# European jazz had grown up, and they no longer envied։ It’s all Jan Garbarek’s fault։ Videos, Photos

- Link: https://jazzblues.eu/2026/02/06/european-jazz-had-grown-up-and-they-no-longer-envied%d6%89-its-all-jan-garbareks-fault%d6%89-videos-photos/
- Published: 2026-02-06T06:16:31+01:00
- Author: https://JazzBlues.EU

**When I was a student abroad, I performed regularly as a jazz pianist. And I received
a lot of praise. I like to think it was due to my musicality, but there was something
else that contributed to my “success.”**

In jazz circles, I was clearly an American. And everyone knows that great jazz comes
from the United States—just like elegant watches come from Switzerland and cheese
from France. I was authentic, both in terms of my place of origin and my obvious
Yankee accent. And that gave me a certain distinction on the jazz scene abroad.

![](https://i0.wp.com/traccedijazz.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/tumblr_l_25433870194411.
jpg?w=640&ssl=1)

I loved it.

So I was hired and rehired. Everyone smiled at me. When introducing the band, the
announcer always made sure to say: “Please welcome Ted Gioia at the piano—all the
way from Los Angeles, California!”

They applauded a little louder at that response. Everyone loved Los Angeles back
then. Okay, maybe I wasn’t a Hollywood star, but I got a little taste of what the
glamour of La La Land was all about.

But when I returned a few years later, everything had changed.

I no longer received that affection. No one even bothered to mention my American
heritage—they didn’t care at all. It was like discovering that stinky cheese really
is stinky.

Something had changed in European jazz. The musicians there didn’t care a bit about
what was happening in Los Angeles or New York. Not anymore. Instead, they only talked
about their exciting jazz scene and the local musicians.

And they had a lot to talk about.

European jazz had grown, and they no longer envied us Americans. Poor Ted was mercilessly
excluded.

And I knew who to blame. It was that damned Norwegian, Jan Garbarek.

---

![](https://i0.wp.com/traccedijazz.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/tumblr_l_254096046612957259361730443207243.
jpg?resize=640%2C625&ssl=1)

---

Sure, there were others to blame—he hadn’t done it all alone. But Garbarek was the
leader and the role model. He showed what European jazz looked like: proud and self-
assured—unapologetic and independent of American trends and expectations. And after
Garbarek, there was no going back. I would never taste that taste of Yankee glamour
again.

But I probably shouldn’t blame Garbarek and all the other Europeans. He was great—
and, even more than great, he had created a formidable sound all his own, freed 
from American influences. The result was a new pro-European atmosphere that soon
spread across the continent.

I loved listening to this stuff, too, despite the personal price I’d paid. What 
else could I do?

[[

---

Of course, Garbarek hadn’t always been so independent and detached from American
trends.

I once heard a bootleg tape of Jan Garbarek playing in his teens. I couldn’t believe
what I was hearing. He played hot hard bop as if he’d been born in Philadelphia 
or New York.

I’d always associated him with European chamber jazz, completely disconnected from
the gravitational pull of American postbop styles. But now it’s clear that his original
inspirations weren’t much different from mine. Not only did he respect American 
models, but he began by learning to play their most idiomatic ways.

This is evident on his first album, a rarely heard recording called Til Vigdis. 
It chronicles two live performances and reveals a Garbarek deeply immersed in Coltrane’s
late phraseology. The opening track is a Coltrane composition, and for eighteen 
minutes Garbarek transforms his instrument into a perpetual motion machine, accompanied
only by bass and drums.

[[

Jan Garbarek, courtesy of ECM (photo by Paolo Soriani)

If you’re looking for the future leader of Nordic chamber jazz, it’s not yet apparent
here. Only on the final track, “Til Vigdis,” does Garbarek allow room and scope 
for his improvisations, but even here his fidelity to the models of American free
jazz is evident.

Two years later, Garbarek released another album, Esoteric Circle, and here his 
reflective moods sometimes tempered his rebellious tendencies. But this is still
intense music, where tonality is consistently pushed in unconventional ways.

Garbarek is joined here by guitarist Terje Rypdal, bassist Arild Andersen, and drummer
Jon Christensen—all of whom soon migrated to the ECM label, two of whom would later
join Keith Jarrett’s beloved quartet. But you’d never guess all that in a blind 
test based on this first album.

Less than a year later, that group released a record for producer Manfred Eicher
at ECM, and something magical happened. The album was called African Pepperbird—
and Garbarek still displays his avant-garde allegiance, but his tone has changed.
The haunting, plaintive sound that would be his trademark for decades to come now
reveals itself in all its solitary beauty.

[[

This young saxophonist, just twenty-three, is still fascinated by John Coltrane 
and other American role models (particularly the iconoclast Albert Ayler). But this
new sound is something different, something Nordic, something original. It wasn’t
easy in 1970 for a European jazz musician to create a style that didn’t sound like
an homage to his American predecessors, but Garbarek was now well on his way to 
doing so.

In a wonderful coincidence, Garbarek’s new record producer, Manfred Eicher, was 
shaping a similar vision: a European jazz record label that didn’t imitate its American
competitors. Eicher is now a legend in the jazz world, but in 1970 he wasn’t even
a careerist—just a complete unknown, a bassist who had launched ECM only a few months
earlier.

In the years that followed, Eicher produced landmark albums by Keith Jarrett, Pat
Metheny, Chick Corea, and other jazz stars. More importantly, he helped launch the
careers of around a hundred European jazz artists. But all of that was in the future,
when he entered the studio with Jan Garbarek. African Pepperbird was his seventh
album for ECM, and none of its predecessors had sold particularly well.

So I was hired and rehired. Everyone smiled at me. When introducing the band, the
announcer always made sure to say: “Please welcome Ted Gioia to the piano—all the
way from Los Angeles, California!”

Eicher brought Garbarek back into the studio for a new album just seven months later.
The resulting work, Triptykon, not only reveals the saxophonist’s growing maturity,
but also begins to define what would become known as the ECM sound.

Some describe it as “chamber jazz.” And I can understand why. It’s more nuanced 
music, played at a lower volume than American jazz. For this reason, it’s well-suited
to the same concert halls that host string quartets and piano recitals. It’s music
for those who listen attentively, rather than arguing in bars.

[[

Something had changed in European jazz. Musicians there didn’t care a whit about
what was happening in Los Angeles or New York. Not anymore. Instead, they talked
only about their exciting jazz scene and local musicians.

I note that this is a very fitting choice for a German jazz label like ECM. The 
German-speaking world practically invented chamber music, and its cultural expectations
must have seemed natural to someone like Eicher—in a way that wouldn’t have been
possible for someone who grew up playing blues in a Mississippi juke joint or a 
New Orleans brothel.

Europe is truly different. So European jazz should reflect that.

But on another level, ECM’s, and especially Garbarek’s, definition of “chamber music”
is misleading. It suggests a kind of fussy delicacy that is the exact opposite of
the saxophonist’s rousing declamations on his instrument. This is why Garbarek is
so effective at playing quasi-rock pieces (especially when paired with guitarist
Rypdal): he always plays with intensity, though in his case that doesn’t always 
mean loud or flashy.

But ECM deserves credit for another innovation: the birth of a truly global and 
cross-border attitude toward jazz. It’s not uncommon for Eicher to feature a band
with each member from a different country—or even a different continent, as happened
when Garbarek recorded with Brazilian Egberto Gismonti and American Charlie Haden.
The same thing happened when the saxophonist recorded with John Abercrombie and 
Naná Vasconcelos.

This cross-border approach was a revelation for the jazz world of the 1970s. It 
paved the way for Garbarek to record ECM with singer Ustad Fateh Ali Khan, Anouar
Brahem, and the Hilliard Ensemble. These forays challenged the very definition of
what jazz is—and in the best possible way.

All these currents began to coalesce in Garbarek’s recordings of the mid-1970s—such
as the underrated Red Lanta with pianist Art Lande (1973), Dansere with pianist 
Bobo Stenson (1976), and Dis with guitarist Ralph Towner (1976). Each was a major
statement for both the musician and the ECM label. Garbarek had now found his groove
and could hold audiences mesmerized, no longer requiring all the Coltrane-esque 
demonstrations of his youth.

[[

Just listen to the space, the held notes, and the crisp phrase in Dansere’s “Lokk.”
This is a declaration of independence from all the American-centric flavors (free,
fusion, post-bop, etc.) of the time. This represented a completely new way of playing
jazz, as even Americans were now realizing.

[[

One of those Americans was Keith Jarrett. And he soon released the most successful
solo piano album in history, The Köln Concert, on the ECM label. But a few months
before that historic moment, Jarrett flew to Oslo, Norway, to make an album with
Garbarek’s band.

Many were perplexed. Keith Jarrett already had a quartet in the United States, and
many jazz fans thought it was the best band in the world. Why would he abandon it
for three unknown Scandinavians?

[[

But the resulting album, Belonging, recorded over two days in April 1974, was destined
to become a cult classic. Consider the fact that Branford Marsalis released a full-
length tribute album to Belonging in 2025, performing every song from the record
with his band.

[[

Even pop stars were paying attention to Belonging—so much so that Steely Dan was
sued by Jarrett for copyright infringement because the title track of Gaucho sounds
so similar to “Long as You Know You’re Living Yours” from Belonging. Jarrett had
a solid argument and was eventually added as a co-composer on the Steely Dan song.

[[

Garbarek truly belonged on Belonging because he adapted to every twist and turn 
of Jarrett’s imaginative songwriting. He could play funky, folky, or free-spirited,
depending on the situation. But even here, his Nordic tone is the main draw, almost
like a lover’s call from a castle tower in a magical story, drawing the listener
deeply into the music.

Jarrett was so captivated by his new collaborator that he made another album, Luminessence(
1975), with Garbarek as the sole soloist, accompanied by strings. Jarrett himself
doesn’t perform on the album—this is a true showcase for the saxophonist. Jarrett
composed three operas, and it’s clear he’s obsessed with Garbarek’s candid, melancholic
tone.

“He studied Jan’s music,” producer Manfred Eicher later explained, and the entire
album was composed with “Jan” in mind. This would have been a compliment to Garbarek
under any circumstances, but especially from Keith Jarrett—who usually expects musicians
to adapt to him, not the other way around.

Jarrett followed up with another orchestral album, Arbour Zena—his most impressive
work as a classical composer to date. This time Keith played piano, but once again
he also featured Garbarek. By this time, Jarrett was already a bona fide music star
with a large mainstream audience thanks to his hugely successful crossover album
The Köln Concert, and he seemed determined to bring his Norwegian collaborator along
on this journey.

[[

Jarrett was now touring with his Nordic band, playing to sold-out concert halls.
Some live recordings were later released, but the quartet released only one more
studio album—although it remains one of the most celebrated jazz albums of the decade.

For many fans, this recording, My Song, made it clear why Jarrett joined a European
band. So I’m not exaggerating when I say that this was, to some extent, a moment
of legitimacy for jazz beyond the sphere of American cultural colonization.

[[

Things had changed. So I wasn’t really surprised that Garbarek continued to thrive—
both creatively and commercially—after his collaboration with Jarrett ended. I believe
this was his destiny.

If American jazz still had a New York fixation—demonstrated in thousands of albums
featuring musicians all living in the same city—Garbarek embodied a different possibility.
He was the cosmopolitan man of the world who found musical partners everywhere, 
recording albums with Eleni Karaindrou, Ustad Bade Fateh Ali Khan, Naná Vasconcelos,
Miroslav Vitouš, the Hilliard Ensemble, Anouar Brahem, Rainer Brüninghaus, L. Shankar,
and many others from all over.

Just reading the names in his discography gives you an idea of ​​how diverse and
broad it is.

But equally important, Garbarek’s unique musical style also declared independence
from the “Made in America” ​​stamp of approval that had previously dominated all
jazz performances. The previous generation saw major European jazz stars—George 
Shearing, Marian McPartland, Toots Thielemans, and others—relocate to the United
States to reach the next level of their careers. Their careers required a transatlantic
move. After Garbarek, that was no longer necessary.

He paved the way for the subsequent emergence of so many other musicians who stayed
close to home, yet still found legitimacy and stardom—from EST to all the hottest
nu jazz names on the London scene today. Every one of them should thank Jan Garbarek.

Garbarek has demonstrated this fertile independence album after album since his 
departure from the Jarrett Quartet. He plays with such authority that the best tracks
sound like prophetic pronouncements from someone just back from the mountaintop.
Listen to him, for example, on “Soria Maria” with Abercrombie and Vasconcelos.

[[

Or listen to it in “Going Places,” where the dynamic drummer Jack DeJohnette tries
to kick Jan’s Nordic ass, but Garbarek doesn’t give in. He continues to deliver 
his Nordic, solitary sound even as the American drummer triples the saxophone tempo—
until he stops around the third minute. Then DeJohnette also decides to float to
the rhythm of a fjord.

[[

It’s like a metaphor for Garbarek’s entire career. His sax serenity flows on the
surface, but he’s solid as a glacier underneath. And it’s the same in every context—
there’s that European confidence again that took away all my advantages.

But Garbarek, despite his glacial hardness, was still growing. His most daring work
began in his fifties. By this point, he no longer even needs jazz—at least not in
the conventional sense. Now he’s a citizen of universal soundscapes with a passport
that allows him to travel anywhere, anytime.

[[

Jan Garbarek in concert (photo by Dimitris Papazimouris)

Consider Ragas and Sagas, released in 1992. Here’s the band’s lineup:

Jan Garbarek plays tenor and soprano saxophone
 Ustad Fateh Ali Khan, Pakistani,
sings Norwegian (of Punjabi/Pashtun descent) Deepika Thathaal sings Ustad Nazim,
Pakistani, plays the sarangi Ustad Shaukat Hussain, Pakistani, plays the tabla Manu
Katché, French—who has recorded with Sting and Peter Gabriel—plays drums

This isn’t a jazz band. Or maybe it is—but only in Jan Garbarek’s vast, boundary-
breaking mind. He definitely fits in. Or even more, he seems destined to play music
of this kind.

None of us realized this until we had the chance to listen to him.

[[

Two years later, Garbarek released a trio album with Tunisian oud player Anouar 
Brahem and Pakistani tabla player Ustad Shaukat Hussai. Brahem wrote most of the
music, and Garbarek interprets it with the same authority he had played all those
Keith Jarrett compositions twenty years earlier.

[[

Around the same time, Garbarek embarked on the most ambitious collaboration of this
final phase of his career—and the most unusual of all. He began making music with
the Hilliard Ensemble, a celebrated British vocal ensemble best known for its medieval
and early Renaissance music.

I love this group, but its best work features liturgical music composed five hundred
years ago. What good would a jazz saxophonist be? But they gathered in an Austrian
monastery and took the plunge.

As Garbarek demonstrated, they were both operating on a disturbing wavelength where
the adjectives modern and medieval are no longer relevant. Everything is timeless
now. The music on the resulting album, Officium, is shocking, but also completely
unsuitable for the format of any radio station.

One listener, trying to find a way to describe this work, put it this way: Officium
is “what Coltrane hears in heaven.”

[[

Garbarek’s recording pace slowed considerably after 2000. His new albums became 
rare. But he continued to collaborate with the Hilliard Ensemble until its dissolution
in 2014. I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say that this is the most personal
music of his late career—and also the most mystical.

Perhaps all jazz musicians seek transcendence, but Garbarek seems to have found 
it—and, even better, he wants to share it with us, the rest of us. We just have 
to be willing to listen. And also to set aside all our preconceptions about the 
saxophone, jazz, genre definitions, and historical chronology.

So I’ll continue to lament the loss of America’s undisputed dominance of the jazz
idiom. I enjoyed receiving that special treatment when I played in Europe, but (
sigh!) it’s gone forever. Yet, Garbarek has repaid me completely by showing me what
a truly expansive vision of jazz means.

No, he hasn’t taken anything away from us American jazz musicians. He truly gave
us a gift—showing us possibilities in our traditions that we didn’t even know existed.

Who knows? Maybe that’s what jazz is supposed to do.

I no longer received that tender, loving care. No one even bothered to mention my
Los Angeles roots—they didn’t care at all. It was like discovering that stinky cheese
really is stinky.

And they had a lot to talk about.

European jazz had grown up, and they no longer envied us Americans. Poor Ted was
left out in the cold. And I knew who to blame. It was that damned Norwegian Jan 
Garbarek.

![](https://i0.wp.com/traccedijazz.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/01/unnamed-1.png?
w=640&ssl=1)

### _Related_