Jussi Reijonen's "Three Seconds / Kolme Toista"

On the anniversary of Don Cherry's passing, I had my coat pulled to another well-traveled musical explorer: the Finnish guitarist-oudist-composer Jussi Reijonen, whose new album Three Seconds / Kolme Toista just dropped digitally, with CDs due on November 4. Since releasing his acclaimed debut un in 2013, Reijonen had undergone a creative block centering on issues of identity and belonging, rooted in a life that carried him from the Arctic Circle to the Middle East, East Africa, and the United States. The Covid-19 pandemic provided an opportunity for reflection and regeneration, the result of which is this five-part suite, performed by a multi-national nonet (besides Reijonen, there are three Americans, two Turks, a Jordanian/Iraqi, a Palestinian, and a Japanese), that draws on the musical traditions of all the cultures in which the composer has lived. 

The basic unit here teams a standard jazz-rock rhythm section -- guitar, piano, bass, drums, and percussion -- with two brass (trumpet/flugelhorn and trombone) and two strings (violin and cello), so Reijonen has a wide tonal palette at his disposal. He uses it to good effect on opening track "The Veil" -- imagine an Arabic-flavored version of Herbie Hancock's "Speak Like A Child." Pianist Utar Artun really shines here. On "Transient," my favorite track at the moment, the confluence of Layth Sidiq's violin, Reijonen's oud, Keita Ogawa's percussion, and Vincil Cooper's trap set creates a sense of unsettled roaming that evokes the sounds of Balkan Romani people as well as Arabic roots. 

For many listeners, the best point of entry to Three Seconds / Kolme Toista might be via "The Weaver, Every So Often Shifting the Sands Beneath Her," a somber, '90s rock-style lament that benefits from the ensemble's rich orchestral textures. The pizzicato strings and the blend of Jason Palmer's flugelhorn and Bulut Gulen's trombone particularly stand out, as does the way Cooper plays against the ensemble after the false ending. "Verso" (Finnish for "to sprout" or "to grow") brings a sense of cathartic release, with the rhythm section building to a percolating groove and ample space for trumpet, violin, and piano to cut loose. "Median" performs the same function as a plagal cadence at the end of a hymn, or "Psalm" at the end of A Love Supreme. It's the satisfying conclusion to one musician's struggle to untangle the strands of his own being in search of transcendence and growth.