True, the retro 1920s stylings can make some of the “naughtiness” look super mainstream a century on, but it remains an immersive entertainment from a company of international renown, and a fun way to open a new performance venue in the heart of a city known for tucking away its most vibrant treasures in alleyways and hidden corners.
Reviewed by Cameron Woodhead
Jazz musicians Joost Lijbaart and Wolfert Brederode.
JAZZ
Joost Lijbaart and Wolfert Brederode ★★★★
The JazzLab, November 5
Patience. That’s the word – and the quality – that came to mind as I listened to Joost Lijbaart and Wolfert Brederode perform, and pondered what made their music so beguiling.
The drummer and pianist (both from the Netherlands) have been playing together in various settings for over 20 years, and their musical connection is so finely honed that they can communicate with the barest of gestures. They last toured Australia in 2018 as part of a superb quartet led by saxophonist Yuri Honing, but it’s perhaps in duo mode that their creative antennae are most vividly displayed.
Joost Lijbaart and Wolfert Brederode are both from the Netherlands.
At JazzLab on Wednesday, each of their two sets unfolded as a continuous, quietly compelling exchange of ideas and energy. Brederode and Lijbaart are musical storytellers, but their stories are mostly improvised, with the narrative arc shaped moment by moment and the conclusion unknown until it arrives.
Hence the patience. Rather than fabricating drama or climactic sequences to keep the audience engaged, these musicians simply created space and waited for fresh themes, directions and detours to reveal themselves.
At the piano, Brederode shaped wisps of shadowy abstraction into the contours of a melody before letting it dissolve, or coaxed harmonic motifs into a lush, flowing river before it, too, melted away. Beauty was everywhere, tinged with melancholy and longing, as though Brederode were grasping at something – a memory, an experience, a feeling – just out of reach.
In this setting, Lijbaart’s drums and percussion were rarely used for time-keeping. Instead, they produced colours and textures that enhanced or subtly contrasted with Brederode’s atmospheric explorations.
Yes, Lijbaart could summon a propulsive sway or polyrhythmic shuffle to nudge the music towards a groove. But more often he evoked a sense of mystery or ritual with the resonant chime of a temple bell, the rustle of a beaded shaker or the bird-like call of a wooden flute.
The duo’s close listening and attention to detail invited us to lean in and listen closely too, conjuring a spell of enchantment from which we were reluctant to emerge.
Reviewed by Jessica Nicholas
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