Unconventional practitioners on their respective instruments, Mitchell (seriously) and Léandre (satirically) also vocalized at times.  Meanwhile Melford, whose pianism encompasses a rich tapestry of techniques from internal string-plucking to sympathetic comping, kept the program balanced and flowing. Able to output a flute fantasia with the same ease she brings to projecting highly rhythmic peeps and puffs, Mitchell’s transverse expertise was sometimes interrupted by her own song snatches or recitations. Spinning references to Mama Jazz herself into one verbalization that was half-scat singing and half lyrical expression, Mitchell highlighted the words with flute accompaniment that was often so perfect that she even made herself laugh.

Balancing the flutist’s airy quivers were Léandre’s more intense string-slicing, col legno strokes and super-fast spiccato pushes. Inferring but never enforcing a rhythmic pulse, the bassist’s string slides not only complemented Mitchell’s aerophone blowing, but also carved out a distinctive sonic identity for itself among the interactions. Besides sawing-string expositions both horizontally and perpendicular to the string set, Léandre also warbled disconnected refrains that at times threatened to turn into guttural sea shanties or parodies of romantic cabaret fare.

Leaving the showmanship to the others, Melford explored the darker parts of the piano with key pressure and internal string emphasis, maintaining a faultless exposition that at one point bordered on honky-tonk-like rhythmic adornment.

Not that the set completely emphasized percussion over poetry. At intervals Mazur would seat herself at the piano or stand behind the vibraphone and as she played intoned lyrical chants and musings that appeared to be situated somewhere between New Age and New Africa.

Cooperation among the sexes and often between countries was also on show during many other Mama Jazz performances. Nowhere was it better demonstrated than on Friday night when Estonian alto saxophonist Maria Faust led a trio filled out by two Danes: guitarist Lars Pilgaard and drummer Kresten Osgood. Although she billed her trio as Jazz Catastrophe: 4th Mutation, a more wrong-headed description couldn’t be stated. Anything but a debacle this was only a mutation, if foot-tapping rhythms with a rock-solid beat were the only definition of Jazz. True, that pulse was sometimes output by the drummer, but that was when he wasn’t using nerve beats, press rolls and hand pats to blend with the polyphonic output of the others. It was the same for the guitarist.

Lyrical finger-picking and wiggling electronic flanges were part of Pilgaard’s playing; so was the occasional expression of heavy Blues chords. More prominent though, were the asides caused by amp buzzes, full-on hand pops on the strings and multi-fingered frails that more properly fit the definition of mutation. This came about because Faust’s compositions were built up through reed interludes that could include altissimo squeaks and squawks, doits, flattement and basso honks. At the same time, in-the-moment amalgamation of each player’s musical impulses led to a storytelling instrumental overlay that expressed their three-pronged narrative creativity along with improvisational implications.

Another group which demonstrated male-female interaction as a secondary product of astute and unique improvisation was the all-Lithuanian Keista Bjauri Žuvis (Weird Ugly Fish). Performing as part of the Saturday afternoon showcases, it involved just two players: Julius Čepukėnas’ programmed and sequenced electronics, and the drums of Aistė Kalvelytė. Dividing his sequences among overt keyboard-like melodicism and more frequently shaded voltage tremors, wiggling timbral smears and an underlying wave-form pulse, Čepukėnas’ impulses were easily parried and built upon by Kalvelytė’s free-form drumming. Besides thickened ruffs and place-making press rolls, the percussionist’s raps and pops, sometimes hand-slapped rather than with sticks or brushes, were solid or severed, depending on the circumstances. Ascending to what could only be termed logical chaos, the duo undulated its concoction of Krautrock, IDM and improv into a boiling stew of distinctive free music.

Geographical displacement caused by Russia’s illegal invasion of Ukraine was reflected by the members of KINVA, a trio which played just before Weird Ugly Fish. Ukrainians now forced to live elsewhere than their home country, pianist Anastasija Litvinyuk, bassist Roman Chraniuk and drummer Igor Hnydyn each expressed solidarity with their birthplace by sporting yshyvankas (traditional embroidered shirts) during this recital and at points harmonizing vocally on Ukrainian folk melodies. With pleasant music that reflected wide-open spaces, the well-integrated trio, which has been together for a few years, worked out an ethnic variant of the accepted Jazz piano trio tradition.

Litvinyuk’s expositions included pivots into so-called classical music themes, as well as folkloric chording intersecting with more expected Jazz motifs. Her playing encompassed the minimalism of stopped piano keys and the maximalism of flowing waterfalls of notes. Chraniuk mostly confined himself to sympathetic string buzzes or string pops, while Hnydyn’s kit work would focus on singular wood block accents or explode into seemingly ceaseless pounding. Overall though, the trio’s program was (Jazz) traditional enough to maintain a groove and invariably recap the head of each composition.

Having chosen Lithuania as host for the first time since its inception in 1965, the annual Euroradio Jazz Orchestra concert was the climax of Saturday night’s mainstage program. The concert was also transmitted live by European Broadcasting Union’s public networks, with the 18-piece ensemble directed by local trombonist Jievaras Jasinskis performing his “P(i)e(a)ce of Vilnius” and other compositions.

Made up of the best Jazz musicians under 30 selected by each Euroradio member, the band represented 15 European countries and consisted of seven female players and 11 male ones, obviously without gender quotas. Disciplined, well-schooled and professional, the orchestra members romped through Jasinskis’ multi-sectional arrangement with aplomb, alternating blocks of whole-band vamps and inter-lapping timbres with individual solos that included tricky piano-chording and percussion-clunking, plus cadenzas made up of reed honks and slurs, or brass screeches and slippery slides. Still the limitations of a newly constituted ensemble working through a special program within broadcast constraints, and the seeming determination to emphasize each country’s choicest talents created some dissension. While section work was exemplary the number of soloists featured, which seemed to encompass every band member, by necessity limited what could be developed musically in a brief time.

Much more impressive, when broadcast strictures were removed, were the subsequent Jasinskis tunes interpreted by the band. With more of a bass groove and the ability to stretch out in their solos, the 18 musicians’ playing suggested that subsequent developments could concentrate their disparate talents into those of a working band. The leader even relaxed enough to take a trombone solo himself.

Jasinskis’ skill as a brass player had a more notable showcase on Sunday afternoon when he was part of the all-Lithuanian Broken Glass 4tet along with guitarist Pranas Kentra, tubaist Simonas Kaupinis and percussionist Domantas Razmus. Operating as a combination of a Second Line brass band and an unfettered Free Jazz configuration, the group coalesced around Kentra’s compositions which demanded each individual’s immediate stimulus response to the material, as well as vamps that bounced from one player to another. While the trombonist’s intense obbligatos and slippery slides were appropriately featured, Kaupinis came across as the MVP. His portamento pumps provided the rhythmic pulse that otherwise would come from a string bass. Yet at the same time, his solo interludes encompassed accents that ranged from alphorn-like yelps and hollers to harsh growls from the bottom of the tuba’s range.

With press rolls and more subtle taps, Razmus corralled the expositions so that group gusto never moved to turbulence. Harmonizing with the others with expressive licks, the guitarist’s choppy frails also meant that exploratory accents were included in the quartet’s broken-octave evolution.

One impressive aspect of the Mama Jazz festival – and the skill of Lithuanian improvisers in general – was that some of the music heard during the afternoon showcases could as easily be presented on the evening’s main stage.

Case in point was local percussionist Arkadijus Gotesmanas’ composition Prayer, which concluded Sunday’s afternoon concerts.  Without being overly programmatic or didactic, the piece was based on The Triangle, a book of Torah and Talmud commentaries by a Vilnius-based 18^th century scholar. To this end the composer’s expanded kit was circumscribed by two oversized triangles that Gotesmanas struck at intervals for emphasis. Anchored by Kaupinis’ dedicated tuba puffs, also contributing were saxophonist Kazimieras Jušinskas and guitarist Dominykas Norkūnas, all of whom were later joined by accordionist Darius Bagdonavičius, clarinetist Haroldas Parulis and trumpeter Skirmantas Rumševičius for the more jocular Klezmer-tinged second sequence of the work.

With its light syncopation interrupted by nasal soprano saxophone lines, ceaseless tuba gusts and guitar riffs, Gotesmanas’ percussion prestidigitation ranging over the kit eventually built up to him playing a piano interlude. Its mournful motif recalled pre-Second World War Vilnius, with Jews making up 40 percent of the population, the majority of whom perished in the Holocaust. Besides memorializing a different time, Prayer also offered hope for the present. Presto freylekh-style riffs from the seven-piece group wrapped up the composition with a bouncy eastern European section projected by clarinet trills, triumphant trumpet blasts and Gotesmanas’ sensitive drum accents.

Sympathetic but not oppressive, Tarasov’s percussion creativity included gran casa slaps, metallic cymbal echoes and bell-ringing. At the same time, a regularized pulse from his kit kept the unconventional interactions wedded to rhythmic expansion.

Asymmetrically expressing himself through emphasized string slices and spiccato slides, Herbert avoided time-keeping for the most part. Similarly while taking time for repeated incursions into the piano’s bass clef and interludes that excited the instrument’s internal capotes, soundboard and strings more than the keyboard, Cech spent much of the set creating simple melodies in concert with the violinist. That these lyrical motifs could coexist with polyrhythmic and polyphonic excursions from all pinpointed the sophisticated affiliations the four created.

All photos (c) Susan O’Connor www.jazzword.com

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