Phantasmagoria: A Sonic Punch to the Gut You Didn’t Know You Needed
Let’s get one thing straight—this ain’t your grandma’s smooth jazz playlist. Phantasmagoria, the 2006 brainchild of Anders Lønne Grønseth and David Skinner, is a raw, unfiltered dive into contemporary jazz that grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. Hailing from Norway (because where else would this kind of sonic wizardry come from?), the album is a masterclass in tension, texture, and sheer audacity.
First off, can we talk about how much work Anders Lønne Grønseth put into this thing? Dude didn’t just play tenor and soprano sax; he also handled the artwork, design, liner notes, and co-production duties. It’s like hiring a one-man band who moonlights as an artist and writer. And then there’s David Skinner on piano, weaving these hauntingly delicate lines that feel like they’re floating through fog. The whole project screams “labor of love,” but not in some sappy, Hallmark-card way—it’s more like they bled all over the damn thing.
Now, let’s chop it down to the tracks that’ll stick with you long after the needle lifts. First up, “Parachute.” This track hits like a sucker punch to the chest. The opening sax riff feels like free-falling out of a plane, heart pounding, wind screaming past your ears. Then Skinner’s piano kicks in, soft at first, almost teasing, before exploding into this chaotic swirl of notes that sound like panic and exhilaration rolled into one. By the time the track ends, you’re gasping for air. It’s disorienting, thrilling, and borderline exhausting—but isn’t that what great music should do? Mess you up a little?
Then there’s “Uvular Undulation.” Yeah, try saying that five times fast. If “Parachute” was the adrenaline rush, this one’s the comedown. The title alone tells you it’s gonna be weird—and oh boy, does it deliver. Grønseth’s saxophone here sounds less like an instrument and more like a living, breathing entity trying to communicate something primal. It’s jarring, unsettling, and yet weirdly hypnotic. You find yourself leaning in, straining to catch every nuance, even though part of you wants to run away screaming. That’s the magic of this record—it keeps you off balance, never letting you settle into comfort.
The production quality deserves a shout too. Henning Bortne nailed the mastering, giving the album a crispness that lets each note breathe without losing its edge. And props to Audun Ofstad Borrmann for capturing the raw energy of the sessions. Everything feels alive, like you’re sitting right there in the studio watching these guys conjure storms out of thin air.
So yeah, Phantasmagoria isn’t for everyone. If you’re looking for elevator music or background tunes to sip lattes to, keep scrolling. But if you want jazz that bites back, that challenges your ears and rattles your soul, this is your jam. Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.
Funny thing, though—listening to this album makes me wonder if Anders and David were trying to exorcise some inner demons when they made it. Or maybe they just really hated their neighbors and wanted to freak them out. Either way, mission accomplished.
