By Steve Provizer

The Vijay Iyer Trio creates an atmosphere that becomes so intense listeners are compelled to share the vibe.

Vijay Iyer — composer, piano; Linda May Han Oh — bass; Jeremy Dutton — drums. At the Shalin Liu Performance Center, Rockport, MA, on November 24.

Set List. Unless otherwise noted, all compositions by Iyer: “Compassion,” “Combat Breathing,” “Where I Am, Work” (by Thelonious Monk), “Abundance,” “Historicity,” “Uneasy,” “Prelude: Orison, Kite” (for Refaat Alareer), “Entrustment,” “Overjoyed (by Stevie Wonder)” — this version was a tribute to Chick Corea. Iyer was given the late Corea’s piano, and the song was the last thing the late pianist played in public.

The Vijay Iyer Trio with Linda May Han Oh and Jeremy Dutton. Photo: Jazz Desk.

The word ”freedom” is foundational to jazz, yet its definition hangs in midair. The expression “free jazz” has taken on a specific meaning, referring to spontaneity without familiar guideposts. John Coltrane is the exemplar of a jazz musician who pushed so hard on traditional structures that he rendered them moot. But a musical situation that liberates one jazz musician can straitjacket another. Even in highly structured jazz, musicians can seek and find freedom. In the improviser’s thousandth chorus of “St. Louis Blues Blues” or “Stella By Starlight,” conscious thought may dissipate and a more liminal space appear.

Vijay Iyer has forged music that shares characteristics of both “free” and “mainstream” jazz. It creates a space for technique in which it can be mobilized for the sake of liberated “embodiment” — via shifting physical, social and cultural elements — that can arrive at a singular kind of freedom. It requires a group for its creation, but might also be seen as an extension of a “personal voice”– the sine qua non of jazz. The jazz community has recognized this innovation and has showered Iyer with awards. The acclaim is deserved.

Iyer arrived at his accomplishments painstakingly, dovetailing his experiences in the trenches with a more rarified yet still down-to-earth analysis of how music works. Iyer has explained it this way: “…with all of my music, I am interested in probing this loose constellation of concepts: change, stasis, repetition, evolution, attraction, repulsion, composition, improvisation, noise, technology, race, ethnicity, hybridity.”

Without getting too deep into the weeds, I’ll try to parse how I think his music works. The three foundational elements of any (Western) music are harmony, melody, and rhythm. Rhythmically, Iyer’s music is largely about pulse — one that can sustain shifting meters. There’s no Latin, shuffle, or bossa nova, although there is an occasional swing feel, with walking bass and standard swing pattern on the drums. One might say that the rhythm is not genre-bound, and it is created to accommodate the feel and the meter, not the other way around.

Harmonically, the music doesn’t move through the kind of chord sequences and cadences we normally associate with (nonfree) jazz. Recognizable standard tunes are sparse in the repertoire and, if played, are greatly altered. Nor is the harmony strictly modal. That is, rooted in scales rather than chords that move over the course of a number of bars. For the most part, Iyer’s music does not set up tension-and-release, at least as we usually think of it. Parameters present that might quicken an audience’s pulse rate are repetition, rhythmic build, and crescendos.

As far as the melody goes, Iyer writes in Exploding the Narrative in Jazz Improvisation that the kinesthetic versus the melodic approach form two extremes of a spectrum. He clearly leans heavily toward the kinesthetic. One sees this preference watching Iyer’s hands move during the performance. Most pianists’ hands are either playing or at rest. His hands are as much in contact (not literally) with his body as they are with the keyboard. They float, flutter, grasp, and sweep. Iyer’s melodies are replete with odd chromatic twists and unexpected pauses — there is no intent at being “memorable.” Even his slow tunes can’t be called “ballads” as we normally think of them; they aren’t characterized by shapely melodies, recurring themes, and simple resolutions. During the course of the evening, Ho’s bass solos ended up generating the “purest” melodic content.

The freedom in Iyer’s music is hard won and can only be achieved by the entire group: the musicians stand or fall together. Iyer’s band members must absorb a new vocabulary and maintain a keen awareness, on the fly, of all the twists and turns built into the music’s structures. The number of measures in any given section is frangible. There are fast transitions and meters and accents shift, crack, and expand; the length of solos is flexible. Iyer is largely responsible for cues, although all three players are in constant aural and visual contact. Iyer seems to make his choices based on subliminal messages silently agreed upon by the group.

The music comes wave after wave. There are few places where it takes a deep breath. Even in slow tunes, there is gravitas; no “easy” resting places are provided. The trio creates an atmosphere that becomes so intense listeners are compelled to share the vibe. Iyer, bassist Linda May Han Oh, and drummer Jeremy Dutton have forged a musical comity, entering wholeheartedly into a single demanding vision — their virtuosity is unerringly wielded in its service.

Steve Provizer writes on a range of subjects, most often the arts. He is a musician and blogs about jazz here.