Patricia Brennan: Of the Near and Far
Pyroclastic Records

With Of the Near and Far, Mexican-born vibraphonist Patricia Brennan builds on the considerable momentum generated by her 2024 release Breaking Stretch, which received a slew of accolades and awards, including jazz album of the year in the DownBeat critics poll. Rather than repeat the winning formula of her third album as a leader, however, Brennan's hunting bigger game on the new release and taking the kinds of risks befitting the kind of intrepid artist she's shown herself to be.

As a telescope-wielding astronomy buff, it was only a matter of time before this stargazer would look to the constellations for inspiration. Exemplifying her daring as a composer, she considered how she might translate what she saw in the sky and the stars into musical form and decided to map the circle of fifths onto a number of constellations, from which collections of pitches emerged that became the foundation for the album's seven compositions. In her words, Of the Near and Far “confirms a wild theory that I had, that I could find symmetry harmonically or melodically by superimposing two symmetrical shapes—one from astronomy and one from music” (included in the release booklet are commentaries by Brennan that illuminate the approach behind each piece).

It's therefore less the remarkable ensemble she assembled—Brennan plus pianist Sylvie Courvoisier, guitarist Miles Okazaki, bassist Kim Cass, drummer John Hollenbeck, violinists Modney and Pala Garcia, violist Kyle Armbrust, cellist Michael Nicolas, electronic musician Arktureye, and conductor Eli Greenhoe—and more the compositional approach she devised that makes the project so striking. Such wide-ranging personnel enabled her to draw upon her jazz experiences, classical percussion studies at Philadelphia's prestigious Curtis Institute of Music, and her affection for the forward-thinking music of bands like Radiohead and Tortoise.

Being able to compose with a jazz quintet, string quartet, and electronic sound-colourist at her fingertips allowed for the wildest of electro-acoustic conceptions to be realized. The result is music that's beyond category, even if it might be pitched as some heady fusion of jazz, classical, and post-rock; regardless, the instrumental forces allowed her to switch from chamber classical to contemporary jazz in mid-flight. Interestingly, the album registers as more of a seven-movement suite than a collection of unrelated pieces, especially when one flows fluidly into the next.

Brennan's audacity is evident in the musical approach crafted for the opening “Antlia,” which eighteenth-century French astronomer Nicolas-Louis de Lacaille named after the air pump (he regularly named constellations after scientific instruments). That detail prompted the vibraphonist to have the musicians act as if they're parts of a machine, each with a specific function, to give the piece a mechanical feel. The players do, in fact, deliver their parts with motorik-driven energy, and with a trippy jazz-funk ostinato as the rhythmic underpinning, Okazaki drapes flurries across the ensemble's combustible base before Brennan glides in with her own freewheeling solo. As the two trade off to usher the track to a close, the band roars like precisely the kind of machine she envisioned.

Emerging from “Antlia” is “Aquarius,” which begins peacefully but, spearheaded by guitar and vibraphone, gradually develops into a dreamy spellcaster of escalating intensity and interlocking power. Following an African-inflected intro, “Andromeda” roars with guitar-fueled fury as it grows tumultuous, with Brennan and company evoking the cataclysm scheduled to arrive four-and-a-half billion years from now. As “Citlalli” is the word for ‘star' in the Nahuatl language of the indigenous Mexican people, it doesn't surprise that the collage-styled tapestry, stitched together by Arktureye from group improvisations and subjected to further processing, would play like an exploding star. The classical dimension moves to the fore in “Lyra” when strings introduce it, but the performance expands into other zones, furious jazz-rock among them, as the stylistic ground progressively shifts. Ending the set is the uplifting, Nietzsche-referencing tone painting "When You Stare Into the Abyss,” with bowed vibraphone and electronics humbly conveying awe at the immensity of the universe.

Make no mistake, Of the Near and Far is as esoteric as it is musically bold; it's also never less than arresting when the compositions are so unpredictable and the performances so committed. Anything but a head-solos-head affair, the album takes one by surprise at every turn, and, while individual players do shine, the album's more a collective achievement, even if Brennan's the visionary force behind it. These are clearly terrific times for lovers of jazz vibraphone, what with her, Sarah Berliner, Simon Moullier, Joel Ross, and others all making vital contributions to the scene. Of the Near and Far is but the latest manifestation of that very welcome development.

October 2025