always surrounded by several keyboards, Hervé Salters moves from one instrument to another with atomic energy, where many of his peers plant themselves on stage and stay put. Virtuosic and playful, this setup transforms every concert into a celebration, with improvisation and frank audience contact as its driving forces. Far from stopping at these breathless performances, this tectonic energy is also felt through remixes for endearing figures such as the late DJ Mehdi and Femi Kuti — eldest son of the Black President. Moving in its honesty, Elektrik Men — a documentary directed by his brother Laurent Salters — bears witness to this unmatched power.
Stars and Silver Screens
From the earliest days of cinema, the piano has occupied a privileged place. In the silent era, Scott Joplin and ragtime accompanied projections, lending rhythm, emotion, and depth to images. Cruel irony of fate: Alan Crosland's eloquent The Jazz Singer, in 1927, was the first talking picture — yet it was embodied by a European actor in the racist makeup of blackface. This exemplary relationship between keyboard and image remains essential in film music today. Jazz has of course frequently populated European and American film sets. In France, Martial Solal willingly lit up cinema screens in 1960 with the original score for À Bout de Souffle — Jean-Luc Godard's manifesto, celebrated through the figures of Jean Seberg and Jean-Paul Belmondo, a particularly striking pair. Innovative, the French composer's taut writing closely embraced the contours of the Nouvelle Vague, that revolutionary cinematic current. The piano — so thoroughly illuminated by Laurent de Wilde in his biography of Thelonious Monk — became, in this context, a full character in its own right, capable of conveying urgency, spontaneity, and the unspoken dimensions of its protagonists.
Another case in point: pianist Erroll Garner achieved worldwide success in 1955 with his live recording Concert By The Sea, performed in Carmel — the California town dear to Clint Eastwood. A great admirer of the pianist, Eastwood transcended the house repertoire in 1971 with Play Misty for Me, named after the standard by the celebrated Pittsburgh jazzman. In this intimate film, shot indoors at night, a radio DJ played by the music-loving director receives regular calls from an anonymous listener who always requests the same thing: Play Misty For Me. Laden with quiet menace, this obsessive request and the carefully staged music become the triggers of the plot — and the choice of track is far from incidental. Composed with remarkable intuition by Erroll Garner in 1954 (the man, famously, could not read music), this slightly dreamy, even melancholic piece cuts singularly against the mysterious atmosphere of the narrative. Great art, in other words.
By Vincent Caffiaux