I first heard Jordan Williams in Bergamo, in March 2024, during the annual Jazz Festival in the Lombard city, where he was performing with a quintet led by Bobby Watson. I still remember the sensation. His piano did not seem merely an instrument, but a time machine – a pulsating organism breathing the moods of another era. “Holy cow,” I thought, “this guy is only twenty.” Bent over the keyboard, his fingers danced like mad marionettes, his gaze lost somewhere else – a place scented with cotton fields and veiled in the smoke of Harlem. A Harlem that no longer exists. Over him hovered the shadow of Fats Waller, with his sly smile and carnal joy, alongside the noble elegance of James P. Johnson, that magical hinge between ragtime and modern jazz. Williams draws from that source of ancient, irresistible swing – but with one hand firmly in the present […]
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