Devin Brahja Waldman
Brahja

THE REVIEW

Do you think jazz is really dead?

“Brahja” is the debut album by multi-instrumentalist and composer Devin Brahja Waldman, released in 2019 by RR Gems Records.

This is an album steeped in a dark, mystical, and ritualistic atmosphere—almost as if, while listening, you were witnessing a true sonic ceremony rather than a typical sequence of jazz tracks. The compositions start from rhythmic patterns and/or repetitive melodies, which immediately become the stable core around which a complex sonic scenario revolves, made up of synths, voices, processed guitars, and percussion.

The result is a groove that at times may recall some masterpieces of experimental jazz, such as those by Charles Mingus or Ornette Coleman, while still maintaining an absolutely individual identity.

The musicians become a “collective organism.” The sound of their instruments merges, creating a continuous and layered “sonic fabric” that ends up becoming an immersive experience. The ensemble features musicians from the jazz scenes of New York, Montreal, and Chicago. Alongside Devin Brahja Waldman – saxophone, piano, synthesizer, drums – we find: Isis Giraldo – piano, synthesizer, voice; Damon Shadrach Hankoff – organ, piano, synthesizer; Martin Heslop – acoustic bass; Daniel Gélinas – drums, synthesizer; Margaret Morris – voice (tracks 1 and 2); Sam Shalabi – guitar (tracks 3, 6, 8); Luke Stewart – electric bass/pedals (tracks 2, 4, 5, 6, 9); Daniel Carter – soprano saxophone (tracks 5 and 10); Anais Maviel – surdo and voice (track 10).

The album immediately shows off its credentials in a powerful and striking way, beginning with the beautiful gatefold cover characterized by Ryock’s artwork and the “woodcut” based on photographs by Isaac Rosenthal, on covers by Jason MClean and Hanz Mambo, as well as photos by No Land, TSE, Mazen Kerbaj, Simon DesRochers. The lettering and text design are by Corey J. of The Veazies, while the layout is by Ilja Tulit.

Waldman himself has described his work as a metaphor for “spiritual purification”—a musical journey to “eliminate unwanted darkness” and turn it into “renewal,” passing through moments of unease and arriving at meditative and cathartic moments, with an intense and cinematic atmosphere thanks to the fusion of free jazz and ambient.

At this point, it is tempting to draw comparisons between Devin Brahja’s music and that of greats such as Sun Ra, John Coltrane, and Pharoah Sanders: the three pillars of spiritual jazz and jazz avant-garde, even if their aesthetics differ greatly from one another.

The first explicit reference that comes to mind is the cosmic aesthetic of Sun Ra, who conceived music as a cosmic journey. Waldman, in fact, uses similar titles and atmospheres with a sense of ritual, spiritual, and almost shamanic dimension, thanks to the use of synthesizers, electric keyboards, and collective improvisation. However, while Sun Ra composed highly complex orchestral arrangements, Waldman prefers a more spontaneous, almost rock-like approach to composition.

The second reference is to Coltrane’s spiritual phase, such as on the album “A Love Supreme,” with which Trane transformed “old jazz” into a new means of philosophical and religious expression.

In “Brahja,” the ritual approach of the voices, mantras, and extended improvisations reflects this concept. While Coltrane developed lengthy modal improvisations, many of Waldman’s tracks rely on modal vamps that favor fragmentation and more anarchic improvisation.

However, the most direct comparison is with Pharoah Sanders’ album “Karma,” which features vocal chants, mystical atmospheres, and long improvisations leaning toward a more meditative and tonal dimension, whereas Waldman introduces rock, noise, experimental indie, and ambient influences, with a less orchestral sound, closer to the New York avant-jazz scene of the first decade of the new millennium.

The opening track, “In the Mess,” introduces the sonic world of the album, starting with cymbals, drones (a constant sonic cluster), and saxophone that, in a slow crescendo, are joined by the “spectral” voices of the choir to represent the initial chaos, the “confusion” of contemporary reality, while collective improvisation symbolizes the futile attempt to find order within disorder.

“Keepers” is a more structured track, with a brighter groove. The keepers are the guardians of knowledge, memory, and tradition. The interplay between sax and keyboards establishes a more defined rhythm, with an almost ceremonial feel.

“Qwikness,” a deliberately distorted title, is a shorter and more nervous piece, with rapid, almost funk-jazz style improvisations. It represents the frenetic speed of contemporary life—an explosive moment of energy before the more spiritual sections.

“Medicine Woman” is the album’s longest (about 12 minutes) and central track. It celebrates the shamanic figure of the medicine woman, present in many Indigenous cultures. It has a hypnotic progression, sustained by a highly expressive sax, with voice and instruments building a trance. It represents the moment of spiritual healing.

“Ineffable Intro” is the brief but intense transition piece—a contemplative pause preparing for a new phase of the journey.

“Just Passing Thru” is the most meditative piece of the work. It represents the transience of existence (“Pulvis et umbra sumus”: Horace, Odes, IV, 7). The atmosphere is suspended. The improvisation becomes more lyrical.

“Return of the Good Enemy” struck me as a philosophically very interesting track. An introspective groove tells us that the “good enemy” is precisely the inner challenge that helps us grow through conflict with ourselves.

“Money / People / Time” is probably one of the album’s most conceptual pieces. The track brings together the three forces that, more than ever, dominate modern society: money, human relationships, and time. In other words, it invites us to reflect on the overwhelming dynamics that serve as the metronome of modern life.

“Can't Stand It” is a short track but packed with compressed energy, expressed through a very nervous groove that conveys frustration and protest.

“Welcom to Wohlom,” the symbolic closing track, is a term invented by Waldman which also appears in his other works. It seems to represent the spiritual or imaginary place where Devin Brahja’s artistic language is filled with spiritual symbols, archetypes, and nearly mystical concepts.

The artistic content of the album is not limited to just the music, but transcends into the track titles, the names of the projects (see the KADEF project), and the liner notes, using a truly personal symbolic vocabulary. This musical vocabulary is the result of spiritual jazz, Indigenous cultures, esoteric philosophy, and artistic improvisation.

“Brahja,” in other words, is a highly immersive spiritual and experimental album, particularly recommended for those who love the more “cosmic” and avant-garde side of contemporary jazz.

"I don’t believe that jazz will ever really die" Chet Baker