With Silent, Listening, Fred Hersch solidifies his position as one of the preeminent pianists in contemporary jazz. He does so through an admirable act of courage: he recorded this approximately fifty-minute album of solo piano as his debut on ECM Records.
Yet the project was a justified leap of faith for the Cincinnati native. Hersch was the first to play weeklong engagements on his own at the Village Vanguard in New York City, and he has released more than a few solo albums in the past. But in its spontaneous intimacy, combined with a readily discernible emotional undercurrent, this first outing on the iconic label has more than a little in common with the post-COVID effort of 2021, Songs From Home.
Rigorously studious as Fred Hersch can be, he refrains from becoming so academic he is averse to the spirit of the moment(s). Quite the contrary, as in Billy Strayhorn and Duke Ellington’s”Star Crossed Lovers,” he conjures an achingly bittersweet atmosphere that is all the more incisive for its seeming impromptu nature.
Whether following the structure(s) of compositions or the flow of improvisation, Hersch elicits tones from the keys that ring equally clearly. For instance, during “Night Tide Light,” the clusters of notes resonate as deeply in their own way as the deliberate single strikes. The resulting clarity of sound conjures mental images of the tune’s title as vivid as the music’s own imprint.
“Akrasia” captures some telling whimsical action within ECM founder Manfred Eicher’s production. Fred Hersch touches all the keys with an emphatic purpose that belies his account of how the printed music fell out of sight as he began playing at Lugano Switzerland’s Auditorio Stelio Molo RSI in May of 2023. Such instantaneous reaction time indicates the poise he’s nurtured over his years of performing live and recording in the studio.
As a corollary to that composure, by the time “Starlight” appears near the middle of this eleven-track sequence, the silence surrounding the sound(s) echoes almost as pervasively as the piano. But that’s only because Hersch is sufficiently careful in his playing to leave space for the room itself to reverberate almost as much as his instrument.
And, in a decidedly concise approach, slightly over three minutes of “Aeon” suggests this methodology comes naturally to the artist. Neither the performances themselves nor the arrangements come across as forced, so while in the early going (perhaps suggested by the records’s title), Silent, Listening may at first sound too somber for its own good. Nevertheless, the tangible gaiety emanating from the wryly-titled “Little Song” is no less authentic.
The comparatively sprightly gait of Hersch’s performance there renders the tranquility more striking in what immediately follows. This redoubtable pianist/composer maintains a measured progression of ideas during “The Wind:” his grasp on the tools of expression at his command is always sure, yet never constricting.
As such, the penultimate cut, “Softly, As In a Morning Sunrise,” makes for a memorable conclusion. Fred Hersch’s self-professed affection for this composition prompts him to take his time with the number so often associated with saxophonist Sonny Rollins; running just a little over five minutes, the muted suspense in its conclusion presages more drama in what follows.
Even longer, “Winter of My Discontent” thus hearkens directly to the real-life mystery rife within Fred Hersch’s aforementioned pandemic aftermath. Not only can he bring the eerie solitude of those times squarely into life as we now know it, but this resourceful musician/composer also seems to be saying insularity is not an option in the wake of the lockdowns.
Given how eloquent Fred Hersch is in tendering this statement on Silent, Listening, his assertion denies contradiction.
