Aman Mahajan – Refuge

Subcontinental

Indian pianist Aman Mahajan has been working on the pieces that make up his album Refuge since 2005. It is a musical diary of sorts, and one that reflects the personality of this idiosyncratic player. There is an inner sense to his playing that, although it nods to jazz, Indian folk and classical, very much breathes with its own life. There is an air of randomness to some of the choices that he makes, and the way his fingers move up and down the keyboard is intriguing and often unexpected.

Often when listening to solo piano, the instrument itself can sound like an adversary to the pianist, as if they have a point to prove or are battling with something they are struggling to control; but here, the piano feels like a friend of many years, coaxing love out of Aman and making suggestions of where the pieces might lead. There are a few jazz chords sprinkled across “The 10,000 Questions”, but then it drifts off into a kind of neo-classical direction. It all sounds inviting though, and there is an element of mystery and wonder as you follow his lead, and allow him to take you though Eastern markets, across sweeping open plains and at times along dark canal paths with a touch of Bond theme tension.

There is no obvious precedent here, but I am reminded of the equally idiosyncratic playing of Howe Gelb and of watching him with interest as after a second’s rest, a finger plunges onto the keyboard and a song takes a whole other direction. I have a nice image of Aman alone in the Madras studio where this was recorded, light flooding in through open French doors, highlighting the dust dancing in the whorls of sound created by the piano. It is the unexpected stops between chords, that lack of obvious structure, the notes bursting from the keyboard like a series of scattered explosions or popping corks that keeps you rapt. It will then drift into rainy night razzmatazz chord structure, glowing like the window of a warm, welcoming bar, the only light in a cold city. Inside is the piano player, punters hanging on his every note as he frames their lives in a series of dashing vignettes.

You can hear Dave Brubeck in certain phrases of “Sitaphalmandi”, but as if he were slightly giddy, and there is an act of simple repetition on “Beginningless” that encircles you in a fine web as it moves up and down the scales, revolving you faster and faster, helpless like a runaway fairground ride, but the sun is nearly always shining and the guessing game is the joy. I have listened to this a few times and was always pleasantly surprised by the direction of travel. There is much thought and personality here and Aman feels like the diametric opposite of somebody like Keith Jarrett. With Keith, you often feel like he is rushing, with something to prove — but here the journey is the thing and all the little byways are important as well; stopping to small a flower, pet a dog or just marvel at a clear sky. The whole thing is a real triumph.

-Mr Olivetti-