Album Review: Rooms by Hans Lüdemann, Sébastien Boisseau, and Dejan Terzic
Released in 2010 on the Budapest Music Center Records label, Rooms is a jazz album that feels like walking through an art gallery where each track paints its own vivid scene. The trio—Hans Lüdemann on piano, Sébastien Boisseau handling double bass, and Dejan Terzic contributing drums and percussion—crafts a soundscape that’s both intimate and expansive. Recorded in Hungary, this record doesn’t just play; it breathes, shifts, and invites you to sit awhile.
One standout track is “Love Confessions (Roma 2).” It's got this smoky, late-night vibe, like whispers shared over candlelight. Lüdemann’s piano work here is understated but deeply expressive, weaving melodies that feel almost improvised yet perfectly placed. Meanwhile, Boisseau’s basslines pulse gently beneath, giving the piece its heartbeat. You can tell these guys are listening to each other closely—it’s not flashy or overdone, but there’s something about how they leave space for silence that makes it stick with you long after the song ends.
Another gem is “Le Balaphon Blanc Et Noir.” This one grabs your attention right away with its rhythmic complexity. Terzic’s drumming is sharp, intricate without being showy, while Lüdemann adds layers of harmonic tension that keep things interesting. There’s a moment halfway through where everything drops out except for the bass—a bold move—and when the rest of the instruments come back in, it hits differently. Feels kinda cinematic, like you’re watching some noir film unfold in real-time.
The production quality deserves a shout-out too. Péter Erdélyi mixed and mastered the album, and he did a bang-up job capturing the warmth of the performances. The artwork from bachman.hu ties it all together visually, giving the whole project a cohesive aesthetic. Even little details like István Huszti’s photography add to the atmosphere.
What strikes me most about Rooms is how unpretentious it feels. These musicians aren’t trying to reinvent jazz—they’re simply exploring their craft with honesty and skill. And honestly? That’s refreshing. It reminds me of those cozy Hungarian cafes where time seems to slow down. If anything, my only complaint is that I wish there were more tracks—I could’ve easily spent another hour wandering through their musical rooms.
Funny thing though: as much as this album feels rooted in Hungary, it also transcends borders. Listening to it, I couldn’t help but think about how music connects people across cultures. Maybe that’s why it sticks. Or maybe it’s just because “Jukebox” has this quirky charm that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. Either way, Rooms is worth your time if you’re into jazz that speaks softly but carries a big emotional punch.
