Chet Baker
Almost Blue

Less is More.

Chet Baker doesn't play the trumpet, he whispers it.

Each single note of his is a breath with an uncertain step, suspended between loss and desire. A sweet neutral zone, to be honest, with a bitter aftertaste.

A bit like that aged whisky in those old barrels that previously contained essences of rum and Sherry, capable of giving the liquor those sweet and fruity notes.

Arcane voices in the night, extinguished days finding peace in the damp shade of a worn and twisted sheet.

Baker's trumpet, what is it if not that faint sound, in the blind breath of the trumpet, sweet lament, gentle need, that the air grazes.

Almost Blue, published in 1987, is more than a reinterpretation of Elvis Costello's track, it's a sonic journey through the shadows of a tormented soul, a polaroid of solitude that dissolves in the whisper of a fragile harmony.

In the last years of his life, between 1987 and 1988, Chet Baker continued to perform in Europe, where he found a more welcoming audience compared to the United States. His style, by then steeped in melancholy and fragility, was reflected in his increasingly intimate and poignant interpretations. During this period, Baker collaborated with several European musicians, including the Italian pianist Enrico Pieranunzi, with whom he recorded some memorable albums.

In 1988, his career and life were tragically cut short. On May 13th of that year, Baker was found dead in Amsterdam, after falling from a hotel window. The circumstances of his death remain shrouded in mystery: some hypothesize an accident, others speak of suicide or an event linked to his long-standing drug addiction.

Baker's trumpet doesn't seek perfection, but aims to touch your heart. His phrasing is essential, intimate, not seeking followers and seems to almost escape everything that evokes movement.

The timbre is almost broken, as if each note is a memory that shatters in the air.

She arrives without hurry, without having really chosen that place, but only because the night brought her there. The coat still damp from the rain, her hair loose on her shoulders, the look of someone who belongs nowhere. Her entrance is silent, as if the world made room for her arrival without the need for gestures. She pauses for a moment, observes the venue with eyes that seem to search for something, and then approaches the bar, her hands brushing that well-lived wood.

If Almost Blue were a novel, it would be a metropolitan noir, a story of intertwined destinies in the streets of a rain-drenched city. It would be the soundtrack of a solitary detective, of a lover observing the night from the window of a forgotten hotel. Baker's music becomes narration, takes air and spreads silently into the night.

He looks at her, expecting nothing. There is a brief moment where their eyes meet, in that moment the trumpet makes the decision to keep on playing, suspending time.

She orders a whisky, no ice, her voice is low, almost a whisper. He recognizes in that choice something familiar, something that intrigues him. She sits beside him, not too close, just enough for him to feel her presence. They don’t talk immediately, allowing the music to envelop them, the night to build a refuge for them.

The minimal arrangement leaves space for the silence, which becomes an integral part of the composition. Every pause is a heartbeat of waiting, a moment in which time seems to stand still. The choice of dilated tempos and a subdued dynamic opens a gateway in the music, transforming the track into a cinematic experience, a sonic frame of that world that knows it exists only among those notes.

The sound of the trumpet now seems more intense, as if it consciously realizes it's accompanying a fragile moment, truly built on very thin balances. Now their gazes seek balance, a plane of support, like a silent acrobat suspended in the air. Outside the noise of the rain grows stronger.

They talk softly.

Haste, slowed in the altered indifference of the notes.

Words flow without rhythm and without timing.

He tells her how he got there, she how she never knows where she'll end up.

Both ultimately lost in that lack of direction.

Almost Blue is not just a track, but a story in music.

Baker transforms it into a jazz lament, a sonic snapshot of a soul lost among shades of blue. It is the sound of a never-ending night, of a love fading into memory, of a city breathing through the notes of a solitary trumpet.

That Sky, almost Blue, can continue its cry.

But without haste.