PIANIST HIROMI REFLECTS ON A DECADE OF MUSICAL GROWTH AND EVOLUTION ON HER SECOND SOLO PIANO ALBUM SPECTRUM
When she recorded her solo piano debut, Place to Be, in 2009, Hiromi was on the eve of her 30th birthday. She realized that the album would offer a snapshot of the chapter just ending, the ways in which her experiences and personal growth had shaped her sound over the course of her 20s. She decided then that she would revisit the solo format at least once a decade, building a sonic portrait of her evolution and artistry.
When she recorded her solo piano debut, Place to Be, in 2009, Hiromi was on the eve of her 30th birthday. She realized that the album would offer a snapshot of the chapter just ending, the ways in which her experiences and personal growth had shaped her sound over the course of her 20s. She decided then that she would revisit the solo format at least once a decade, building a sonic portrait of her evolution and artistry.
Ten years later, the prolific pianist goes it alone once
again on the stunning new album Spectrum, a dazzling evocation of the vibrant
array of colors that imbue her music. Due for release October 4, 2019 on
Telarc, a division of Concord Records, Spectrum celebrates the maturity and
depth that have enriched Hiromi’s composing and playing over the course of her
30s, years in which she’s crisscrossed the globe thrilling audiences and
embarked on collaborations with some of jazz’s most inventive artists,
including Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke, Michel Camilo, Anthony Jackson, Simon
Phillips, Steve Smith, Akiko Yano and Edmar Castañeda.
“The sound of a pianist changes with age and with every
experience in life,” Hiromi says. “I wanted to set these milestones so that I
can see from the outside how I’ve changed and grown. When I recorded Place To
Be my goal was recording the sound of my 20s; now I wanted to record the sound
of my 30s.”
As she began to reflect back on the successful and rewarding
years since her last solo outing, Hiromi quickly began to focus on the theme of
colors and how they manifest in her music. That concept has always been central
to her approach, from her earliest studies as a young prodigy.
“My first piano teacher always taught me to see colors
through music,” she recalls. “When she wanted me to play something expressive
or fiery, she colored the score paper with red pencil; when she wanted me to
play something melancholic or sad, she would color my score with blue pencil. I
thought it was fascinating because the piano itself is mostly black and white –
the keys, the finish – but it can create so many colors.”
The full range of hues tumble together in a prismatic whirl
on the album’s mesmerizing opening track, “Kaleidoscope.” Beginning with
cyclical patterns reminiscent of minimalists like Philip Glass, the piece
rapidly ripples outwards, the patterns expanding and transforming at the pace
of the composer’s dizzying imagination. A similar approach marks the striking
title tune, in which Hiromi introduces a dramatic central motif, then spins out
a breathtaking series of variations, each viewing the theme through a different
colored lens.
The achingly delicate “Whiteout” was born in a blizzard, and
gorgeously captures the surreal hush and crystalline beauty of a layer of
wandering through a blanket of new fallen snow. The piece’s wondrous elegance
calls to mind the vivid impressionism of classical composers like Ravel or
Debussy. “I remember walking on a street full of snow, and I just heard that
song in my head,” Hiromi says. “Seeing everything covered in white felt really
strange, like I was the only person in the city. I didn't really have to think
or try to create that song; it just came to me.”
Hiromi’s playfully funky side emerges on the gritty, groovy
“Yellow Wurlitzer Blues” – and no wonder given the song’s origins. “Whenever I
have a little drink I feel like playing music,” Hiromi laughs. “But I can’t
carry a piano around like a guitar or a trumpet. I was telling the owner of the
bar that I go to that I really wanted to play, and the next time I walked in
he’d bought a yellow Wurlitzer for me.” The instrument is now a focal point for
casual outings, where Hiromi inevitably encourages her friends – and anyone
else who happens to be out for a night on the town – to join her in singing an
improvised blues.
“Of course they’re not all musicians so they don't know how,
but I always say anyone can sing blues,” she says. “People tend to be a bit
drunk so they’re more open, and they start telling stories about whatever
happened during their day. I’ve had some amazing, memorable nights just having
fun and playing the blues.”
The heartfelt “Blackbird” is another favorite when Hiromi
gathers with friends, but while she says she’s played the Beatles favorite
countless times in private settings she’d never performed it in a formal
concert setting. Spectrum provided the ideal opportunity to capture the song, which
feels as intimate and personal here as it surely does when the pianist plays it
for her loved ones. “Whenever I play that song I feel like I’m playing towards
someone – not any particular someone, but towards one person. For me, that is a
one on one song. It’s such a beautiful song.”
At first glance the title of “Mr. C.C.,” a play on
Coltrane’s “Mr. P.C.,” might suggest a tribute to one of Hiromi’s close
collaborators, the legendary pianist Chick Corea. But one listen to the
silent-era antics of the song and its true inspiration becomes immediately
clear: the song is an imaginary score for a Charlie Chaplin film (“I guess the
initials C.C. are for the geniuses,” she suggests).
Hiromi was introduced to Chaplin’s films while a student at
Berklee College of Music, where she was asked to perform a live score for a
silent comedy during a school event. “I was fascinated by how the music can
change the image of the film,” she says. “Since then I’ve always wanted to
write something for Charlie Chaplin because he’s a true genius and extremely
inspirational.”
The introspective “Once In a Blue Moon” muses on the many
times in her life that Hiromi feels that she’s experienced a brush with
miraculous, those moments when a prayer seems to have been answered or that
hope pulls her through a struggle. The title comes from a phrase that she
became enchanted with when she discovered it while learning English. The album
closes with the equally emotional “Sepia Effect,” which wistfully evokes the
faded beauty of a favorite memory.
The album’s penultimate track is an epic reimagining of
George Gershwin’s masterpiece, “Rhapsody in Blue,” which becomes a medley of
unexpected classics involving the same color. After taking the Gershwin classic
through a number of virtuosic transformations, Hiromi suddenly twists the piece
into John Coltrane’s “Blue Train” – and then again into The Who’s “Behind Blue
Eyes.” It would be hard to imagine three more disparate artists, though each
changed the landscape of popular music in their own unique an innovate fashion.
“When Coltrane’s music landed in this world, I’m sure it was
as shocking as when Gershwin landed, and the same thing for The Who,” Hiromi
says. “When I first listened to these artists it was a mind-blowing experience,
so I wanted to put them together. Each color can be interpreted very
differently, depending on who sees it, and each of these artists came up with a
different image of ‘blue.’ By joining them together, I wanted to create my own
version of ‘blue.’”
As a whole, Spectrum is a vibrant tour of the rainbow
panorama of Hiromi’s sound; in contrast with Place To Be it’s an enthralling
encapsulation of her musical maturity. “I feel I’m a little closer to the
piano,” Hiromi concludes. “All the pianists that I really respect not only love
but are loved by the piano, and that’s the relationship that I would love to
build through my life.”
