GOOD DAYS AT SCHLOSS ELMAU by Gwilym Simcock

When I began writing this post, I had every intention of crafting a lengthy diatribe about the need of the Mercury Prize organisers to include one "token" jazz album every year in their shortlist of nominees.  I quickly realised that this would be nothing more than a futile rant, since it's an argument so old as to have been made by Alexis Petridis in an article for the Guardian way back in 2002.  Much as I'm usually riled by Petridis' indie-centric populism, I have to agree that it's pointless to bemoan the Mercury's tokenistic approach to the inclusion of one particular genre, when the very idea of comparing albums featuring wildly different styles and attempting to identify "the best" is inherently ridiculous.  What I really wanted to do was write about Gwilym Simcock's Good Days At Schloss Elmau, although to refer to it merely as this year's "token jazz entry" at the Mercurys does a great disservice to a wonderful record.

I don't like using other artists as reference points in my posts; it smacks of lazy music writing.  In the case of Good Days At Schloss Elmau, though, I'm going to have to make an exception, as this album reminds me so strongly of Keith Jarrett's solo work that it'd be remiss of me not to at least give him a mention.  In particular, Simcock's playing on this album is reminiscent of Jarrett's improvised piano pieces on records like Koln Concert and La Scala, which combine a jazz sensibility with fragments of lush romanticism.  Simcock's training as a classical pianist is evident on tracks like Mezzotint, where rolling waves of arpeggios disintegrate into quiet clusters of notes, drawing the listener in from start to finish.  But the versatility of his playing is also apparent in the bluesy rhythms and lurching solos of Gripper, as well as the dramatic cascade of melodies on meandering epic Can We Still Be Friends.  It's difficult to tell how much of the music here might be improvised, but every track seems to hang on a well-crafted structure; further evidence of Simcock's successful melding of jazz and classical romantic styles.  Perhaps the greatest testament to the performances on this album is that despite being recorded entirely by one man sitting at a piano, they seem to take the listener on a journey through vast, glittering soundscapes which bigger and louder groups of musicians would struggle to replicate with any amount of instrumentation.

The album was recorded at the eponymous "cultural hideaway" of Schloss Elmau in the Bavarian alps, and the cold beauty of the landscape seems to have infused the music.  Across the eight tracks collected here, Simcock paints pictures of love, loss and overwhelming longing using nothing more than his piano keys.  Decent jazz pianists may be ten-a-penny these days, but it's rare to find one whose playing is so evocative.  That said, Good Days... still won't win the Mercury Prize.  It won't win, but I really hope it does.