Keith Jarrett
Rio

The beautiful things are becoming increasingly rare. In the past, beauty was protected and encouraged because the need to feel good was too important to be ignored. Unfortunately, today it is no longer like that, and people are losing (at least in Italy) their taste for certain products of art, which are too often ignored and taken for granted, supplanted by a certain homogeneity of thought that pushes towards an increasingly totalizing conception of what is, or is not, artistic.

Fortunately, however, having the chance to hear something precious coming from your stereo speakers is still possible, thanks to works of undeniable class and soul like this new endeavor by Keith Jarrett, a double album that, in its approximately one and a half hours of music, presents us with an artist truly at his best: technical, imaginative, and extroverted, capable of both "running" on the keyboard and "stopping" to reflect, to move emotionally, through notes as delicate as the autumn rain breaking on the last leaves still green and thriving. The most surprising thing about a work like "Rio," recorded on April 9, 2011 at the Municipal Theatre of Rio de Janeiro, is its ability to combine so-called "learned" music with a simple and straightforward approach, punctuated by dividing the concert into small tracks (which I like to think of as movements of a long and splendid suite) of medium duration, so as to show the listener a kaleidoscope of rhythms, atmospheres, and always different sensations, balancing between the reflective and the melancholic, without necessarily having to fit into certain patterns of coherence that, in the case of a unified musical block, become almost necessary. On the other hand, it’s worth remembering how structuring the performance into various microtexts is by no means new, as it’s been some time since the good Jarrett decided to abandon the long improvised rides that have greatly contributed to cementing his fame internationally, in favor of a more immediate and assimilable approach, a choice probably also stemming from the health issues that afflicted the American pianist in the 1990s, which, while not affecting his class and compositional verve, have slightly undermined his physical stamina, making this approach to the concert less tiring. Nevertheless, all the elements that have built, brick by brick, the fame of this extraordinary artist are well present and audible, in fact, we find at the beginning the classic Jarrett "note seeker" who, with nervous movements, moves on the keyboard in search of the suitable rhythm, chord, and harmony, dragging us listeners into his "hunt," as we suffer, smile, and fall in love together with him every time he presses a key or constructs a melody, pleased to have the privilege of listening to music like this, written (or rather: improvised) to make one dream and recall those times when the pursuit of happiness was not a utopia, but a common and completely shareable goal.

Are we, therefore, facing a concert/journey? I feel compelled to respond affirmatively, as every Keith Jarrett performance is somehow a journey, where he rises on the wings of music and gradually builds the way, while the spectators tread it from behind his shoulders, creating the landscapes and contours, in a continuous and interactive exchange, from which unique, personal sensations and colors are generated, so different from each other that they are nearly impossible to describe in words. Linking back to the initial discussion about the beauty of art, it is precisely here, in my opinion, that the concept of protection and pursuit of beauty is explained, in an experiential journey where artistic expression (in our case music) serves as the locomotive for thoughts and reflections, where a chord or a voice can evoke emotions so profound and innovative as to transcend the individual who produces them and be useful even to the community, because the mind, unlike the body, cannot be imprisoned without its explicit will, and a free thought flies higher than the sky and has no boundaries, except those it draws itself. I wanted to conclude my analysis by thanking you for reading my writing and asking you one last small favor: close your eyes and imagine yourself in a place (arranged as you wish) where you are sitting comfortably and relaxed; in front of you, there is a man, thin and tight, who plays a splendid black piano, dark and romantic like a serene night.

Now listen to the notes he gradually creates and tell me: isn't it beautiful to be alive?