Out Of The Loop

Hakon Kornstad, a shining jewel in the Jazzland roster, brings his unique skillset to the fore on Out of the Loop. Recorded during the 2020 pandemic lockdown in Sofienberg Church in Oslo, the album carries the listener through many textures across its tracks, often sounding electronically created - yet all sounds are generated by saxophone, or are provided by Håkon's rich tenor voice.

The Flutonette - essentially a flute with a saxophone reed mouthpiece - also makes appearances, further diversifying the sonic palette, as does the kalimba. The opening of "Waking Arp" (a pun on "Waking up") carries a haunting yet postive vibe, and sets the cool tone for the album as a whole.

The looping figures Kornstad creates are not only hooks to ground the compositions, but carefully constructed springboards for harmonic variation, layered counterpoints, and improvisations. While seemingly simple, the accumulative parts are woven together seamlessly, allowing extended improvisations as on "Petrus" (a swaggering groove through the atmospheric end of the jazz spectrum) and "Nakai" (a track that evolves in unexpected, but wholly satisfying ways).

The album also contains homages to some of Kornstad's inspirations. The first is "Dewey Number", a sparse, but gradually blooming tribute to Dewey Redman (the saxophonist, noted for his work with Ornette Coleman and Keith Jarrett). It is both melancholic and celebratory, with some astounding sonic morphing of the saxophone so that, by the end, it sounds like a duet between sax and bowed double bass.

The second homage is "Sibelius", and draws inspiration from the Finnish composer's "Demanten på Marssnön (Op. 36)" - the title translates as The Diamond on the March Snow. Showcasing both Kornstad's ability as a tenor singer, and his exceptional skill and creativity in conjuring perfect settings for that voice, the piece is a beautiful, almost ambient chamber song.

By contrast, "Bremen" is a shuffling slice of coolness, again sounding as though there is a bassist in the mix (no - still just Håkon and his sax). "A Movie That Never Was" closes out the new material with a harmonically rich, slightly melancholic serving of a noir jazz that gradually dissipates like a disturbed flock of birds.