Immanuel Wilkins: Music that lasts

Why do people listen to jazz? Partly because of acts like Immanuel Wilkins. The music of the US saxophonist oscillates between inner peace and trance. Last week he made a guest appearance at UT Connewitz. Our author Leon Wenig was there.

Outside, it's gently frosty, inside it's crowded. In front of the sold-out UT Connewitz, there is pushing and murmuring, as if there are not only good seats inside, but also answers to the big questions.

Before the first note is played, a visibly delighted presenter introduces the evening. Charmingly and with that mixture of reverence and anticipation that usually characterizes a good jazz evening. Then: silence.

The set begins with "APPARITION", a spiritual, almost contemplative introduction. The piece seems like a musical pause after the hustle and bustle of the entrance. Where there had just been jostling, a babble of voices and a nervous search for a seat, an almost physically palpable calm now descends over the hall. The meditative sound, especially the fine playing on the cymbals, creates a sense of arrival. Not only for the musicians, but also for the audience. The music acts like a space that opens up, in which you slowly come to yourself.

Photo: Lukas Diller

Then the contrast: tempo, pressure, movement. A fast-paced piece, characterized by driving drums, a powerful pulsating bass and nimble, dense lines on the saxophone. It is clearly reminiscent of classic bebop, but at the same time goes beyond it. The piece is not a mere homage, but a continuation. The familiar language of tradition is spoken anew. There are always subversive flashes of the contemporary. The music remains within the historical framework, but uses it as a playing field for something of its own. In this way, modernity is not presented as a contradiction, but as a movement within tradition. Music also as remembrance.

Again and again, the repetitive motifs of the piano run through the pieces like traces of memory. They return, but not identically. They change, deepen, develop strength through repetition.

The undeniable highlight: a blues that literally blows everything up. The piano hammers out a single motif for minutes, relentless, almost trance-like. Chorus after chorus, Wilkins increases the tension, driving the line forward without breaking it. You think several times: now the climax has been reached. But the energy level continues to rise. The drums don't just react, they push, always finding new ways to break the mold without leaving the frame. The whole room seems to charge up. A dense, driving ecstasy emerges. But after this exaggeration, the theme suddenly returns. It is a moment of liberation: everything falls away. The audience lets go, almost as if in a collective exhalation. What remains is a feeling of relief and satisfaction. And the memory of why you listen to jazz.

The entire set is characterized by a high level of musicality and a deep understanding of each other. No showmanship. Wilkin's playing is imbued with deep emotion and always combined with a touch of lamentation. His solos unfold like organic narratives and culminate in a climax at the end.