Ingi Bjarni Quintet

A wondrous aspect of our natural world is the epic migration of birds – a recurring phenomenon based on a fundamental need for nourishment, continuity and survival, often involving extraordinary avian journeys to the farthest continents. Such perspective and freedom is surely beyond our comprehension. But, artistically, it’s a concept approached by Icelandic pianist Ingi Bjarni Skúlason and his luminous European quintet in Farfuglar (Travelling birds) – an inventive collection of original compositions and improvisations which builds on the success of 2019’s Tenging (Connection).

It’s a thrill to observe the ongoing, shared prowess of these five creative soulmates, with the leader again writing especially for the clear intonation and textural interaction of trumpeter Jakob Eri Myhre, guitarist Merje Kägu, double bassist Daniel Andersson and drummer Tore Ljøkelsøy.

As a jazz musician, Ingi Bjarni Skúlason is both acclimatised to and fascinated by the travelling life (even when, out of necessity, they are ‘virtual’ collaborations across the miles). In the studio or concert hall, the quintet’s immersion and involvement in this creative environment – strongly defined by Ingi’s intuition and openness to the psychological flow – is affectionately described by the pianist as “destroying my music beautifully”! Quick to elucidate, he enthuses that their considerable skills lie in the exploration and interpretation of his received thoughts: “They always take them to another place, so the special ingredient is our development of the compositions, together. This instrumental blend is very satisfying, but so too is the dynamic and the relationship between us – not just in musical terms”.

This remarkable rapport can instantly be heard in the impetuous downward C to Eb motif of sparky opening number Þýðing (Translation), encouraging melodic hooks and spatial improvisations to be freely shared and intertwined – note, too, the tingling key-change elevation towards its close. By way of contrast, initially pensive Bjögun á dögun (Distortion of daybreak), subliminally inspired by folk tunes and Turkish music, builds its trumpet-led crescendo through rippling, finespun guitar effects; yet a second section reveals so many other facets, closing with the piano’s graceful slow waltz.

Meditative Það sem er (That is) explores the idea of surrendering to the moment, its plaintive, tonally attuned trumpet, guitar and piano lines weaving across the rhythm section’s shifting 3/4 and 4/4 metre before giving way to contemplative, aqueous keyboard explorations. Delicately lapping Knowing without knowing shares something of that final repose, though this melancholic ‘vocalese trumpet’ lullaby ultimately rises to Skúlason’s spiky chromaticism.

Such is the quintet’s adaptability that their drive-time earworm When holiday really begins (specifically, 26 December) invokes the late ‘70s pop of, say, Elton John and ABBA, yet is hallmarked by vibrant, instinctive jazz. The imagery of exquisitely awakening Farfuglar focuses on the wide skies of migration, the players’ smooth journeying disrupted by turbulent, angular intervals, while purposeful trumpet feature Að fljúga (To fly) suggests echoes as diverse as Edvard Grieg and prog rockers Genesis. To close, thematic Loftin blá (The blue sky) is characterised by extemporisations in breezy Scandinavian jazz before emotive piano elegy Mamma engill (Mother angel) gazes heavenwards in gratitude.

Attempting to convey the elusive spirit of delight – that higher plane – which can be summoned in this music, Skúlason describes it as “a state of mind where I almost don’t need to think; a feeling of ecstasy, that everything is right at this moment in time”. In Farfuglar, his quintet’s collective impressions of flight and abandon positively connect us with a panoply of atmospheres from which to soar in our imaginations.

Adrian Pallant, June 2022

It would be simple to concede that, despite societal and technological advances, our present-day awareness of primal engagement and harmony is becoming fragmented; most obviously by a reliance on digital-media interaction and the prominence of divisive political opinion. Yet, creatively and emotionally, the positive power of ‘connection’ remains a constant and perhaps increasingly important anchor in our lives – and that’s a key motivator, on different levels, for imaginative Icelandic pianist/composer Ingi Bjarni Skúlason.

New quintet release Tenging (the translation of ‘connection’ in his Icelandic mother tongue) references Skúlason’s personal discovery of his inner musicality through the exploration of flow, freedom, confidence and, most pertinently, intuition. It brings together artists and friends from his longtime association with Scandinavia – Norwegian trumpeter Jakob Eri Myhre, Estonian guitarist Merje Kägu, Swedish double bassist Daniel Andersson and Norwegian drummer Tore Ljøkelsøy – in a fascinating encounter which expands the textural palette of his previous, well-received piano trio albums, Skarkali (2015) and Fundur (2018).

“I lived in Gothenburg, Copenhagen and Oslo while studying for my Masters degree in composition”, explains Ingi Bjarni, “and there, I met and performed with these amazing players. So the start of this project was chiefly about them as people and musicians, rather than a preconceived instrumentation, and I wrote all eight pieces on this album with their personalities and expertise in mind.” Skúlason’s choice of personnel is, indeed, inspired. Leading from the piano – equally as director, colorist and soloist – he observes the tonal synergy between Myhre’s trumpet lines and Kägu’s electric-guitar hues, enlivened by or ambiently bathed in the sensitive bass and percussion of Andersson and Ljøkelsøy. All the while, the spacial and improvised diversity of their output vividly reflects Skúlason’s desire to diminish boundaries of genre, though his work is particularly influenced by jazz tradition, Nordic folksong and electronica.

Listen to the smouldering jazz energy of Ballad for my fearless friend, for example, where memorable motifs are sustained by shimmering drum rhythms, or the elegance of the shared guitar and trumpet melodies in Kannski blús (Maybe a blues) prompting sparky improvisations, and the breadth of this quintet becomes apparent. From its sinewy opening, the folksy waltz of Já í dag (Yes today) brims with brightly fluctuating ideas, while the players revel in the freedom of bustling, bass-resonant Falin laglína (Hidden melody) and cantabile Angurvært (Bittersweet melancholy). Ingi Bjarni’s pianistic solo delicacy is encountered in wistful, chromatic Á sunnudegi (On a Sunday) and a tender, Bill Evans-like miniature, Ekki þjóðlag, ekki jazz (Not a folk song, not jazz); and the title track’s varietal strands beautifully encapsulate the connective belief amongst this quintet.

“I’m excited to release Tenging”, enthuses Skúlason, “as it’s about continuing to find my artistic path and identity, and I feel it’s my best contribution yet. Already knowing and respecting these players has meant that I can approach this project as composer and arranger while also enjoying greater flexibility in my own playing – a change from my trio environment, which is naturally conceived more around the piano.” Neatly summing up the importance of intuition and connection above intellectualism in his art, he considers: “I wonder if we truly know ourselves, and what we can be capable of in life and music. To me, ‘music’ is already here. It’s an ever-flowing waterfall – and our creativity depends on how much we lean ourselves into it.”

Adrian Pallant, 2019