Album Review: Live In Ventotene by Salis, Schiaffini, Kasirossafar
Released in 2012 under the Italian label Rudi Records, Live In Ventotene is a striking exploration of Contemporary Jazz and Free Improvisation. The trio—Accordionist Antonello Salis, Trombonist Giancarlo Schiaffini, and Percussionist Mohssen Kasirossafar—delivers an album that feels alive, as if it carries the winds of the Mediterranean island where it was recorded. This isn’t just jazz; it’s conversation, tension, release, and surprise all rolled into one.
The album opens with "Respiro," which immediately grabs your attention. It's not flashy or overdone—it breathes, literally, as its title suggests. Salis’ accordion swells like waves lapping at a shore while Schiaffini’s trombone adds unexpected bends and twists, almost playful but never predictable. What makes this track memorable is how effortlessly these musicians weave together their distinct voices without stepping on each other's toes. There are moments when Kasirossafar’s goblet drum pulses so softly you might miss it if you weren't paying close attention, yet it ties everything together perfectly. If you’ve ever wondered what “spontaneous composition” sounds like, here’s your answer.
Another standout track is "Feral Cats." Now, the name alone sparks curiosity. True to its title, the piece prowls around unpredictably, much like its feline inspiration. Schiaffini takes center stage here, his trombone growling and sliding with a raw energy that feels untamed. Meanwhile, Salis matches him step for step, using the accordion to create textures that shift from warm and inviting to sharp and dissonant. Kasirossafar’s use of the daf—a frame drum traditionally used in Persian music—adds an exotic undertone, grounding the chaos just enough to keep it coherent. By the end, you’re left feeling like you’ve witnessed something wild and fleeting, impossible to capture twice.
Tracks like "Via Lattea" (Milky Way) and "Islands" offer quieter, more introspective interludes, showcasing the group’s ability to balance intensity with subtlety. But even in those gentler moments, there’s a sense of urgency, a reminder that this music exists only in the present moment. That’s the magic of live improvisation—you can hear the risks being taken, the decisions made in real-time, and the occasional stumble that somehow turns into brilliance.
What strikes me most about Live In Ventotene is how organic it feels. These musicians don’t rely on flashy solos or gimmicks. Instead, they trust their instincts and let the music unfold naturally. Listening to this album feels less like consuming art and more like eavesdropping on a private dialogue between old friends who know exactly how to push each other’s boundaries.
And maybe that’s why this record sticks with you long after the final note fades. It’s human, flawed, and deeply authentic. Or perhaps it’s because I once saw a stray cat outside my window and couldn’t help but think of "Feral Cats" every time I heard its meow. Either way, Live In Ventotene proves that some albums aren’t meant to be dissected—they’re meant to be felt.
