In a world where music is often designed to disappear after 15 seconds, few recordings dare to ask you to slow down, breathe, and truly listen. But “When I Take The Five”, a live jazz recording from 1983 by pianist and composer Marc Soucy and his ensemble Antartica, does exactly that. And it does so with such elegance, soul, and sincerity that it feels less like a song and more like a memory returning from the fog of time.
Now re-released and available on Spotify, Apple Music, and YouTube, this piece is more than a relic — it’s a window. A window into a musical era defined not by digital polish, but by human risk, spontaneity, and the sacred ritual of playing together.
A Conversation in Real Time
Recorded in Massachusetts at a turning point in Soucy’s artistic journey, “When I Take The Five” features a stripped-down trio: Soucy on piano, Jeff Carano on bass, and Ray Lavigne on drums. There are no synths. No overdubs. No safety nets. What you hear is what happened — and what happened was extraordinary.
The piece opens not with fanfare, but with a kind of quiet confidence. The piano leads, playful yet commanding. The bass and drums follow, not as support, but as equal voices in a conversation — urgent, fluid, alive. The interplay feels effortless, but it's anything but casual. This is the sound of musicians listening deeply to one another, navigating complex time signatures and textures with grace and grit.
There’s something cinematic about it too. You can almost picture smoky jazz clubs, mid-century furniture, warm analog microphones. But it never feels like nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake. Instead, it’s a vivid, breathing document — a moment captured before it knew it would matter.
Not a Reissue — A Resurrection
To call this a reissue would be reductive. “When I Take The Five” doesn’t come back from the past — it rises into the present. It speaks directly to a generation that may have never known music without quantization, auto-tune, or algorithmic suggestion.
And yet, here it is: pure, unfiltered, emotionally immediate. The absence of synthesizers, in this case, isn’t a limitation — it’s a revelation. It allows Soucy’s piano to shine with an intimacy that feels almost intrusive, as though you’re sitting beside him on the bench, watching his hands translate thought into melody.
It’s not jazz for the background. It’s jazz for the soul.
Music That Doesn't Apologize
This isn’t music that begs for attention — it earns it. It belongs in the same breath as the works of Herbie Hancock, Keith Jarrett, or even Chick Corea, yet it carries its own unique DNA. Soucy doesn’t imitate; he reveals. The trio’s chemistry is electric without being showy, expressive without being indulgent. Every note feels like a decision made in the moment — and every moment feels irreplaceable.
There’s no chorus to hum. No viral hook. And that’s the point. “When I Take The Five” is not here to be consumed — it’s here to be experienced.
Why It Matters Now
Releasing this piece now, in 2025, feels almost like a challenge. In an era of filters, fragments, and fast content, Soucy reminds us that some things still take time — and are all the better for it.
For young musicians, this track is a masterclass in restraint, interplay, and listening. For longtime jazz lovers, it’s a rediscovered treasure. And for everyone else, it’s proof that not all the good music has already been made — some of it just needed to be found again.
The Timeless Pulse
Ultimately, “When I Take The Five” is a message in a bottle. A recording made by three artists who never knew just how far their music would travel — or how deeply it would one day resonate. It reminds us that music doesn’t need to be perfect, or popular, or trending. It just needs to be real.
And this? This is as real as it gets.
Añadir comentario
Comentarios