Freysteinn: Að einhverju / To Somewhere
Freysteinn

Icelandic double bassist Freysteinn Gislason likens his third album to a travelogue packed with unpredictable twists and turns, or, as he says, “Imagine you're changing the TV channel, and you don't know what's coming next.” The contents of Að einhverju/To somewhere bear that out in featuring eight pieces that do, in fact, surprise with unexpected and eccentric left-turns. Through-lines are present, however, to give the album cohesiveness and coherence, specifically the personnel involved and Freysteinn's idiosyncratic sensibility as a composer.

He's spent many years developing himself as a double bassist. After initiating his studies at Félag Íslenskra Tónlistarmanna (FÍH) in Reykjavík, he moved to Holland to obtain a Bachelor's degree in music for double bass at The Royal Conservatorium of Den Haag. After completing the degree in 2016, he ventured to Portugal to undertake a Master's degree in Double Bass at the Escola Superior De Música De Lisbon ESML. As a performer, he's appeared at multiple jazz festivals in Iceland, Norway, and Lithuania and also performed in Holland, Germany, Denmark, Portugal, and Spain.

Joined by guitarist Hilmar Jensson, tenor saxophonist Helgi R. Heiðarsson, and drummer Óskar Kjartansson, Freysteinn grounds and animates the eight tracks with authoritative double bass playing. Perhaps the most unusual thing about Að einhverju / To Somewhere is that while it's categorically jazz, most of the performances eschew the familiar rhythms associated with the style; in fact, it's only with the closing track, “Endir,” that the album veers towards the orbit of uptempo jazz as conventionally defined. That said, two stalwarts of the form, improvisation and individual expression, are integral to the recording.

No tune is more arresting than “To somewhere,” which opens the release with a loping, serpentine groove and whole-note accents from the bassist and front-liners. Jensson, whose playing is reminiscent of Bill Frisell's in its resonant twang and tremolo, delivers a solo on the opener that's characteristically adventurous. Heiðarsson's an effective counterpart to the guitarist in being as freewheeling. Meanwhile, Kjartansson plays with a responsive inventiveness that makes him an effective partner to the leader. Freysteinn's distinctive compositional voice carries over into “Lisboa” as it advances through a series of step-wise melodic figures before the double bassist steps forth for a probing solo. As the music develops, interactions between the four grow more intense and volatile, with the bassist and saxophonist animating the charge with unison lines.

The leader's prowess on his instrument is demonstrated at the outset of “Inngangur” when he lays a solid foundation for the others to build upon. Atmospheric textures by the other three flesh out the moody terrain and evoke a picture of a scarred landscape devoid of human presence. Eventually, however, the music grows restless as the four animate it with a propulsion that becomes ever more furious and, thanks to Jensson, scalding. “Vera” is likewise a ponderous mood setting that unfolds patiently, with its slow pace calling forth thoughtfully explorative statements from Heiðarsson and Jensson.

Moods change with regularity from one track to the next and often within a piece. “Fæðing” segues between multiple parts, one grounded in a fluttering, quasi-funk groove, another intricately melodic, and yet another blues-driven. Whereas “Fallegt/Skrítið” starts out meditatively (the tone darkened by Freysteinn's bowing), it eventually grows nightmarish when Jensson strafes the music with reverberant shards. Elsewhere, the guitarist's snarl imbues “Í átt að einhverju” with a grungy heaviness, a feel the others convey in their own aggressive attack.

October 2024