For as long as she has been a recording artist, Chilean-born tenor saxophonist Melissa Aldana has wanted to make a ballads record. Inspired by archetypes such as John Coltrane’s 1963 classic Ballads, Aldana envisioned a slow-tempo project not as a showcase for volume, velocity, or harmonic complexity, but as a vehicle to pursue something far more elusive: sound itself. Not just tone, but the full emotional and physical presence of her tenor — the way its overtones can cradle a fragile melody, the way its resonance can move through a space and saturate it with shifting colors and emotional depth.
Aldana has long studied the masters — Sonny Rollins, Wayne Shorter, Joe Henderson, Lester Young, Charlie Parker, and Don Byas among them — transcribing their solos and absorbing their approaches. For these icons, she notes, sound itself was the ultimate expressive tool; every note contained an entire emotional universe. Beyond the technical mastery required to execute complex ideas lies what she describes as the mystical dimension of sound — an intangible force she continues to explore. A ballads record, she believed, would allow her to burrow deeper into that essence.
Yet Aldana, known for a 15-year arc of strikingly personal and narrative-driven projects, refused to approach the concept as a straightforward exercise in American jazz standards. Seeking something authentic to her artistic identity, she reached out to one of her musical heroes, Cuban pianist and composer Gonzalo Rubalcaba, with whom she had long hoped to collaborate on a full-length project. Rubalcaba proposed an inspired direction: interpret the filin tradition of his native Cuba, a richly arranged romantic song form that flourished between the late 1940s and early 1960s. Derived from the English word “feeling,” filin created a dialogue between Cuban trova, bolero, and jazz, elevating lyrical intimacy and musical sophistication while redefining aspects of Cuban musical identity.
Born in Havana in 1963, Rubalcaba grew up immersed in this music, encountering key figures of the movement including guitarist Ñico Rojas, pianist Frank Domínguez, and vocalists Omara Portuondo and Elena Burke. The style’s emotional depth and harmonic nuance left a lasting imprint on his artistry. For Aldana, filin offered an ideal bridge between her jazz foundation and her Chilean roots. The songs evoked the romantic ache of the Great American Songbook, yet their Spanish lyrics allowed her to connect on a level she had never experienced before. The language itself opened new expressive pathways, reshaping how she inhabited melody and phrasing.
Guided by Rubalcaba, Aldana immersed herself in the history and repertoire of filin, ultimately crafting a program for her album Filin. Rubalcaba arranged the music and performed on piano, joined by bassist Peter Washington and drummer Kush Abadey. Acclaimed vocalist Cecile McLorin Salvant contributes luminous performances on two tracks, while Don Was, President of Blue Note Records, produced the project with his signature blend of discernment and empathy.
Aldana approached the repertoire with her customary rigor, transcribing melodies from vocal versions, studying the lyrics and their emotional intent, and internalizing each song’s narrative. The ensemble recorded together in the same room with minimal rehearsal, prioritizing human connection over studio polish. The result is a striking work of emotional minimalism: eight tracks that move with deliberate patience and quiet intensity, foregrounding Aldana’s radiant melodic delivery. The virtuosity of the musicians is undeniable, yet it is channeled toward restraint, nuance, and collective storytelling rather than technical display.
The album opens with the breathtaking “La Sentencia,” co-written by Salvador Levi and Ela O’Farrill, followed by “Dime Si Eres Tú” by filin pioneer Cesar Portillo de la Luz, whose sustained brushwork outro from Abadey serves as an elegant and daring arrangement choice. Marta Valdés’s torch song “No Te Empeñes Más,” featuring a stunning vocal by Salvant, holds personal resonance for Aldana, who recalls her mother playing it at home. Frank Domínguez’s “Imágenes,” which Aldana first encountered through Pablo Milanés, closes the first half with haunting lyricism.
“Las Rosas No Hablan,” composed by Brazilian samba innovator Cartola, appears here in Spanish translation, with Salvant delivering a poignant interpretation. Hermeto Pascoal’s “Little Church,” known to many through Miles Davis’s double LP Live-Evil, is reimagined as pure lyricism, stripped of the eerie surrealism associated with Pascoal’s original whistling textures. Aldana cites Wayne Shorter as a guiding inspiration in shaping her approach to the piece. The album concludes with José Antonio Méndez’s “Ocaso” and Frank Domínguez’s “No Pidas Imposibles,” both evoking the timeless elegance of midcentury jazz and pop balladry while retaining a uniquely Latin sensibility.
Throughout Filin, Aldana’s improvisations depart from her signature long-form harmonic explorations in favor of gossamer phrasing and melodic clarity. Rather than striving for the perfect jazz solo, she focuses on presence, space, and emotional authenticity. The album reflects an artist who feels less compelled to prove anything and more committed to saying something meaningful.
Filin is the kind of record to live with — a timeless, immersive statement that unfolds slowly and rewards deep listening. In embracing filin’s intimate language and merging it with her evolving sound, Melissa Aldana has created a ballads album that feels both inevitable and revelatory — a profound meditation on tone, heritage, and artistic maturity.
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