Klub2020: The earliest memory: from my window, the deep, solemn, massive street. The afterimage of love, now fading away, confusing the body and the spirit into a politics of absorption—a solitary mission to absorb the sadness at first, and then to absorb the fresh ocean breeze whisking through the porthole slit. The house was enormous; it could shack up twelve people, mostly students, spread across tiny rooms and basements, with three bathrooms to share, all connected by a spiral staircase of dark wood held together by a threadbare Portuguese runner.

First of all, the house was inhabited by loneliness, which manifested in forking paths, doors shut, and night visitors quietly creeping down the stairs. On some days, we could feel as though we were one with the house—a subjectivity split into twelve, a personality, an outfit, and a patchwork of wisdom catered to each month, a dividual by necessity, not by choice – a fortune told backward and upside down yet focused and sharp, as if seen with perfect, clear vision, a tale told in reverse—just like the oranges, falling upwards from a tree in the backyard—a sight utmost queer, to say the least!

Klub2020: During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day, I was reading and staring out of the window, until a scream and a commotion shattered the ordinary silence. And a dozen but one doors opened, and out came noses, eyebrows, and startled, curious eyes. At the bottom of the stairs lay a body—lifeless. The body was being examined by a doctor, a policeman, and the lady of the house, who usually appeared only to chat with her favorite dweller, a young boy named Pedro Páramo. But today, the lady was summoned by history. She looked up the stairs and screamed: poisoned!

The house carried a mystery. It was the anti-House of Leaves, shrinking on the inside, its walls contracting around already tiny rooms in perfect proportion to the lonesome growth of our inner lives. Living there was cursed, and the body was but proof of that. We all knew it before, yet left with no other choice we came in peace, hoping to bring life into rooms of antique, half-ruined furniture. It was unknown to us whether the obscure writings on its fence or the sequences of numbers on basement walls had sealed this fate; maybe it was us who had brought doom upon the mansion.

Yet there was something fascinating in that mystery. In the illegible inscriptions left by an unkown hand, for an unknown reason.

Klub2020: The victim brought us all together, even if only for a short while. Many faces, previously veiled in shadows, were silently acknowledged. I remember the awkwardness and the warmth of mutual recognition—the desire to be liked, or at least seen, the need that anchors in a group those who, upon losing keys or credit cards, feel the urge to leave society.

The bodies gathered and realized: there is an event. An event is happening, and it is happening within the confines of the house. The mode of thinking begins to shift toward the pragmatic. Information is being quietly reviewed; everyone wants to be of use, hoping that a contribution will clear them of any suspicion, a task bordering on impossible in a house of distrust.

The event transforms the crowd. A thus far unwilling audience of one to an interminable home movie that documents one’s failings becomes transformed into carriers of contribution—perceived and important, even if only for a short while.

The solemn house fills with the scent of excitement, and the oranges fall upwards like never before.
The policeman raises a finger and announces: “The murder came with a riddle.”

Klub2020: Pedro Costa’s Colossal Youth proves a point made in Bewes’s Free Indirect —it gives birth to a thought that emerges from tradition but surpasses the constraints of subject and object, becoming an entity in itself, an egregore. Every love story is a ghost story, just as every film about ghosts is a film about exile.

The first question is: how to transform an unwilling audience into a willing one?

Costa’s transcendent thought manifests in the austere interiors of his films—whether in the raw concrete of the ghetto or the empty, soulless walls of social housing. Shadows of the past haunt buildings now abandoned; the presence of humanity lingers in rooms left to grow moss and mold, scavenged for copper by the miserable.

Klub2020: Generative Mythology (2022)

The second question is: how to make an artwork that is both deep and entertaining?

To stay in such a building is to make peace with the ghosts of the displaced. The solitude of voluntary exile finds comfort in the graveyard of homes. The spirits help to transcend thought itself, transform the intangible into something powerful enough to reside in the collective realm.This seems to be the alchemic process of content and the answer to both questions.

The spirits must be thanked; the houses lost and forgotten become decorated in patterns of their liking.

Klub2020: Untitled (2022)

Klub2020: The body rests at the bottom of the stairs, poisoned to death, and the silence is thick, woven around sconces illuminating the hall. The policeman says:

My fear is not of solitude,
But that this fate is absolute.
A deeper horror, cold and still,
This world alone, forever real.
What am I?

Klub2020: Tired (2022)

The tenants now see that the body belongs to Pedro Páramo—the housemaster’s favorite. The lodgers are shaken with sadness and terror, yet they cannot help but recall his tyrannical rules: the restrictions on noise, the regulations governing the common area, the order imposed in the backyard. How he desperately locked his kitchen cabinet to prevent theft of produce, casting distrust onto the already fragile ember of community in the house of skulking shadows.

He sold his soul to please the housemaster, from which came authority and abuse—mind that dear Pedro was no more than nineteen years old. He was a victim of the enjoyment of power, a deadly sickness of the young. That was the problem of complicity, something we all contemplated privately upon moving in and reading the rooms. Complicity in the environment.

To live in a house is to respect its rules. To try to rule the house is to enter an exchange with its owner. The privacy of obedience and quiet living was a choice we made to keep our consciences clear, steering ourselves away from the market of influence.

Klub2020: Untitled (2021)

In a way, choosing an austere room over the master bedroom was a way of choosing independence over control, a means of protecting oneself from the futile task of preventing the tragedy of the commons—for there were no commons. Except for Pedro’s kitchen cabinet, which was often raided out of malice.

Klub2020: Untitled (2021)

Klub2020: The riddle stuck with us for a while as the doctor prepared to examine Pedro Páramo.

It reflected the underlying fear of the lodgers, the very substance of the house. The subject was not solipsism, as the first line suggested, but something more serious and grave: an ontological dread. If solipsism was about the equality of looking into someone’s eyes and looking at someone’s eyes, then the riddle suggested something far worse—that there were no other ways to look. Or rather, no reality where a difference was possible.

Klub2020: Untitled (2021)

It was a sentence of a singular fate—a world beyond our understanding, with no alternatives but to quietly orbit a dying star.

If you think about it too much, you might lose your mind – I remember a voice warning me in a free indirect, lexically violating my headspace. I have no choice but to surrender and participate. I choose the advancement of culture. The lodgers quietly agree with me.

Klub2020: In the face of an ontological dread, the only solution seems to be abandoning the distance and producing new realities. The introduction of novelty is the best distraction from absolute factuality—the traumatic core of the puzzle.

We start a conversation and become fully absorbed. Some walk up the stairs and return with their recent projects: little blue books they had been working on, marine watercolors clipped together in bundles, collections of stamps and stickers kept in pristine condition. The question remains unanswered – but sometimes, that’s how it must be.

Klub2020: Untitled (2021)

The doctor bends over Pedro and examines his neck. Soon, he finds something hard pressing against the walls of his throat. He puts his gloved hand deep into his mouth. Baffled, he pulls out a key to the kitchen cabinet. This goes unnoticed by the lodgers, who are lost in the chatter.

I do post with little to no caption, which alienates the audience, but the alienation seems almost desired. Raw-dogging the feed and visual autofiction.

I do paint myself next to the wall, indulge in cryptic narratives bordering on a joke. I am not interested in formal experiments much further than the context, the message and the scale, as I was never a student of the image, but of the word.

Klub2020: Untitled (2019)

Some images work only on the wall, as the wall’s canvas is infinite. It stretches beyond the frame of the photo. The limit of the canvas is the limit of the screen. An endless canvas is an environment inviting you to see how I think about an idea, how I feel about an idea.

A mind that feels and suffers by association will always look for a proxy to communicate emotions. I know a girl who thinks and feels in landscapes—she does not feel with a proxy, but through it.

Conceptual “art,” or thinking conceptually, is about exhausting an idea—hammering a proxy into a point of unrecognizability. At least in the realm of murals, I believe this exhaustion comes from blending a play on associations with a play on the medium. From this interplay emerges The Magician and the alchemical process, inviting the unknown to reveal itself. I believe in no Platonism other than the Platonism of affect.

Klub2020: Spiritually .pregnant (2023)

I am stubborn, but I am slowly learning from the girl. I think: how can one represent a feeling with a proxy that invites you to go through it, like binoculars or a telescope, instead of simply painting a representation of the landscape or the sky itself to look at?

Klub2020: help . (2023)

I would love to paint like Raymond Queneau writes, like Sophie Calle follows her victim around Venice, like OuLiPo thinks, like Tim Heidecker jokes, like Miranda July finds beauty in the creepy and the quirky in her early films.

Life, with its absolute factuality of the here and now and death, gives no option but to either laugh or cry, but I believe in the grey zones—the beauty of the space between those two, the bittersweet cradle of the weird, at which you can stare in awe through a pair of freaked-up binoculars.

Klub2020: The house is ruled by an infinite compression; it transforms itself every time we cross the doors of our rooms, entering a copy of the house which existed prior – or, rather, your memory of the house copies itself, inducing a psychosis of a subjectivity in an endless recursion.

Certain houses seem to go up in flames every day, yet there is no damage, as no one notices. Perhaps you just haven’t left or talked to anyone in ages. Looped within yourself endlessly, you have merged with the house into a theoretical being.

Klub2020: research (2023)

I remember living in a Portuguese house where ideas of both withdrawal from society and a tour de force! through life occupied the same room and shared the same bed with me.

The lamp that goes ahead lights up twice.

There is an old Portuguese proverb that was understood differently across centuries. One reading endorses initiative: the light you lead the way with shines not only for you, but also for the person behind you. Other reading conveys the idea that certain actions are more successful when taken in advance, like praying for a sinner’s soul while they still walk the earth. Different readings. Wild horse.

Breaking in the horse ahead of time allows you to traverse the paths with speed and a life force of great power. I know what I am painting, but I do not know why; I can only hope to cast some light behind.

Klub2020: Free Sticker for Creatives (luddites) (2025)

Klub2020: I make money through tattooing, but I am open to other occupation, some of which could be: a cobbler, blacksmith, cooper, chimney sweep, farrier, tanner, a wheelwright and/or wainwright, a fletcher, a bowyer of great skill, haberdasher, chandler, a scrivener of illuminated volumes, town crier, a tinker and a thatcher on the weekends, luthier, bookbinder, rat catcher, plowman, shepherd, a fearless whaler, a stationer, ostler, draper, even gong farmer or a mudlark, covered in dirt and disgrace.

Klub2020 (1997) is a Warsaw-born muralist recognized for his conceptual approach to graffiti. With an academic background in cultural studies, fine arts, and sociology, he brings an interdisciplinary lens to his practice, blending cultural commentary with elements of internet culture. Over the past decade, his work has expanded from traditional street art to include graffiti, animation, site-specific painting, and research-based murals—often inspired by literature, urban exploration, and shifting cultural dynamics.

Danny: I guess technically Ray and I came up with “nu jazz” when we were releasing I Don’t Know How To Be Happy, and they asked us what genre to label it for digital distribution. We said “nu jazz,” and everyone laughed because they thought we were joking. But Deli Girls has always been about improvisation and musical conversation, and I’ve always felt our presence has a strong jazz ethos. Ray and I finally decided to reach out last year in March, which was when we started jamming with John, Kevin, and Ben. We had the privilege of playing our first show with Jaimie Branch appearing on trumpet. Ryan officially joined nu jazz in the fall and it’s really completed the band and brought the sound to a new level. I think all the time how fortunate I am to work with such insanely talented musicians. They’re all first choice, period.

Ray: Nu Jazz began last year in the 5950 Studios as an experiment. Danny and I had long joked that our genre of music (as deli girls and other projects) should be referred to as “New Jazz” (a sobriquet that inspired many a groan and nervous glance from our friends at Sweat Equity) because of our emphasis on live improvisation and smashing together seemingly contradictory influences and sounds to create our music. Over the years the joke and mentality behind it stuck around; and after the string of disappointments, cancellations, financial and creative pitfalls that was Covid and lockdown, we started taking the idea more seriously and began thinking of who and how to make Jazz music in the 21st century.

Ben: I ran into Ray for the first time pretty serendipitously on the patio outside of my recording studio in Ridgewood called 5950.exp. They were wearing sick shades and dissed my pizza taste and I immediately respected their honesty despite feeling slightly threatened. I was familiar with Deli Girls’ music at the time and we started chatting about our own music processes and specifically engineering and mixing. I had made a crazy track the day before and played it for them. It’s something musicians do to gain the respect of one another. I think Ray was kind of impressed, which was sort of my intention, because you can tell on another musician’s face when they fuck with something you made. Ray mentioned to me that they and Danny were thinking about starting a jazz trio with 5 musicians including John Bemis of Murderpact and Kevin Eichenberger of The Beak Trio and CGI Jesus, which I thought was hilarious but kinda brilliant. We got into a bit of a jam session afterwards and everything sort of naturally progressed from there. John and Kevin joined shortly thereafter to solidify the idea, and Ryan a bit later. We’ve been playing and recording at 5950 ever since. The group didn’t have a name at the time but we were just having fun. Working together as a band has never felt forced in any way.

Danny: nu jazz and deli girls are definitely related, but nu jazz is more of a full jump into jazz, a convergence of musicians bigger then just our project. For me, nu jazz is a challenge, especially since I’m the only non-classically trained musician in the group. But that’s exactly why I love it. Anything can change on a dime, unlike the limitations of electronic music. It requires a deep, listening presence, listening to 5 other people’s moves at all times. I’ve been learning so much. I’ve always wanted to work more with Ray’s piano playing as well, so this is where I’ve been able to relate to it. Ideally, I always want to be making new kinds of music. It’s really cool to bring all of these individuals together and collectively elevate each other in a new lane. It’s been so refreshing meeting some of the experimental jazz community, and I really love how much they’re there for the music, no pageantry.

Ray: There is a strong relationship between the projects. Number one, all of our collaborators come from other (mostly non-Jazz) bands that bring a strong Jazz ethos to their music making in the same ways that I think Danny and I bring it to the deli girls project. Two, as a musician and producer I am always looking for how to carve my own angle on a situation–be it the tools or techniques I use (or don’t) the level of improvisation built into a song etc. I knew coming into Nu Jazz as a player, I distinctly wanted to drive music and conduct from the piano the same way I would from a drum machine or sequencer. In deli girls I try to play a drumkit like a piano, and in nu jazz I try to play the piano like a sampler.

Danny: honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that everyone in the band is such a real one, maybe I would be more nervous. There are definitely times I doubt myself but everyone is very encouraging. Even if I don’t understand complex music theory, years of experience does get you somewhere, and I’m never afraid to ask questions. I guess the vocalist is kind of a good place in a band for no classical training, all drama. I am aware that I bring something to the band that none of the other members have, and the same is true for everyone else of course. A lot of times I am in shock that I get to work with some of the best out there at their instrument….but I have to humbly conclude that I belong too, haha.

Kevin: I personally feel that Dan has a very unique skill set when it comes to vocals… and I have a music degree! There’s an idea that scream/growling vocals are always going to come across as super droney, monotonous, and usually unintelligible. This really isn’t the case with Danny’s vocals. I’ve found that there are many dynamics and tonal shifts that someone who isn’t a super innate and experienced musician would ever execute, trained or not. As someone who’s played with dozens upon dozens of super trained musicians, I find that they’re really much easier to follow musically than almost any of them.

Danny: I have a specific idea of what I want “jazzcore” to sound like, and I haven’t found anything that is 100% it yet, so I want to make it. But some that have good elements are: John Zorn, 16-17, Mr. Bungle, ephal duath, painkiller, Zu, starfuckers, psychofagist… the hardcore part of my influence is definitely early 2000s hardcore.

Ray: This will come as a surprise to exactly no one who knows me, but one of my biggest influences in Nu Jazz and life is the legendary Japanese musician Ryuichi Sakamoto whose work has guided me through almost every endeavor. There are certainly other influences, but Sakamoto’s is the greatest felt; due to the fearless piano/composer FIRST attitude he brings to all of his work. This is a man who has incorporated every genre imaginable, including ones he arguably invented, into his craft. Who has consistently innovated as a composer, a player, a collaborator, and an artist. Sakamoto brings a certain sophistication to everything he does, and as a pianist is one of the most innovative and influential players to this day. However, he has consistently been able to maintain a distinct Pop sensibility to his music, allowing his work to be accessible to both musical elites and “normal” people (I despise the concept that anyone should need to explain why a work of art is good.) I think it’s his constant reminder of Pop’s unique power to influence and bypass all of the normal barriers of experimental music that has made Sakamoto such a tremendous influence on my work and life.

Kevin: I deeply love and am inspired by the great jazz of the 20th century and today. Some of my biggest and earliest influences that have stuck with me throughout the years are Charles Mingus, Duke Elligton, Ornette Coleman, Miles Davis’s various bands, Roy Haynes, Andrew Hill, Charlie Haden, Billie Holiday, Dave Holland, Trane, Monk, Bird, Hermeto Pascoal, Keith Jarrett’s American Quartet and Quintet etc… Too many to name! In my mind these are the greatest artists of modern times and truly have defined most american culture that’s come since, maybe even regardless of medium. They just simply made the best damn music, period. I spent a lot of my adolescence going to punk and metal shows, which was popular in central and western Virginia, the area I grew up in. My mom actually introduced me to bands like The Minutemen, Black Flag, and Fugazi when I was only about 12 or 13. The intensity, aesthetic, and rhythmic qualities of that music has very much had an impact on the way I play and has become even more evident to me as I’ve gotten older. I’ve also been pretty influenced by the simple melodicism and emotional rawness of country artists like Kris Kristofferson, Willie Nelson, Lefty Frizzell, even George Strait! Hip Hop and Trap artists like Gucci Mane, Lil Boosie, and Waka Flocka all appealed to me a whole lot in my formative years for similar reasons as punk and metal. My father is also someone that raised me on very, very deep music. I mean stuff like War, Ali Farka Toure, Sly & The Family Stone, obscure jazz like Don Pullen & George Adams, even Primus, one of my all time favorites! I find that oftentimes I care less about genre and more about the music having a strong and well executed aesthetic going on, as well musical qualities like super rich rhythm and a warm bodied sound with a certain metallic toothiness to it. Hence why I love jazz, heavy music, og fusion, and trap music so much…. they all share these qualities.

Ryan: Having recently being welcomed into the group, there are a few sources that I feel that I can pinpoint, as well as channel for my own contributions. Listening to Nu Jazz, I hear a decisive sync between the worlds of heavily-improvised black musics (such as the likes of Ornette Coleman, The Art Ensemble of Chicago, Albert Ayler), psychedelic rock/funk (Pink Floyd, The Hendrix Experience, The Sound of Animals Fighting), and somewhat of a light sprinkling of Gigi Allin (respectfully). Beyond the musical influences, the atmosphere ping-pongs between subtle intimacy and acute rage, so I’d dare say that the 21st century and its unfolding may be the strongest inspiration.

Ben: Jazz artists like The Art Ensemble of Chicago, Miles Davis, Chick Corea, Cecil Taylor and Sun Ra first come to mind. As the sort of the lead electronics technician in the group, I’ve had to sort of invent my own instrument to perform with the band, and I’m personally influenced by a lot of more experimental electronic and ambient music like that of Alessandro Cortini of Nine Inch Nails, Lucretia Dalt, Daniel Lopatin, Debit, Jon Hassel, Andy Stott, Tim Hecker, Nic Endo, CS + Kreme, anything with a kind of dark, emotional, and a bit cold and dreary undertone. We’re also sort of seeing the resurgence of trip hop and downtempo in our sound but in a less structured and more improvisational way, specifically looking to artists like Amon Tobin, Massive Attack, Thievery Corporation, Tricky, and Hysterical Love Project.

John: For the most part it’s been groups and artists with a distinct vocabulary, cross-section of influences or lineup; Bill Dixon, James Newton, Jon Hassel concert group, Nihiloxica, Miles‘ electric band, Codona, Modern Jazz Quartet, OOIOO, Sun City Girls, Tortoise, Maurice Louca, Jemeel Moondoc Sextet have all been back in heavy rotation for me since Nu Jazz began. Jazz, experimental and heavy music with that width of palette is huge for my understanding of the project; Art Ensemble, Mr. Bungle, Fantomas, Boredoms, Ulver, Melt Banana, etc. But mostly I’m inspired by the idea of synthesizing/adapting the sounds present in our ensemble; Ryan, Danny, Ray, Kevin and Ben are incredibly flexible, original and tasteful musicians; rising to that occasion keeps me hype, and I love when it feels like we’re taking risks and honing a distinct language between strong personalities.

Danny: the name “nu jazz” is really a bit of a joke gone too far, but it’s also somewhat accurate. We love jazz, but I think we like to make fun of jazz too…(how can you not?) I feel like I can cover different lyrical ground in nu jazz; the music sets the tone for deeper, sometimes more conceptual themes.

Ray: Jazz is sort of an intimidating word isn’t it? This is the history of music in America, with all its warts, encapsulated in a single word. I think this is deserved but has built some tremendous barriers that can make contemporary musicians hesitant to innovate (or bastardize) the genre or feel like they don’t get to have a say. Nu Jazz is a perfect way to describe our music, which I feel echoes the history and ethos of Jazz without merely being an emulation or repetition of the giants upon whose shoulders we stand. It’s also a little cheeky and not serious–and may piss some people off–which I think also fits quite well in this genre’s history. Did you really expect the band “deli girls” to spend too much time agonizing over a name?

Ryan: While the name itself reflects the textbook definition of the sub-genre, the group and its creations speak more to a growing expansion of the approach towards improvised music. While the influences, however various and vast, can be heard, the incorporation of spoken word and the subject matter, the role of Besh’s electronics and Danny’s voice manipulation, the yet-traditional instrumentation, all create an atmosphere of newness.

Ben: I think everyone in the band is a pretty forward thinking musician, and we are all into music on the fringes, sounds that often slip through the cracks. When we are jamming together, we’ve never once, to my memory, decided what we should do or play. There is some sort of collective consciousness, a shared but unspoken ideology between us all that kind of guides our sound without words. Coming from different backgrounds and musical styles, we are kind of united under the idea that we want to make music that sounds new, but we don’t have to try and do it, or even think or talk about it. It’s really the natural product of our differing perspectives and tastes that creates our uniqueness. The name embodies this idea; jazz isn’t always a specific sound although it tends to be defined as such, it’s really a mindset, a process, and a way of viewing the world.

John: I have a genuine soft spot for the genre briefly known as “Nu Jazz“; Amon Tobin, Xploding Plastix, Nils Petter Molvær, Flying Lotus, a lot of that shit is sick and honestly overlooked; that idea of transposing a craft onto different styles is a serious point of inspiration. “Nu Metal” holds a similar place in my heart; growing up seeing bands like Slipknot, KoRn and SOAD piss off the supposedly-rebellious metal establishment taught me everything. And like Ray mentioned, I think there’s a current through jazz, metal/hardcore, electronic music, experimental/noise shit that is intentional and thoughftul while also totally ballistic and irreverant, and I think we’re adding to it.

Danny: we rehearse regularly for nu jazz, and songs are all more then half planned or more, I would estimate. I always advocate for leaving a bit of wiggle room for play, because that’s when some of the best moments happen. It does have the ‘never exactly the same twice‘ quality, but there are also many specific riffs, cues, keys etc in each song. this is the style Ray and I usually work in. It’s cool because vocals are not always the forefront of this project, and it’s especially been fun learning to converse with a trumpet player and deep dive into my voice as an instrument more than usual. There is a lot more singing and tonality to the vocals in nu jazz, and working with an autotune pedal live has been like learning it’s own instrument. It’s much harder for me to be vulnerable in that way, and give quieter dynamics instead of the full blast of screaming the whole time.

Ray: Much like DG music, the answer is a combination. All of our music is born of improvisation, and workshopped and shaped mostly through live performance. This style of composition can be frustrating at times, but it has made our music and the music of Nu Jazz effortlessly authentic in ways that I think other, more academic bands may miss the mark on a little bit. It is also a cornerstone of the collaboration between Danny and myself.

Kevin: I would call a Nu Jazz performance very loosely composed. Like there are “songs” but they’re pretty much based around Danny’s lyrics and are usually either one or two chord vamps or almost completely free improvised with some solos scattered about. We try to play them as “songs”, but part of what makes this band cool is that they’re always a little different and the openness leaves a lot of opportunity for us to react to one another. Everyone in this band has a different musical background, though there are a lot of similarities. Because of this, one of the best and most rewarding challenges of playing this music is learning everyone else’s unique musical language and adapting to it.

Ryan: There’s a dichotomy between intentionally rehearsed and absolutely spontaneous. Much of what can be experienced is practiced and planned. Even the interlude leading to Danny’s “Rant” was decisive, however the execution of it is entirely up to the moment. From what I can interpret (and I’m sure the seniors of the band can speak to this better), Danny’s lyrics are, regardless of whatever musical theme or loop is presented, the foundation of the pieces, and movements and motions are dictated accordingly. Things mesh so well because nothing strays from the fundamentals: sound and rhythm. As long as “everything is in flow”, writing to this kind of music just takes purpose.

Ben: We have solid outlines for our performances in terms of song order, but all of our music is written in a way where we don’t have to count the bars, giving us space to pretty much improvise thematically around a certain set of parameters. We have freedom to play what we want because we have a loose but steady grasp on the concept of our songs, and this form allows for more improvisation and thorough communication between the band members. I’m playing modular and analog synths as well as guitar, and my job is really to fill in the gaps between the instruments, to sort of act as the glue between different timbres. I’m often modulating the delay, distortion, and frequency of samples and melodies live, using a microphone to capture the sound of everyone playing together through on stage monitors to then distort, manipulate, and feed the sound back through those same monitors. A big part of improvising for me is bringing the energy up and down in swells while staying buoyant and steady, sometimes unleashing some harsh noise and guitar shreds.

John: I try to think of our songs as having a center; a mode, sequence, groove, melody, different lyrical stanzas and broad A/B sections that we stretch,converse within and veer off of; Other times, its pure freedom starting with some central lyrics, vibe, or concept. There’s a lot of deep listening and everyone’s got a great internal clock, so I never feel like I have to just hammer down the time or be restricted to the rhythm section; I can play more melodically or texturally and feel the rest of the band keeping that groove afloat no problem, which is a rare freedom in my seat. And getting to play in this kind of setting with Danny is a blast, their voice has an amazing percussive quality and I feel we share a similar sense of phrasing so the interplay is always super fun and fluid.

Danny: I think in my time I’ve seen the diy scene do a 360 degree improvement, meaning some things never change but it’s always moving; however, it is empirically better then when I first started years ago. Whatever though, because quarantine changed it all too. I wish there wasn’t this significant break in the culture and communication of generations of diy scenes, and that we all didn’t have to be absent for so long and continually/intermittently. It makes it harder to connect, but I think we all still manage. I think there is a lot of vapid culture and art that is very in right now (bimbofication is trending, the simulacrum is more appealing then the real thing to people), we are facing a lot of new dangers specific to our time; but I often ask myself is that any different then always? It really depends where you look. There’s so many younger kids doing interesting stuff and saying fuck you to tired shit, so that gives me hope. Meeting the jazz community has given me a lot of hope because people are there for the music, and it feels a bit opposite to that of the rave scene right now (which I still hold in the center of my heart). I think any scene or project that runs on irony, or anything other than genuineness, is doomed to fail; so with this in mind, I sleep pretty well.

Ray: Ah, this question. Inevitably if you make music in NYC you’ll be asked to be an authority on everyone else’s lol. I think everyone is great. I think everyone is trying hard. I think a lot of old boundaries from 10 years ago have disappeared. I would say personally these days I’m much more excited to meet people who I fuck with who make music that I don’t like than the other way around. It’s an exciting time to be a musician or a fan of live music in New York City.

Kevin: Man, that’s a tough question… Obviously things have been pretty chaotic and unstable feeling coming out of this covid thing and the political state domestically and abroad, and I think that’s taken a toll on a lot of us. I can personally say that oftentimes it’s made me ask myself if I should even be doing this music thing… I kind of feel like a year+ of no music showed us that it’s not really necessary for survival, and sometimes it almost feels self indulgent at worst and like unnecessary chatter at best. On the other hand though, I feel like a lot of us have become much more aware of our places as musicians and artists, which is great. I’ve always felt like I’ve been in a constant musical gray area… too out for the straighthead jazz scene, too lit for the modern improv scene, I play an acoustic instrument so I can’t really be a raver, and I’ve already done the punk thing. These days that’s not really such a bad thing in my mind. Obviously things can be pretty bleak right now, but due to the constant chaos we’re experiencing on almost every level, now is kind of a great time to be in the gray areas because it seems like everyone is so open minded, incredibly eager to enjoy themselves, and very much seeks out music they’ve never heard before. It allows us to build bridges in scenes, hence why Nu Jazz even exists. These “gray areas” also allow us to explore uncharted musical territory that lives between the cracks and has never been played or heard before, which to me is what it’s all about. It’s a trade off, approaching music and life this way can be unsettling and confusing at times, but if you can keep your head and concept together, the music will reward you! Furthermore, in a place like New York City, there’s always going to be a zillion bands and artists which can be daunting, but at the end of the day is a very good thing. It’s great to see that in spite of all of the reasons we have to be unhappy, people, kids, whoever, are still starting projects and trying to get out there and put on a good show. Sometimes something might not be super well executed, which is still great if someones trying, and when something is well executed, it always lights a fire under my ass and inspires me. God help me if this ever stops being dope and amazing to me. I just try to be supportive of everyone at the end of the day, because most people will never ever experience anything like playing music with and for people and we’re all incredibly blessed to be able to do so.

Ryan: I recently moved here from Virginia, but I’ve frequented NYC for years, especially having lived in Boston for a few years. One thing that New York City organically invokes is a strong sense of culture. Art and music are the most immediate identifiers of many cultures, and a city as dense and various as this is perfect for housing and supporting a nearly infinite amount of perspectives. Walking into the first show I did with Nu Jazz (November 2021 at IRL), there was a great warmth seeing how a such a style as ours is so well-received and sought after. While NYC carries the same burdens as the rest of the world when it comes to the arts, such as budget, outreach, internal support, structure, etc., this city is a couple of steps ahead in nearly every way.

Ben: It’s a renaissance, baby!!!! I’ve found that a lot of artists have really put aside their differences and musical preferences during this past year in order to relate to one another better and grow stronger communities. It’s most definitely a pandemic related occurrence, and it feels like individual, more closed off scenes have started to blend in with others, blurring stylistic lines. There are still hard edges in place though, and this is not to say that everything is one big melting pot. I still see defined lines and boxes, I just love to see the hardcore heads hanging out with the techno and ambient heads, running into the indie heads. We all have a lot to learn from one another. I started a record label and performance series called 29 Speedway in 2020, and our main concern is creating a community around avant garde music styles and multimedia art, specifically relating to new technologies but not limiting ourselves to a specific avant garde. It’s a more accepting view of things I think, because the institutional view of art and the way it is presented is often very dry, removed, gatekeepy and predictable, whereas doing things on a d.i.y. level can lower the barrier of entry and permit for more artistic freedom because it is both affordable and accessible.

John: Every artist I know is more focused and driven to make things happen than ever before, and it feels like everyone’s trying to step out of their own comfort zone and learn new shit. But It’s really the audiences that have made it for me since quarantine; i sense a strong desire for variety something daring, exciting, spontaneous and different from night to night, whether its a hardware techno set, chamber group or hardcore band. Nobody wants to be in one “scene”, a lot of those lines of “style” have disappeared for the better. There’s a genuine willingness to be challenged and taken somewhere by a performance that’s returned, and it feels really special to play in front of people who are so enthusiastic, open minded and discerning.

Above: Ryan Easter on trumpet and Ben Shirken, guitar, with Nu Jazz at IRL NYC, Brooklyn, NYC, January 20, 2022, center: Ray Toyota on keys with Nu Jazz at IRL NYC, Brooklyn, NYC, January 20, 2022, below: John H Bemis on drums, with Nu Jazz at Trans Pecos, Brooklyn, NYC, March 4, 2022

Kevin: I’ve been blessed enough to have played with bands ranging from bluegrass and country to hardcore and hip hop, but the vast majority of my playing has been jazz, straight up motherfuckin’ jazz, and more experimental “jazz adjacent” sort of stuff. I’ve played about a s#%! ton of these types of gigs, so playing in these open, groove and dynamic based contexts truly feels like home sweet home to me. In regards to how this fits in the band, I’m very confident in my “fundamentals”, so chops and shreds aside, I try to be an anchor, a listener, and a provocateur all at the same time, and ultimately serve the music in the best way possible. The one downside of some modern improv music (and I really don’t mean to talk smack on anyone because there are countless amazing practitioners) is that sometimes there’s not really too much aesthetic or style to it, which is something that’s very important to me having grown up in punk and DIY scenes and all. I feel super grateful to be playing in this band because not only is everyone incredibly talented and super serious about their craft, but all my bandmates are such amazing stylists as well. Like everyone has such a knack for drawing up such deep music from their experiences as individuals and from our relationships with one another, and then the skill to translate all of that into clear musical ideas. There very much are six distinct and imposing musical personalities in the room with worlds of different experiences, but somehow it works incredibly well on both creative and technical levels. Very rarely does it go this way… one really can’t take these things for granted!

Ray: This is really the interesting part of our band, because we do have such diverse backgrounds and the threads that led us to this music are woven into a bizarre fabric that I absolutely adore and feel privileged to try on every once and a while. Several of us have experience playing “real” jazz, but I don’t think those influences are necessarily what makes the project click or what makes it fun for us. Think about the people who invented jazz over 100 years ago, these were truly those on the margins of society building and ideating upon their varied traditions with the goal of creating something truly new. It is in that tradition of progress that we present ourselves humbly before you today, and offer our deepest gratitude to those who came before us.

Ryan: My role in the group is being a supporting voice. Being a trumpeter, we’re naturally balancing ourselves between leading and supporting roles, while also tailoring approaches depending on the environment. With an affinity for Don Cherry, Ambrose Akinmusire, and The Mars Volta, I think the aural training alone is enough to find where I can fit into the setting. Then there’s the verbiage. Coming from a hip-hop background, I’m also a hype man in the group. Listening and learning Danny’s lyrics while performing or rehearsing is integral to my approach; I can’t shout back the wrong lyrics, so to speak. Spending time arranging orchestrally, I enjoy using that perspective to figure out new ways to approach placing myself into each song.

John: For as wild and multi-dimensional as the music gets, Nu Jazz feels very at-home for me, and has me returning to my earliest sources of inspiration. Growing up I was super into the Dead and Phish and started drumming the minute my dad turned me onto cats like Mahavishnu, Yes, Weather Report, Zappa and King Crimson; when I was 13 I heard DJ Rashad and Autechre for the first time, fell in love with jazz, and my cousin Annie burned me 100-something CD’s of her favorite extreme metal albums; music from these worlds informed my development since heavily. Over the past few years, simultaneously studying the drum set through jazz and playing in Murderpact (shoutout Hampton Albert, my brother and guiding light), I’m trying to hone a wide dynamic range, from brushes to blast beats. I’ve always loved improvisation, methodical weirdness and maximalism, control and chaos, and Nu Jazz is a great opportunity to embrace these things all at once, especially in the rhythm section, where i’m forced to really step up my jazz chops while bringing everything else into the fold; it’s a rare chance to swim between totally disparate schools of drumming, from Tony Williams to Dale Crover to to Ziggy Modeliste, often in the course of a single song! I’m humbled and grateful to be a part of something where it feels like these disparate impulses and influences are not just welcome, but part of what animates our music.

Kevin Eichenberger is a musician that’s at his best when in between the cracks and blurring lines. Since age 15, growing up in the Blue Ridge Mountains, he’s found himself playing in dozens upon dozens of bands ranging from hardcore punk to experimental rock to bluegrass to soul to classical, and most importantly, jazz. Somehow after a decade of constant performance these pieces have added up to the somewhat odd musician he is today… not really any of these in particular, yet somehow all of them at once. In years past he could be caught performing nonstop with jazz greats such as John D’earth, Charles Owens, DJ Harrison, Corey Fonville etc, though now his primary focus is writing and performing original music with bands like Nu Jazz, CGI Jesus, Beak Trio, Seven, and Yay Spray. Kevin’s musical journey has been one of constant learning and growth. Never really one to take the spotlight (it’s hard for bass players), or at least not intentionally or until recently, the core of his artistry lies in the experiences he’s gained through the bonds he’s formed with musicians and people across all genres possible and all walks of life. His deep love and appreciation of this is his main source of inspiration and why he’s known for such fiery performances. Though his medium and skillset is somewhat outdated and borderline irrelevant (acoustic bass/improvised music), he makes up with a deep understanding of his craft, a sharp focus on beautiful, purposeful, and organic music, and the humility to always strive to place the music and listener above his own ego. Though not well known, he’s very blessed to get to do what he’s able to.

Ben Shirken’s work as Beshken began to draw attention when he was just 16, quickly becoming their full-time career. Now 25, Ben finds himself trying to reclaim the project from his younger self. Ben partnered with Venezuelan visual artist Pedro Bello in developing an animated alter ego for the project named Mimo, or ‘mime’ in Spanish. A catlike jester who exists within a world of critical stares, his actions closely surveilled. The album artwork for Pantomime shows Mimo watched by his surroundings, a vortex of unblinking eyes. Much of the album came together out of improvisational jams with his past schoolmate from NYU Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music and modular synth enthusiast Jason Park, Eastman-trained drummer Matt Bent, (whom he bonded with over a shared love for jungle and late 90s IDM), and classical pianist Jose Escobar. The group worked mainly out of their shared Ridgewood, Queens studio named 5950 where Shirken resampled, reconstructed, and remixed what they played. Always looking to explore new creative terrain, Ben can be seen playing modular synths in a handful of New York based bands including Nu Jazz (an avant garde jazz-punk ensemble that includes all members of Deli Girls). Growing close with the Brooklyn animation scene, Ben continues to score animated short films. One of which, Dice, a short work by Spencer Sherk, was recently screened at BAM in Brooklyn. Collaborating with artists across various disciplines is a large part of Ben’s new creative process, his work becoming increasingly more multimedia and interactive.

Ryan Easter (trumpet), born in Richmond, Virginia, has been an instrumentalist, composer, and educator in many realms. Graduating from the Berklee College of Music in 2014, he’s pioneered groups such as The Trap Music Orchestra and Tiger Speak, while having shared the stage with the likes of Talib Kweli, E.P.M.D., Donald Harrison, John Daversa, and more. In his spare time, he twiddles his thumbs wishing for more spare time.

John H Bemis is a musician based in Brooklyn, NY. Best known for his role as founding member, drummer and composer in NYC experimental due Murderpact, Bemis is a student of jazz and extreme music seeking to fuse his world of influences into a singular, mixing approach.

Claudi of Pinc Louds photographed by Andrés Sáez

CJ: How is street performing in New York City versus Puerto Rico?

PL: Cops in Puerto Rico are pretty strict about amplified sound, unfortunately, so I’ve never played music on the street there. But I did do street theater with a group called Jóvenes del 98 from when I was 13 till about 19 years old. It’s probably what got me into street performance in the first place, or at least made it not seem like such a crazy thing to do.  The theater we did in Puerto Rico was mostly of a socio-political nature and we truly wanted to make a difference or at the very least inform people about various issues that we felt were important (abortion laws, corruption, consumerism, Puerto Rico’s toxic relationship with the US…). We didn’t want to only perform for left-leaning intellectuals and artists who would probably agree with our views anyway. We wanted to perform for people who might have a different mindset, who we might be able to have a discussion with, or show them these issues in a different light. Because of this, I have always been averse to preaching to the choir, or similarly, to playing only for people who already listen to the kind of music I make (which is what usually happens in venues). I thrive on bringing something new to people who might not have heard or seen it before.

CJ: As a street performer, do you relate to space in a particular way?

PL: One of my favorite parts of the day is when I set up my space for busking. I look at my surroundings, look at where I’ll be performing, and slowly, methodically, I push the garbage and leaves out of the way, I decorate my space with plastic flowers, lights, signs…I set up my instruments, the equipment, the merch, the tip bucket…I take a step back to see my space the way the audience will see it…I change things if necessary. And then I start.  Somebody told me once that this behavior is very much like that of a bower bird. They’re the ones who make these beautiful structures to attract a mate and decorate them with colorful objects such as flowers, berries, feathers or even bright pieces of plastic or garbage. Whatever it takes to make the space as beautiful as possible.

CJ: What is the value in a free public performance versus performing at a venue? Or vice versa

PL: Some artists find it intimidating or even degrading to perform on the street for free or for tips. To me, it just makes sense. I get to practice, promote my project, try out new material, reach a new audience and (hopefully) make a living… all at the same time! On top of that, I feel that if you have something to say and you want other humans to hear it, why not bring your art to them instead of hoping they’ll find out about it and come to you? It can be uphill sometimes (especially at the beginning) and there is a lot of trial and error. Some days it’ll seem like you’re banging your head against the wall, senselessly. No money, no attention, no applause. But what I’ve found is that if you bang your head against that wall enough, eventually things start to work out. You get into a zone and everything starts clicking. It’s a beautiful feeling. You have to lose your ego completely. Accept that you are just another plastic cup on the floor, one more rat on the tracks. You’re not better than the people around you just because you make art. You’re not above other people. You’re not above the city. You are a part of the city. And once you accept that you are a part of the city… then the city has no choice but to accept you.

Venues have some good things too. Let’s see… Indoor heating in the winter. Cops don’t kick you out (though the venue might, as soon as you’re done with your set). The sound might be better. The lights…More things are in your control, possibly. Generally everyone there is paying attention to you since many, if not all, are there to see you. This definitely changes the vibe of the show and can be a fun thing to play with. But honestly, I’ll take busking on a warm summer day at Tompkins Square Park over playing at any venue, any day. Cold beer, hot sun, wonderful people… you get to play as long as you want. You can look people in the eye and truly connect and feel how your sounds affect their movements. It’s very human and very everything I want in life.

CJ: Who are the artists that inspire Pinc Louds?

PL: Violent Femmes for their hooky scrappiness.

Pixies for disguising beautiful songs as noise.

Stooges for showing me that spirituality can be raw and explosive.

Bola de Nieve for his waterfall-like honesty.

Daniel Johnston for creating perfection out of not thinking twice.

Ismael Rivera for murdering angels and reinventing flight.

Billie Holiday for turning pain into honey.

Brian Wilson’s “Smile” and Paul McCartney’s “Ram” for daring to be silly while making magic.

Wilco’s “Yankee Hotel Foxtrot” for showing me one can make people see with their ears.

Mills Brothers and the Ink Spots for proving that instruments are overrated.

White Stripes for proving that using too many instruments is overrated.

Tom Waits for proving that theatrics don’t undermine music.

My father for playing the kalimba while telling stories when I was a kid.

Café Tacvuba and The Beatles for showing me the beauty of musical shapeshifting.

David Bowie for showing me the beauty of physical shapeshifting and also for making the most beautiful song about the end of the world.

Many others, of course but let’s keep this short

CJ: Where did the name “Pinc Louds” come from?

PL: It came from being 15 years old and thinking “everybody likes pink clouds… I want to be liked… one day I’m going to have a band called Pinc Louds and everybody’s gonna like it.” And then keeping notebooks with funny thoughts and finding them years later and saying “Ahh… the time has come” with a grave voice and freaky white eyes.

CJ: How much do you practice for shows & how much coordination goes into the full band shows with puppets?

PL: We don’t practice too much with the puppeteers actually. Usually we get together to do some brainstorming. Then I turn those storms into a very loose script (dialogues are usually not written, only actions with intentions to drive the plot forward). Then we might get together once or twice to plan some of the movements, dynamics and such. But we don’t really have a space where we can rehearse with the puppets (which tend to be pretty big) so it’s really more talking than anything… and then we perform it.   But it’s a process that works for us because it keeps things fresh and fun. We also hardly ever repeat the same plot in two shows so it’s not like in a play where you really have to iron out every detail to achieve consistency.   With the band we practice more. But lately we do most of it on the street, since rehearsal spaces are so expensive. We’ll use studios to work on new songs and then we get them to where they need to be by performing the songs outside. It’s a pretty heavenly way to do it too. As long as it’s summer.

PL: I hate winter.

Pinc Louds (21) (https://www.pinclouds.com/): Pinc Louds’ lead singer, Claudi (all pronouns accepted), moved from Puerto Rico to NYC in 2015 to fulfill her dream of playing in the subway. Through the “litteral” underground, Claudi met the musicians (drummer Rai Mundo and bassist Marc Mosteirin) and puppeteers that would turn Pinc Louds into the full-blown spectacle they are today. The subway also opened many doors for the band, who would soon end up playing in such NYC venues as (le) Poisson Rouge, Joe’s Pub and Lincoln Center, as well as tours throughout the US, Puerto Rico, Europe and Chile.   Musically, Pinc Louds draws influences from such diverse artists as Pixies, Billie Holiday, Daniel Johnston and Ismael Rivera. Is it tropical punk? Garage doowop? Crooner pop? It’s all of the above and more! Your best course of action is to let go of all preconceptions and enjoy their unique sound and explosive performances, described as “absolutely epic” by Paul Banks of the band Interpol.  Self-proclaimed as an “imaginary band”, Pinc Louds adds to the live music experience by making their shows a participatory adventure. Whether it be by having the audience dance and sing along to actually getting inside giant subway puppets, reviving atomic mutants, chanting spells to a Watermelon God, Roach-Queen-dance-competitions, and more…  The puppets, created in the most part by Jamie McGann, Madison Berg and Jamie Emerson, can best be described as “magical garbage”. Exquisitely made out of found and recycled materials, mattress foam, cardboard, pvc pipes, and other rejected wonders of the modern world.  With venues closed during the Coronavirus pandemic, Pinc Louds returned to the streets where they played free shows twice a week at NYC parks and street corners. These physically-distanced shows gained popularity and brought together a community starved of music, joy and human (even if not actually physical) contact. Pinc Louds outdoor concerts have continued into 2021, for the most part in the East Village, where the band is having the time of their lives sharing, learning and constantly being inspired by the wonderful city creatures around them. A Pinc Louds show is something everyone must experience at least 47 times in their lifetime. Still at number zero? What are you waiting for? More at https://www.pinclouds.com/

Kunai NYC by Kunai NYC