About this Album — MG and The Echoes of Swing

Liner notes by Ted Shapiro

The world knows Muri­el Gross­mann as a band­lea­der, saxo­pho­nist and com­po­ser of high­ly indi­vi­du­al and ori­gi­nal music. Some would say she hel­ped shape the world­wi­de revi­val of spi­ri­tu­al jazz, a move­ment stron­gly reflec­ted in her semi­nal 2018 release Gol­den Rule. The world knows albums such as Uni­ver­sal Code, Uni­on and Quiet Earth, or her powerful per­for­man­ces across the glo­be with her long-stan­ding quar­tet fea­turing Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic on gui­tar, Abel Boquera on Ham­mond B3 organ and Uros Sta­men­ko­vic on drums.

That is one side of the story.

But here in Ibi­za, whe­re Gross­mann has lived and work­ed for over two deca­des, ano­ther side of the artist reve­als its­elf. Locals know her not only as an inter­na­tio­nal­ly tou­ring artist but as a dedi­ca­ted working musi­ci­an, someone who returns every sum­mer to play night after night in restau­rants, clubs, hotels and bars. For more than twen­ty years she has main­tai­ned this remar­kab­le rou­ti­ne, per­forming almost dai­ly for months at a time, refi­ning her craft in front of live audi­en­ces in the oldest and most honest way jazz has always evol­ved: through performance.

If the con­cert stage shows the visio­na­ry com­po­ser, the­se nights reve­al the craftsman.

Away from the recor­ding stu­dio and inter­na­tio­nal tours, Gross­mann immer­ses hers­elf in the lan­guage of the tra­di­ti­on — the tim­e­l­ess voca­bu­la­ry of swing, blues and ear­ly modern jazz. Dra­wing inspi­ra­ti­on from mas­ters such as Les­ter Young, Illi­nois Jac­quet, Ben Webs­ter and Lou Donald­son, she con­ti­nues the lifel­ong jazz tra­di­ti­on of lear­ning by play­ing, deve­lo­ping her sound through con­stant performance.

This work ine­vi­ta­b­ly leads back to the reper­toire that shaped the music: the songs of the 1930s, 40s and 50s — what many con­sider the gol­den age of jazz.

The pro­ject pre­sen­ted here, The Echo­es of Swing, reflects that dedi­ca­ti­on. In this par­ti­cu­lar set the music of the 30s is revi­si­ted — swing music, the music of Les­ter Young, Count Basie and other pro­mi­nent jazz figu­res of that era. The group fea­tures Eli­as Mei­ri on pia­no, Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic on gui­tar, Cuni Man­til­la on bass and Este­ve Pi on drums.

Eli­as Mei­ri is a long­time fri­end from Muriel’s Vien­na years in the 1990s, whe­re their musi­cal paths first crossed. Mei­ri is a high­ly sophisti­ca­ted pia­nist who spent seve­ral years in New York per­forming with jazz gre­ats such as Diz­zy Gil­le­spie, Dave Lieb­man and Ste­ve Gross­man befo­re sett­ling in Vien­na in 1988. When the two musi­ci­ans recon­nec­ted years later, their shared love for the swing tra­di­ti­on — and par­ti­cu­lar­ly the lega­cy of Oscar Peter­son — natu­ral­ly led them back to the pia­no bench and into the music. From the­se encoun­ters the idea emer­ged to docu­ment this side of Grossmann’s musi­cal world.

An important role in the deve­lo­p­ment of this reper­toire was play­ed by the legen­da­ry hos­pi­ta­li­ty entre­pre­neur and busi­ness lea­der Giu­sep­pe Cipria­ni, who, as someone aptly said, gave a who­le new mea­ning to the word style. Per­forming in his venues around the world gave the group ear­ly oppor­tu­ni­ties to deve­lop and refi­ne this music in front of dis­cer­ning inter­na­tio­nal audi­en­ces. In the­se ele­gant envi­ron­ments, jazz once again ful­fil­led one of its his­to­ric roles: music that enhan­ces atmo­sphe­re and ele­va­tes expe­ri­ence — whe­re beau­tiful melo­dies meet joyful, some­ti­mes foot-tap­ping per­for­man­ces and human connection.

The record opens with the up-tem­po rhythm chan­ges titled Tal­ly Ho, Mr. Basie, a 1962 Count Basie num­ber. Muri­el takes the first solo and right away we know that we are in the world of Les­ter Young. Gross­mann solos with ease and in the estab­lished for­mat of that par­ti­cu­lar style, pay­ing homage and respect to the aes­the­tics of the jazz style of the 30s, par­ti­cu­lar­ly that of the gre­at Les­ter Young. In fact all inter­pre­ta­ti­ons are deep­ly roo­ted insi­de tho­se aes­the­tics. Fly­ing Home being the pri­ma­ry exam­p­le, oders a brief, focu­sed and sty­li­sti­cal­ly truthful per­for­mance on gui­tar, tenor saxo­pho­ne and piano.

The beau­tiful 1928 Broad­way com­po­si­ti­on I Can’t Give You Any­thing But Love, Baby is ano­ther good exam­p­le of a gre­at swin­ging tune being adapt­ed for a smal­ler band whe­re the rhythm sec­tion and espe­ci­al­ly the gui­tar play that defi­ning role of brin­ging the who­le music into one swin­ging pul­se. With the emer­gence of bebop by the mid-40s the gui­tar lost its role as a mem­ber of the rhythm sec­tion, but in swing music a band wit­hout rhythm gui­tar was not pos­si­ble. The prime expo­nent of swing rhythm gui­tar was jazz gre­at Fred­die Green, who defi­ned the role of gui­tar in the Count Basie Orches­tra and in jazz as a who­le, making it an inse­pa­ra­ble part of the music. You may not hear it loud­ly, but if you take it away you will know that some­thing is miss­ing — tho­se pul­sa­ting swin­ging quar­ter notes.

Topsy is ano­ther favou­ri­te swin­ger from that era, com­po­sed by Eddie Dur­ham, one of the grea­test com­po­sers, arran­gers, trom­bo­nists and gui­ta­rists, and also a distin­gu­is­hed mem­ber of the ear­ly Count Basie band. Here on this recor­ding the song is taken at a rela­xed medi­um tem­po allo­wing the soloists to stretch and tell the story.

Side B opens with It’s Sand, Man, with 8 bars of intro­duc­tion by drum­mer Este­ve Pi, who­se bio­gra­phy reads like a who-is-who of both natio­nal and inter­na­tio­nal names that he has per­for­med and recor­ded with. As every in-demand side­man, Este­ve Pi is not only a remar­kab­le accom­pa­nist but also a gre­at soloist when the situa­ti­on calls for it, like here in this com­po­si­ti­on whe­re he plays an excel­lent 32-bar solo.

The 1942 com­po­si­ti­on Chel­sea Bridge by Bil­ly Stray­horn is often regard­ed as one of the most poignant com­po­si­ti­ons in jazz. This ren­di­ti­on opens with a beau­tiful gui­tar intro, after which lea­der Muri­el Gross­mann plays the melo­dy whe­re she dis­plays all the beau­ty of her tone and the intri­ca­ci­es of this gre­at song.

Jive at Five is a les­ser-known Count Basie late-30s gem com­po­sed by Har­ry “Sweets” Edi­son, whe­re we can hear bas­sist Cuni Man­til­la crea­ting bass lines that are both ima­gi­na­ti­ve and inspi­ring for the rhythm sec­tion as well as for the soloists.

The com­po­si­ti­on that clo­ses the record is the legen­da­ry Les­ter Young tune Les­ter Leaps In, taken here as an up-tem­po work­out whe­re we find the group in full-fled­ged flight.

What makes this recor­ding par­ti­cu­lar­ly com­pel­ling is its hones­ty. The music that this gre­at quin­tet per­forms doesn’t demand atten­ti­on — it draws the lis­te­ner in through its sheer beau­ty, feel-good mood and its not-impo­sing nature.

For lis­ten­ers fami­li­ar with Muri­el Grossmann’s more expan­si­ve spi­ri­tu­al jazz recor­dings, this album reve­als ano­ther essen­ti­al pie­ce of the artis­tic pic­tu­re: the working musi­ci­an, the tra­di­ti­on bea­rer, the play­er who under­stands that inno­va­ti­on grows stron­gest from deep roots.
This recor­ding oders not a depar­tu­re, but a com­ple­ment — ano­ther chap­ter in a sto­ry still unfolding.

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Muriel Grossmann — Plays the Music of McCoy Tyner and the Grateful Dead — Write-up by Reed Jackson for Aquarium Drunkard, US

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Muri­el Gross­mann :: Plays the Music of McCoy Tyner and the Gra­teful Dead

 

by Reed Jack­son for Aqua­ri­um Drunkard

          After Bob Weir’s death on Jan. 10, the tri­bu­tes came pou­ring in. One of the most unu­su­al came a few weeks befo­re, at the very tail end of the old year, with Muri­el Grossmann’s dou­ble album (one song per side, known around the­se parts as “the devil’s dou­ble album”) Plays the Music of McCoy Tyner and the Gra­teful Dead. On it, the Aus­tri­an saxo­pho­nist, working with a trio (long­time gui­ta­rist Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic, orga­nist Abel Boquera and drum­mer Uros Sta­men­ko­vic, the lat­ter two of whom appeared on Grossmann’s 2023 Third Man debut Devo­ti­on), explo­res two tracks each by the renow­ned jazz pia­nist and the pio­nee­ring jam band. The Dead cuts – “The Music Never Stop­ped” and “The Other One” — were both writ­ten by Weir.

       On the sur­face, the work of the per­cus­sive, har­mo­ni­cal­ly inten­se Tyner and the cir­cum­s­pect rhyth­mic style of Weir would seem to share litt­le in com­mon. And may­be below the sur­face, as well. Tyner’s work is gal­va­nic and aggres­si­ve, as if he were try­ing to make up for the absence of John Col­tra­ne, as a mem­ber of who­se band he hel­ped rede­fi­ne mid­cen­tu­ry jazz. Both “Walk Spi­rit, Talk Spi­rit” and “Con­tem­pla­ti­on” come from Tyner’s post-Tra­ne years, when he was figu­ring out his own role as a lea­der. With the Dead tracks of cour­se, Weir was working within the con­fi­nes of his pri­ma­ry band, very much in the shadow of Jer­ry Gar­cia. Though Weir had a knack for a hard-char­ging cho­rus (not Jerry’s bai­li­wick, to say the least), Weir had to wri­te with Gar­cia in mind, lea­ving space for his out­si­zed con­tri­bu­ti­ons. Tyner had to make exact­ly zero con­ces­si­ons, asi­de from wrest­ling with Coltrane’s ghost. That was pro­ba­b­ly enough, come to think of it.

           So, what con­nec­tions can we dis­cern in the work of the­se two musi­ci­ans? The time peri­od, for one: “Con­tem­pla­ti­on” and “The Other One” were writ­ten in the late 1960s, while “Walk Spi­rit, Talk Spi­rit” and “The Music Never Stop­ped” hail from the ‘70s. “Walk Spi­rit, Talk Spi­rit,” like the Dead cuts, is a mas­si­ve jam – in its first appearance on Tyner’s live Enligh­ten­ment (1973), it lasts a stag­ge­ring 24 minu­tes. (Grossmann’s ver­si­on clocks in at a rela­tively tidy 14:29.) “Con­tem­pla­ti­on” in its stu­dio form on Tyner’s 1967 The Real McCoy, is a com­pact nine minu­tes; Gross­mann stret­ches it out by five. In all the­se tracks, Gross­mann seems to loca­te a com­mon the­me of kine­tic poten­ti­al and fle­xi­bi­li­ty – the ways in which a song can offer a wealth of oppor­tu­ni­ties for spon­ta­neous inter­ac­tion, com­plex evo­lu­ti­on and sud­den swer­ves into undis­co­ver­ed coun­try. Weir and Tyner may have used dif­fe­rent tools and fol­lo­wed dif­fe­rent methods, but they both wan­ted to crack open com­po­si­ti­ons and see what they were made of, and figu­re out how they could be remade.

           Grossmann’s tre­at­ment of Tyner is com­pli­ca­ted by the lack of Tyner’s instru­ment, the pia­no. Boquera’s zes­ty organ adds tro­pi­cal colors to the mix, but its boun­cy zephyrs can’t replace Tyner’s roi­ling gale. Gross­mann most­ly sticks to Azar Lawrence’s sax line, duet­ting with Milojkovic’s gui­tar in a way that allows her more space than Tyner gave to Law­rence. Gross­mann has a big, round tone, and she uses it to full advan­ta­ge here, play­ing robust, jui­cy-fruit notes in the man­ner of mid-70s Son­ny Roll­ins, with may­be a smid­gen of David Sanborn’s tart feli­ci­ty thrown in. There’s not a lot in the way of Tyner’s glit­te­ring dis­so­nan­ce, but the band does cap­tu­re his amiable abandon.

       “Con­tem­pla­ti­on” has a blue­sier feel, alig­ning it with the Dead right away. Gross­mann enlar­ges upon this giving Milo­j­ko­vic ple­nty of room to solo, which most­ly accounts for the track’s extra five minu­tes of length. Milo­j­ko­vic incisi­ve­ly inter­prets Tyner’s rapid right-hand trills, but a gui­tar lacks a piano’s weight, and it refracts Tyner’s dazz­ling den­si­ty into a wig­glier wave­length. Gross­mann again spends a lot of time due­ting with the gui­tar, just as Joe Hen­der­son chops it up with Tyner on the 1967 stu­dio track, and, if her ver­si­on lacks the chi­ming sharp­ness of the ori­gi­nal (per­haps having more in com­mon with the gent­ler ren­di­ti­on on 2003’s Land of Giants, fea­turing vibra­pho­ne king Bob­by Hut­cher­son on the front line), it mana­ges to bring out the rich inte­rio­ri­ty of Tyner’s pie­ce. And, espe­ci­al­ly in the gui­tar-hea­vy lat­ter half, it starts to sound a lot like Bob­by Weir.

         Grossmann’s adapt­a­ti­on of the Dead maps more easi­ly onto the source mate­ri­al due to the pre­sence of Milojkovic’s gui­tar. The Ser­bi­an has uncan­ny ear for the way the Dead’s inten­se­ly Ame­ri­can music gli­des and twangs, and he can set up a rol­ling sim­mer with the best locked-in jam­mer. Check out how, after it dis­sol­ves into abs­trac­tion about four minu­tes in, Milo­j­ko­vic resur­rects “The Other One” into a frac­tal burb­le. Gross­mann, for her part, nails the vocal lines, sound­ing more stead­fast­ly tonal and lim­ber than the noto­rious­ly wave­ring Weir. And when she departs from the main melo­dy, she achie­ves a kind of soulful rigor that sug­gests Gar­cia at his year­ning best wit­hout imi­ta­ting him. It’s fun to think about which live ver­si­ons of the­se tracks Gross­mann and crew could be dra­wing from – I’d say their “Other One” has the pan­o­r­amic gus­to of the Donna/Keith years, while “The Music Never Stop­ped” bears the fun­ky ver­ve of the Brent Myd­land years (like “Con­tem­pla­ti­on” it gets expan­ded by about five or so minu­tes). But other heads with dif­fe­rent ears will sure­ly have their own opinions.

         Muri­el Grossmann’s tri­bu­te to the music of two very dif­fe­rent Ame­ri­can visio­na­ries may not make an over­whel­ming case for shared ground, but it none­thel­ess finds a lot of intri­guing links. If not­hing else, Tyner and Weir devo­ted their lives to a com­mon pur­po­se: kee­ping the music of their decea­sed Other Ones ali­ve wit­hout losing them­sel­ves in the pro­cess. Now that they have depar­ted into myth them­sel­ves (Tyner died in 2020), they lea­ve behind count­less ways to remem­ber – and more important­ly, reinvent – their lega­ci­es. | r jackson

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ABOUT THIS ALBUM — MG — PLAYS THE MUSIC OF McCOY TYNER AND GRATEFUL DEAD

The Fas­ter We Go, the Roun­der We Get 

Dead Recko­ning, Modal Routes
At first glan­ce, the idea that McCoy Tyner and the Gra­teful Dead might share musi­cal DNA seems like a stretch. One built frame­works to sup­port Coltrane’s spi­ri­tu­al flights—rewriting the jazz harm­o­ny play­book while tur­ning chords into fle­xi­ble archi­tec­tu­re. The others were a San Fran­cis­co cir­cus of psy­che­de­lic cha­os and Ame­ri­ca­na groo­ves, an impro­vi­sing rock band who­se mytho­lo­gy often overs­ha­dowed their musicianship.
On the sur­face, Tyner and the Dead appear to come from dif­fe­rent gala­xies. But lis­ten deep­ly, and it beco­mes clear: they were orbi­ting the same planet.

Tyner’s play­ing was all about shape. He built modal infrastructure—riffs and voi­cings stur­dy enough to ground the music, mal­leable enough to beco­me any­thing. Weir’s uncon­ven­tio­nal approach to rhythm gui­tar often baf­f­led tho­se expec­ting straight rock-ori­en­ted time­kee­ping. Rather than dri­ving a fixed rhythm, Weir cho­se chop­py, off-kil­ter voi­cings that sidestep­ped pre­dic­ta­bi­li­ty, crea­ting cross-curr­ents that Jer­ry Garcia’s solos could ride, resist, or crash into. By Weir’s own account, he lifted that sen­si­bi­li­ty direct­ly from Tyner. Lis­ten to his chord choices and phra­sing, and the through­li­ne is unmistakable.

Seen this way, Muri­el Grossmann’s pro­ject is a con­ti­nua­tion: tra­cing Tyner’s influence as it threads through Weir and onward, then using it as an invi­ta­ti­on to explo­re the­se com­po­si­ti­ons anew. Joi­n­ed by Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic on gui­tar, Abel Boquera on Ham­mond B3 organ, and Uros Sta­men­ko­vic on drums, she tre­ats the­se four works not as arti­facts to pre­ser­ve, but as invi­ta­ti­ons to explore.

“We play­ed this music using a sort of fil­ter,” she says, “so it sounds like when I com­po­se, record, and per­form our own music. It’s some­bo­dy else’s music, but it sounds like our music.” —Muri­el Gross­mann, 2025

The Line from Tyner to Weir

It’s worth sta­ting plain­ly: Bob Weir has cited McCoy Tyner as one of his foun­da­tio­nal influen­ces. In a 2024 memo­ri­al tri­bu­te to his band­ma­te, Gra­teful Dead bas­sist Phil Lesh, he wrote:
“At the age of seven­teen, I lis­ten­ed to the John Col­tra­ne Quar­tet, focu­sing on McCoy Tyner’s work, fee­ding Col­tra­ne har­mo­nic and rhyth­mic ide­as to spring­board off of — and I deve­lo­ped an approach to gui­tar play­ing based off of it. This hap­pen­ed becau­se Phil tur­ned me on to the Col­tra­ne Quartet.”

Stran­ge but true. Weir meta­bo­li­zed Tyner’s har­mo­nic den­si­ty, left-hand power, and asym­me­tri­cal swing into a sin­gu­lar rhythm gui­tar lan­guage. Lis­ten to “Walk Spi­rit, Talk Spi­rit” from Tyner’s Enligh­ten­ment (1973), then compa­re it to a long jam on “The Other One”—say, 5/10/72 from the Euro­pe ’72 box. That cen­ter­less gra­vi­ty, that rol­ling churn? Dif­fe­rent instru­ments, same engine.

The Dead were never a rock band in the strict sen­se. They func­tion­ed as a moving equilibrium—a push-pull bet­ween cha­os and trance. Tyner unders­tood that dua­li­ty. As Coltrane’s right hand, he held space for ecsta­tic expan­si­on wit­hout aban­do­ning form. That’s what Weir heard. And it’s what Gross­mann has tra­ced back to its source.
“Gra­teful Dead music is invi­ting,” Gross­mann notes. “It’s open for inter­pre­ta­ti­on, yet very definitive—an incre­di­ble mix.”

It’s also spi­ri­tu­al music that didn’t begin in jazz, but wel­co­med it. And among today’s impro­vi­sers, few have car­ri­ed Coltrane’s lineage of modal tran­s­cen­dence more con­sis­t­ent­ly than Muri­el Grossmann.

“Walk Spi­rit, Talk Spi­rit” (McCoy Tyner)
Pre­mier­ing on Enligh­ten­ment (1973), recor­ded live at Mon­treux, this track beca­me one of Tyner’s most powerful state­ments. Backed by Azar Law­rence, Jun­ey Booth, and Alphon­se Mou­zon, Tyner stret­ches a simp­le modal riff into 25 minu­tes of dyna­mic, man­tra-like expan­si­on. It quick­ly beca­me a stap­le of his live shows and is now a cor­ner­stone of spi­ri­tu­al jazz. Gross­mann calls it “a tune I always wan­ted to play,” and it’s easy to under­stand why.

“Con­tem­pla­ti­on” (McCoy Tyner)
From The Real McCoy (1967)—Tyner’s Blue Note debut as a leader—“Contemplation” signal­ed a turn inward. Along­side Ron Car­ter, Elvin Jones, and Joe Hen­der­son, Tyner used space and still­ness as tools, buil­ding a medi­ta­ti­ve mood wit­hout sen­ti­men­ta­li­ty. This pie­ce has quiet­ly beco­me one of his most bel­oved ballads—slow-burning, soulful, and elemental.

“The Music Never Stop­ped” (Weir/Barlow)
First released on Blues for Allah in 1975, this Bob Weir and John Per­ry Bar­low col­la­bo­ra­ti­on brought fun­kier, shar­per rhyth­ms into the Dead’s voca­bu­la­ry. The groo­ve is unmist­aka­ble, and the song’s lyric is a meta-com­men­ta­ry on the act of play­ing music, crea­ting imme­dia­te reso­nan­ce with the Gra­teful Dead’s audi­ence. Don­na Jean Godchaux’s vocal refrain, “There’s a band out on the high­way…” beca­me a kind of ral­ly­ing cry, yet under­neath is a subt­le ten­si­on: how do we stay pre­sent while everything’s chan­ging? It beca­me an instant live favo­ri­te, and remain­ed a live stap­le in the Dead (and post-Dead) repertoire.

“The Other One” (Gra­teful Dead)
Initi­al­ly emer­ging in live Dead shows in 1967 as part of a lon­ger suite that began with “Cryp­ti­cal Enve­lo­p­ment,” this song was initi­al­ly titled “The Fas­ter We Go, The Roun­der We Get.” That mor­phed into “The Other One,” which beca­me one of the band’s cen­tral jam vehic­les from the late ’60s through the mid-’70s. It evol­ved into one of the Dead’s most explo­si­ve impro­vi­sa­tio­nal vehic­les, dri­ven by Phil Lesh’s ico­nic “bass bomb” intros and pro­ne to spi­ra­ling into dis­so­nant ecsta­sy befo­re snap­ping back into form. Grossmann’s ver­si­on is ele­men­tal, start­ing from a sub­ter­ra­ne­an pul­se and buil­ding upward through free-time swirl and modal ascent. You can hear how much this band trusts the music to reve­al its­elf. Tyner’s shadow is here too, in the way the rhythm builds from open fifths and sta­cked har­mo­nies into full-spec­trum lift-off. The Dead’s ori­gi­nal ver­si­ons often flared into cha­os. Gross­mann refracts that ener­gy into a spi­ri­tu­al jazz exploration—splintered sun­light through a modal prism.

And the Band Keeps Play­ing On
It would be easy to pre­sent this as a con­cept album. Tyner meets the Dead. Jazz meets jam. Two cul­tures, one fil­ter. But that’s not what’s hap­pe­ning here.
Gross­mann isn’t making a point. She’s making music.
Her approach is neither fusi­on nor homage, trans­forming Tyner’s spi­ri­tu­al solem­ni­ty and the Dead’s cos­mic loo­sen­ess from con­tra­dic­to­ry to com­ple­men­ta­ry. Muriel’s “fil­ter” isn’t one of sub­trac­tion or rem­oval, but of res­ha­ping, like alte­ring a pho­to­graph with color and light, until the sub­ject remains but the mood and mea­ning shift.

As the Dead mark their 60th anni­ver­sa­ry in 2025 and the Col­tra­ne cen­ten­ni­al approa­ches in 2026, this album reminds us that their music isn’t a relic to be cele­bra­ted once a cen­tu­ry, but a living current—one that still speaks, ins­tructs, and car­ri­es the spi­rit forward.

The fas­ter we go, the roun­der we get.

Liner Notes by SYD SCHWARTZ, @jazzandcoffee

> 12 Ques­ti­ons-Inter­view, Lou BOURDON, Qwest TV / From Bebop to Hip Hop 

>‚Plays the Music of McCoy Tyner and Gra­teful Dead‘ review in Aqua­ri­um Drun­kard, US Feb 2026
“… In all the­se tracks, Gross­mann seems to loca­te a com­mon the­me of kine­tic poten­ti­al and fle­xi­bi­li­ty – the ways in which a song can oUer a wealth of oppor­tu­ni­ties for spon­ta­neous inter­ac­tion, com­plex evo­lu­ti­on and sud­den swer­ves into undis­co­ver­ed coun­try.” Reed Jackson

> ‚MAGNET Exclu­si­ve: Muri­el Gross­mann Goes Track By Track On “Plays The Music Of McCoy Tyner And Gra­teful Dead”

>‚Plays the Music of McCoy Tyner and Gra­teful Dead‘ review in Dus­ty Groo­ve, US Dec 2025
“… A fan­ta­stic record … Gross­mann doesn’t bend to the wills of Tyner and the Dead – and ins­tead, uses the song struc­tures very loo­se­ly as a vehic­le to crea­te rhyth­ms to sup­port very vivid impro­vi­sa­ti­ons – with excep­tio­nal help from group mem­bers ” Dus­ty Groove

>‚Plays the Music of McCoy Tyner and Gra­teful Dead‘ review in UK VIBE, UK by Mike Gates, Dec 2025
“ … they approach the­se four expan­si­ve pie­ces as living orga­nisms, fil­te­ring them through the same spi­ri­tu­al, trance-like lens that defi­nes Grossmann’s own work. … Grossmann’s tenor tone is rich and com­man­ding, and when she stret­ches out, the music beco­mes genui­ne­ly enthr­al­ling. The­se are the moments whe­re the album tru­ly igni­tes – her solo­ing is spellb­in­ding, groun­ded in modal disci­pli­ne yet con­stant­ly rea­ching bey­ond it.”

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ABOUT THIS ALBUM — Muriel Grossmann Breakthrough

LINER NOTES by Sid Schwartz : The Art of Let­ting Go

The silent, spi­ra­led groo­ve at the outer edge of a vinyl record that gui­des the turntable’s need­le into the first track of the recor­ding is cal­led the “lead-in groo­ve.” Its pri­ma­ry pur­po­se is to pro­vi­de a momen­ta­ry buf­fer befo­re the music starts, allo­wing the stylus to sett­le into the groo­ve pro­per­ly. On Breakth­rough, it has a secon­da­ry purpose.

Think of it as a bonus track that comes BEFORE the record to PREPARE you for the record.

The lead-in groo­ve is like the hush befo­re slip­ping into sleep or the still­ness befo­re a thunderstorm—a pre­sence of silence rather than an absence of sound. Like the uni­ver­se taking a deep breath befo­re the music unfolds, spa­cious and unhur­ried. Once the aptly titled “Alre­a­dy Here” emer­ges from this silence, it’s as if the Muri­el Gross­mann Quar­tet has been play­ing fore­ver, and we’ve only just remem­be­red how to listen.

Muriel’s ear­ly work balan­ced post-bop and modal jazz, dra­wing on years of prac­ti­ce, disci­pli­ne, and tou­ring. Her saxo­pho­ne lines, laid over tight rhythm arran­ge­ments, empha­si­zed line­ar solo­ing on albums like Birth of the Mys­tery and Awa­ke­ning. Howe­ver, ele­ments of modal laye­ring and pati­ent, explo­ra­to­ry impro­vi­sa­ti­ons were clear and present—Muriel’s quests were just beginning.

On albums like Momen­tum, Earth Tones, and Natu­ral Time, Muri­el and her bands began a deeper dive into lon­ger-form works, inclu­ding modal struc­tures, rhyth­mic medi­ta­ti­ons, and impro­vi­sa­ti­ons. Repea­ted osti­na­tos and dro­ne-like har­mo­nies crea­ted trance-like, medi­ta­ti­ve spaces that ope­ned doors to new instru­ments and ide­as. Game­lan and Afri­can rhyth­mic pat­terns found a place in her com­po­si­ti­ons, while flu­tes and addi­tio­nal saxo­pho­nes were added to her instru­men­tal arse­nal. The music con­tin­ued to expand in scope, with addi­tio­nal per­cus­sion and Ham­mond organ broa­de­ning the sound­s­ta­ge even fur­ther. The resul­ting medi­ta­ti­ve sound­scapes blen­ded cine­ma­tic ambi­ent back­drops with Col­tra­ne-esque ques­t­ing and occa­sio­nal exten­ded vamps a la Pha­ro­ah Sanders.

With Gol­den Rule in 2018, Muriel’s music ascen­ded to an even hig­her pla­ne, ushe­ring in an era of music roo­ted in spi­ri­tua­li­ty and rhythm. The medi­ta­ti­ve sound­scapes on records like Rever­ence and Devo­ti­on are lush and immersi­ve. Loo­ping pat­terns, dro­ne-like ambi­ence, and spar­se har­mo­nic chan­ges pro­vi­de a sen­se of breathing and space, while an omni­pre­sent heart­beat brings each com­po­si­ti­on to life.

The hyp­no­tic effects Muriel’s music invokes—and that her group explo­res so deeply—align with core prin­ci­ples of spi­ri­tu­al jazz:

Repe­ti­ti­on isn’t mono­t­o­ny, it’s tran­s­cen­dence. Pati­ence isn’t a vir­tue, it’s a teacher.

On Breakth­rough, Muri­el Gross­mann con­ti­nues a jour­ney that began with The Light of the Mind. This is music in ser­vice of some­thing deeper than sound. Grossmann’s visi­on here draws on the
Dzog­chen prin­ci­ple of “non-meditation”—not a stri­ving for tran­s­cen­dence, but an allo­wing. A loo­sening. Like releasing a tight­ly bound bund­le of sticks, the power of Breakth­rough is not in addi­ti­on but sub­trac­tion, not to grasp but to open. In this let­ting go, a dif­fe­rent kind of cla­ri­ty emer­ges: one that was always the­re beneath the noise.

The para­dox of “effort in doing not­hing” might fuel late-night con­ver­sa­ti­ons or phi­lo­so­phy semi­nars. But Breakth­rough tran­s­cends the shal­low­ness of tho­se sil­ly argu­ments. This music is not the sound of buil­ding towards enligh­ten­ment, but of clea­ring. The vibe of let­ting some­thing fall away. The illu­si­on of struc­tu­re. The grip of expec­ta­ti­on. The tidy boun­da­ries that sepa­ra­te self from sound, thought from rhythm, lis­te­ner from music.

You don’t need to know Dzog­chen (or even how to pro­no­un­ce it) to feel what’s hap­pe­ning. And you cer­tain­ly don’t need to label it “spi­ri­tu­al jazz.” Labels are hel­pful until they aren’t, and Breakth­rough isn’t here to match or chall­enge your cate­go­riza­ti­on metho­do­lo­gy. It’s here to dis­sol­ve it.

Grossmann’s quar­tet includes ste­ady, long­time col­la­bo­ra­tors Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic (gui­tar), Abel Boquera (Ham­mond B3, Fen­der Rho­des, Moog), and Uros Sta­men­ko­vic (drums). Their deep cohe­si­on allows a shared musi­cal visi­on to emer­ge natu­ral­ly, orga­ni­cal­ly and effort­less­ly expres­sing the inex­pres­si­ble. Their trust in the music and each other is what grants them this power and cla­ri­ty, with Breakth­rough a new yet somehow very fami­li­ar way­po­int along the jour­ney that began with The Light of the Mind.

“Alre­a­dy Here” opens the album by spea­king direct­ly to that qua­li­ty of recognition—not dis­co­very, but remem­be­ring. Grossmann’s saxo­pho­ne does­n’t decla­re its­elf with a grand­stan­ding solo. It emer­ges from the fabric of sound as if it’s been the­re the who­le time. Abel Boquera’s Ham­mond and Moog crea­te an invi­ting, atmo­sphe­ric tide that pro­vi­des amp­le waves for Muri­el to surf, while Rado­mir Milojkovic’s gui­tar oscil­la­tes bet­ween tex­tu­re and melo­dy. A ten-minu­te mid­night voya­ge on a lunar sea desti­ned to beco­me a huge improv vehic­le in the quartet’s hands on the bandstand.

“Indes­truc­ti­ble” moves deeper into the modal space, its title both affir­ma­ti­on and invi­ta­ti­on. This is indes­truc­ti­bi­li­ty not as hard­ness but as flow—like water that can­not be bro­ken becau­se it has no fixed form. Uros Stamenkovic’s drum­ming pro­vi­des not pro­pul­si­on but pul­se, the heart­beat of awa­re­ness its­elf. It’s also the sur­pri­se track of the album. While the title may not direct­ly nod to Art Blakey’s Jazz Mes­sen­gers, the under­ly­ing hard-bop frame­work adds the swin­ging sound of sur­pri­se. If you haven’t got­ten the mes­sa­ge yet that expec­ta­ti­ons should be left at the door with your shoes, now’s the time.

The album’s second half opens with “Who­le As It Is”—nine minu­tes of accep­tance wit­hout resi­gna­ti­on. Fea­turing one of Milojkovic’s most striking gui­tar solos over sym­pa­the­tic sup­port from Boquera and Sta­men­ko­vic, “Who­le As It Is” has an unde­niable hook and a clear nar­ra­ti­ve arc. There’s no mys­ti­cism-for-hire here, no spi­ri­tu­al jazz sna­ke oil. The­se are the sounds of a band that belie­ves in music, and each other.

“Abide” clo­ses with a riff that’s con­fi­dent, haun­ting, and likely to get stuck in your head for a month. Though the word “abide” tech­ni­cal­ly means to accept or act in accordance with, that’s only 95% true. The groo­ve and solos con­ti­nue the the­me of reco­gni­zing what’s alre­a­dy pre­sent, but they also lea­ve the door open. There’s still more to release, and more to unco­ver. If The Light of the Mind was the begin­ning of the jour­ney and Breakth­rough the main plot­li­ne, “Abide” clo­ses the record with a sen­se of addi­tio­nal pos­si­bi­li­ties, rather than clo­sure or completeness.

The­re are two ways to hear Breakth­rough. If you approach this music like try­ing to tight­ly grasp a handful of sand, you’ll find that it will slip quick­ly through your fin­gers. You’ll have litt­le left to show for your effort, except grit­ty palms and an urge to move on to your next acti­vi­ty. But if you’re wil­ling to LET GO, the sand will fall through your fin­gers at a graceful, mea­su­red pace, invo­king a fee­ling of smooth tran­qui­li­ty and unhur­ried pas­sa­ge of time. Ins­tead of the effort and ten­si­on in attemp­ting to hold on, the rela­xa­ti­on of let­ting go frees your mind and body to dis­co­ver new sen­sa­ti­ons, new pat­terns as the sand coll­ects at your feet, and new possibilities.

And may­be a breakthrough.

That breakth­rough, final­ly, is reco­gni­zing that not­hing new needs to break through. What we seek is what we are. What we are is what we’­ve always been. The bund­le of sticks was never bound. The door was never locked. The music was always playing.

You only had to remem­ber to listen.

Words by Syd Schwartz @jazzandcoffee

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Liner Notes — The Light Of The Mind by Michael Jacklin

LINER NOTES by MICHAEL JACKLIN

Muri­el Gross­mann ‘The Light of the Mind’ (2024).

Tho­se who know know. Muri­el Grossmann’s repu­ta­ti­on as a lea­ding prac­ti­tio­ner of spi­ri­tu­al jazz that groo­ves, deep­ly groo­ves, has grown ste­adi­ly with every new recor­ding. From ear­ly albums such as ‘Quar­tet’ in 2008 to ‘Birth of the Mys­tery’ in 2010 to her brea­kout album ‘Gol­den Rule’ in 2018 and her recent ‘Devo­ti­on’ in 2023, Grossmann’s music has won acco­lades from cri­tics and ado­ra­ti­on from lis­ten­ers around the glo­be. From her recor­ding stu­dio and her own label Dream­land­re­cords on the island of Ibi­za, through to the dis­tri­bu­ti­on of inter­na­tio­nal music labels inclu­ding RRGEMS in Euro­pe, Jazz­man from the UK, and more recent­ly Pas­se­ri­ne Records and Third Man Records from the USA, Grossmann’s music has won devo­ted fans the world over. If, howe­ver, you are a new lis­te­ner, you will find with this album that you have come to a place whe­re con­tem­po­ra­ry spi­ri­tu­al jazz meets hap­pi­ness. Serious happiness.

In her inter­view with All About Jazz wri­ter Dave Kauf­man, Muri­el Gross­mann comm­ents on hap­pi­ness, not­ing that ‘if we ask our­sel­ves when we are hap­piest, it is sure­ly when we have made some­bo­dy hap­py,’ and she goes on to quo­te the Dalai Lama: ‘When we feel love and kind­ness towards others, it not only makes others feel loved and cared for, but it also helps us to deve­lop inner hap­pi­ness and peace.’

Lis­tening to the music on ‘The Light of the Mind’, Grossmann’s 16th album as lea­der, one feels that hap­pi­ness is the core of this recor­ding. It is hap­pi­ness achie­ved through recipro­ci­ty, inter­con­nec­tion, devo­ti­on, rever­ence and prac­ti­ce. Gross­mann has explai­ned to review­ers of her pre­vious albums the importance of Bud­dhism in her dai­ly life and the role of medi­ta­ti­on and post-medi­ta­ti­on prac­ti­ce. The titles of her recent albums and com­po­si­ti­ons reflect this. Glan­ce through the titles on ‘The Light of the Mind’ and you will begin to app­re­cia­te the con­nec­tion bet­ween Bud­dhist thought and Grossmann’s crea­ti­on of spi­ri­tu­al jazz.

The ope­ning track ‘Poin­ting Out, Part I’ beg­ins with a minu­te and a half of mood-set­ting Fen­der Rho­des, Ham­mond B3 organ and Moog by key­boar­dist Abel Boquera befo­re the rest of the quar­tet joins in. In Bud­dhist thought, poin­ting out is an intro­duc­tion to awa­re­ness, an exer­cise to direct one’s under­stan­ding towards the natu­re of mind. When Grossmann’s tenor saxo­pho­ne enters accom­pa­nied by Uros Stamenkovic’s soft­ly rol­ling drums and cym­bals and Rado­mir Milojkovic’s quiet gui­tar, the lis­te­ner is invi­ted to join them in con­tem­pla­ti­on and pre­pa­ra­ti­on for the num­bers to come. The title track which fol­lows imme­dia­te­ly enters into a groo­ve with Gross­mann again on tenor dri­ving the num­ber through a sea­ring 4 minu­te solo, han­ding over to Milo­j­ko­vic who­se intri­ca­te, sinuous gui­tar line is fol­lo­wed by Boquera solo­ing on Ham­mond and the enti­re 12 minu­te expe­ri­ence held tog­e­ther by Stamenkovic’s snap­ping and spar­k­ling drum work. The clo­sing num­ber on Side I, ‘Uni­son Unvei­led’ is this rare psy­che­de­lic R’n’B gem straight from the 1967 sum­mer of love, with Gross­mann play­ing through on sopra­no sax and edging towards ecsta­sy. Who said spi­ri­tu­al jazz can’t dance?

The first num­ber on Side II, ‘Ulti­ma­te Awa­re­ness’, beg­ins with haun­ting bass-end Ham­mond, light cym­bal tou­ch­es, spar­se gui­tar, harp arpeg­gi­os and medi­ta­ti­on bell, lea­ding to slow sul­try lines of sopra­no sax, han­ding over half way through to a com­pel­ling and blue­sy gui­tar solo by Milo­j­ko­vic, fol­lo­wed by a slin­ky Ham­mond run by Boquera, with Stamenkovic’s res­trai­ned and light punc­tua­ti­on throug­hout, the who­le ending with medi­ta­ti­on bell and harp fading into silence. Beau­tiful. Medi­ta­ti­on bell is also the first sound on the next track ‘Eter­nal Laugh­ter’, with Gross­mann ente­ring on flu­te, then swit­ching to alto saxo­pho­ne, and Sta­men­ko­vic kicking up the pace to dance fever once more. The joy of this num­ber reminds us that laugh­ter has its place in both con­tem­pla­ti­on and in our tog­e­ther­ness. Our being tog­e­ther in midst of this cra­zy life.

The album clo­ser ‘Poin­ting Out, Part II’ has Gross­mann retur­ning to tenor for a slow, medi­ta­ti­ve solo atop a mar­ching rhythm sus­tained by drums, gui­tar and Ham­mond. The hap­pi­ness in this num­ber is one of moving tog­e­ther, play­ing tog­e­ther, lis­tening tog­e­ther, as we con­tem­p­la­te our awa­re­ness, our mindful­ness, our being here, in this moment, now.

May the music you hear on ‘The Light of the Mind’ bring you such moments, such happiness.

Micha­el Jack­lin, August 2024

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Concert critic Porgy & Bess Feb 2024 by Samir H. Köck

Now Ame­ri­ca is at the feet of our jazz star

——–
Pure ecsta­sy: Saxo­pho­nist Muri­el Gross­mann pre­sen­ted her new album “Devo­ti­on” at Por­gy & Bess. BY SAMIR H. KÖCK
————–

                   Sin­ce Joe Zawinul, no one in the Aus­tri­an jazz sce­ne has achie­ved such an inter­na­tio­nal impact as this. But was she ever part of it? The only thing that is cer­tain is that Muri­el Gross­mann brief­ly work­ed as a wai­tress at Por­gy & Bess. She has been living in Ibi­za sin­ce 2004 and has deve­lo­ped her inten­si­ve impro­vi­sa­tio­nal art on the tenor saxo­pho­ne the­re, which has beco­me incre­asing­ly popu­lar. Now US rock star Jack White (White Stripes) has taken the plun­ge and released Grossmann’s famous new album “Devo­ti­on” on his Third Man label. A US tour in the fall is being pre­pared, thus igni­ting a fur­ther stage in her care­er . It was hot right from the start in the packed Por­gy, also becau­se Gross­mann acted extre­me­ly hea­ted­ly. The mise en place was alre­a­dy impres­si­ve: alto, sopra­no and tenor saxo­pho­nes were wai­ting in hol­ders, shell and snail shell neck­laces around the micro­pho­ne. The The set­list res­ted on the organ, which new­co­mer Abel Boquera hand­led with con­fi­dence. Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic sho­ne on the gui­tar, Uros Sta­men­ko­vic work­ed on the drums. With “Abso­lu­te Truth”, a groo­ve mara­thon, things got into full swing. The rough sound was remi­nis­cent of the late six­ties, when soul jazz first came to the fore. It was ama­zing what ener­gy and endu­rance this deli­ca­te per­son had. When her col­le­agues soloed , she danced, rust­led with shells or hit the minia­tu­re chi­mes. For the second set she brought Gina Schwarz onto the stage, a “sis­ter in crime” and “mur­de­rer on the bass,” as Gross­mann right­ly said. And becau­se the hour does­n’t strike for the lucky ones, it ended up being almost three. Pure ecstasy!

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Review of Universal Code by Tim Caspar Boehme, HHV Magazin, Germany

Review of Uni­ver­sal Code by Tim Cas­par Boehme,
HHV Maga­zin, Ger­ma­ny, 28.06.23 

VIEW ORIGINAL SOURCE HERE

                           The term “Uni­ver­sal Code” encom­pas­ses a remar­kab­le coll­ec­tion of dif­fe­rent types of cha­rac­ter sets. First, the­re is Uni­code in typo­gra­phy, then gene­tics, whe­re the word refers to DNA. It also has a func­tion in pro­gramming lan­guages and even in ethics. In the album “Uni­ver­sal Code” by saxo­pho­nist Muri­el Gross­mann, who lives in Ibi­za, her music its­elf ser­ves as ano­ther mea­ning. It is a modal jazz that appeals to the spi­ri­tu­al through its poly­rhyth­mi­cal­ly com­plex groo­ve, wit­hout negle­c­ting the body as ano­ther reci­pi­ent. Her long pie­ces with exten­ded impro­vi­sa­ti­ons effort­less­ly pro­pel for­ward, deri­ving strength from high­ly disci­pli­ned ensem­ble play, whe­re flex­ing mus­cles is not part of the ges­tu­res. Muri­el Gross­mann and her three col­la­bo­ra­tors — gui­ta­rist Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic, Llo­renç Bar­celó on Ham­mond organ, and drum­mer Uros Sta­men­ko­vic, with bas­sist Gina Schwarz sup­port­ing them in some tracks — enga­ge their audi­ence in this man­ner. The com­po­si­ti­ons of Muri­el Gross­mann pos­sess too much ele­gan­ce for that pur­po­se. Upon the initi­al impres­si­on, this approach may seem out­da­ted, but over the cour­se of near­ly seven­ty minu­tes, which “Uni­ver­sal Code” claims, it sim­ply pro­ves to be a clas­sic voca­bu­la­ry that deri­ves its moder­ni­ty from the fact that the­se melo­dies and har­mo­nies, the­se phra­sings and accents, all natu­ral­ly fall into place and speak direct­ly to the lis­te­ner. The first three tracks are named “Reso­nan­ce,” “Cla­ri­ty,” and “Inter­con­nec­tion,” pre­cis­e­ly describ­ing what the music does to you.

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Album Review for UNIVERSAL CODE by Jan Hocek in SKJAZZ.SK, 02/03/2023

 

ALBUM REVIEW for UNIVERSAL CODE by Jan Hocek in SKJAZZ.SK, 02/03/2023

Sin­ce 2007, the Aus­tri­an (though born in Paris) saxo­pho­nist and com­po­ser Muri­el Gross­mann has been releasing albums of extra­or­di­na­ry qua­li­ty and artis­tic depth.  She has been living in Ibi­za sin­ce 2004 and has deve­lo­ped a distinct­ly spi­ri­tu­al approach to modern jazz.  She thus deve­lo­ps the lega­cy of John Col­tra­ne, com­bi­nes Afri­can music, modal jazz, gos­pel, blues, free jazz, acid-jazz and Eas­tern tra­di­ti­ons in a com­ple­te­ly natu­ral, com­plex, expres­si­ve, rhyth­mic and nar­ra­ti­ve man­ner with full-bloo­ded vigor and sen­si­ti­vi­ty at the same time.  After all, we alre­a­dy review­ed four of her pre­vious albums here: CD Muri­el Gross­mann – Momen­tum (Dream­land Records, 2017), CD Muri­el Gross­mann — Rever­ence (Dream­land Records, 2019), CD Muri­el Gross­mann – Quiet Earth (Dream­land Records, 2020) and CD Muri­el Gross­mann  — Uni­on (Dream­land Records, 2021) and with enthu­si­asm.  On the new recor­ding, she found a true uni­ver­sal code of modern jazz;  tog­e­ther with her team­ma­tes, she lite­ral­ly crea­ted the essence of the most vital, the most endu­ring jazz, regard­less of cur­rent fashions and trends.  After all, the­re are real­ly excel­lent instru­men­ta­lists play­ing in her quar­tet.  Gui­ta­rist Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic, a nati­ve of Bel­gra­de, stu­di­ed music in Bar­ce­lo­na from 2002, then per­for­med and recor­ded with, for exam­p­le, Chris­ti­an Lil­lin­ger, Johan­nes Fink and Joa­chim Kühn.  He has been living and working in Ibi­za sin­ce 2007, whe­re he beca­me a regu­lar team­ma­te of Muri­el Gross­mann.  Orga­nist Llo­renç Bar­celó was born in Mal­lor­ca, ten years ago he work­ed in the Euro­pean Jazz Orches­tra, with David Mur­ray and his band accom­pa­nied James “Blood” Ulmer on his Euro­pean tour.  He curr­ent­ly plays exten­si­ve­ly with Afri­can musi­ci­ans, is a mem­ber of the Ghost Seed trio, and sin­ce 2018 has also been play­ing with Muri­el Gross­mann.  Drum­mer Uros Sta­men­ko­vic from Bel­gra­de stu­di­ed and work­ed in Bar­ce­lo­na, ​​from whe­re he moved to Toron­to, Cana­da in 2008, later to New York, and retur­ned to Ser­bia in 2013.  A year later he star­ted working with Gross­mann.  Aus­tri­an bas­sist Gina Schwarz, who cer­tain­ly does not need to be intro­du­ced here, is a guest on three tracks (out of nine).  I’ll admit that her dou­ble bass in Tran­si­ence is into­xi­ca­tingly cap­ti­vat­ing;  howe­ver, her vir­tuo­si­ty is not an end in its­elf, on the con­tra­ry, it expands the expres­si­ve­ness of jazz by a direct­ly phy­si­cal dimen­si­on.  After all, right from the ope­ning, nine-minu­te long track Reso­nan­ce, the lis­te­ner is expo­sed to the attack of some­thing almost other­world­ly, sim­ply inde­scri­ba­ble.  The rhyth­mic flow is satu­ra­ted with acid, the organ is psy­che­de­li­cal­ly blur­red, as if cra­cked, ever­y­thing has a hyp­no­tic effect.  And over that rolls a melo­dious and pas­sio­na­te saxo­pho­ne, bea­ting from the heart, from the insi­de of a woman, which has tur­ned into a pul­sa­ting, expan­ding Uni­ver­se.  The sopra­no in par­ti­cu­lar, with her fero­cious melo­dious­ness, enhan­ces the spi­ri­tu­al effect of the music;  in addi­ti­on to Reso­nan­ce, the­re are also the tracks Cla­ri­ty, the more than ten-minu­te long Inter­con­nec­tion and Essence).  Howe­ver, it must be added that the enti­re album does not have a sin­gle weak­ne­ss and if you let yours­elf be absor­bed, you will be reward­ed with an extra­or­di­na­ry lis­tening expe­ri­ence that has the power to tru­ly enrich your life.  It’s not just music, it’s some­thing that tran­s­cends a per­son… Of cour­se, I’m bela­ted­ly inclu­ding this album in my Top 10, or rather now Top 11!
Jan Hocek, skjazz, Slovakia
 They play:
 Muri­el Gross­mann – sopra­no, alto and tenor saxophone
 Rado­mir Milo­j­ko­vic — guitar
 Llo­rens Bar­ce­lo Vives — Ham­mond organ
 Uros Sta­men­ko­vic — drums
 … and guest:
 Gina Schwarz – dou­ble bass

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