The 70 minutes of Fehér Virág will flow like a breeze if you just set yourselves comfortable. It might sound as a mainstream recommendation, for all consequential musics should be absorbed in optimal conditions. But when Szilárd Mezei is a part of the equation, there’s that extra need of fine-tuning a listener’s receptors to envision the human dynamics at work. The ultimate outcome consists of sublime counterpoints whose textural fertility mostly derives from overtones and microtonal auras surrounding the so-called “regular” pitches. That harmonic wealth becomes conspicuous as soon as the initial “Vadludak I-II” begins, as the mind is projected in a lost world where musicians still have a command of the interior languages and spend more days practicing their craft than hustling to get a spot in the sun.
And so the enchantment goes on. An overall impression of thoughtful calmness is never disturbed by the slightly dissonant qualities of certain passages. If one needs to move to another side of the room while listening, tiptoeing is required to avoid the disruption of a rare acoustic coherence. Mezei conceived this opus as a series of transitions between improvised sections and predefined scores, each player’s insight adding touches of wisdom to a well-formed integrity. The leader’s viola is at once intangible and incisive, revealing decades of intimacy with numberless influences. Svetlana Novaković utilizes the flute by filling the air with messages and suggestions dictated by real-time lucidity. István Csík’s sober percussive atmospheres, in the lone episode where he’s featured, are placeable halfway through collected ritualism and classic swing. A special mention must be reserved to guitarist Maja Radovanlija: her contribution to the interplay shows discretion and maturity in spades. A potential case study for various oversung pickers possessing half of the depth that this woman seems to have.
Listen to this beautiful disc; acclimatizing with its arrangements and colors won’t take long. Different levels of aural art exist: Mezei and his companions are travellers of the higher spheres, the place where stylistic distinctions make no sense anymore, and what really counts can’t be rendered in words. But it definitely quivers.