There it is. Right there. That’s the spot. There’s that capital-J-Jazz I’ve been hankering for. And it comes from the drummer of Phronesis, Anton Eger. That’s spelt with a capital Aye and Eeee-oh-wait a second… A.E? Æ? Oh you slippery, savvy, and sly motherfuckœr.
Look, I get it if Jazz is still a type of swearword to you. I know what can be thought about when the word “jazz” is uttered. That groany mewling half-dead lounge shit that suits the ambiance of a carpeted antique elevator smelling of piss. I know how cheesy jazz can come off. I’m not an idiot. But, if you’re thinking this is some hard bop kinda jazz then you’ve got another thing coming. This is newfangled, nasty, and gnarly kinda shit. This is closer to Thundercat and Flying Lotus if they joined up with D’Angelo than it is to Bill Evans. If you were to play this for your average jazz-head they might shit 32nd notes all the way out the door.
If you happen to be a hopped-up jazz-head, I hope you’re a forward thinking one. Because Anton is going to lay some bizarre on your ass. But if you’re a badass motherfucking audiophiliac, than this show’s for you. Each song is split into two like this: “HERb +++ gA”. See those plus signs? That’s how the song is broken up. So, as you listen, try and hear out where that divide is. It’s like adding an extra game to this already fun as fuck album. This is the kind of music that comes from a drummer that grew up playing in punk bands and also played drums in His Majesty’s King’s Guard in Norway. It’s like a carefully attended, militant, and studded Mohawk. Every single aspect of this album is technically designed, beautifully crafted, and executed perfectly to expertly fuck your face. I giggled throughout this album like a Dutch schoolchild hopped up on oliebollens, speculaas, and mounds of MDMA.
As most great albums are, you might need to sit down for a bit with this one. I understand if you aren’t ready for the Super Mario blasting through a villain-ridden terrain with starpower vibe mixed with sophisticated fucking jazz. But, if you give it a chance, it’ll have you contemplatively laughing, smiling, and biting your bottom lip in no time. It hits that sweet spot between what-the-fuck?, I-don’t-know, and oh-fuck-ya-that’s-it. It’s an album that helps in redefinung the genre. Sure, it can be a tough pill to swallow if you haven’t travelled through these terrains yet. But, to those that eat trippy shit for breakfast, it’s a goddamn feast. Eat up.