Howe Gelb “Weathering Some Piano”

Improvised Tucson Zen.

It’s difficult to pinpoint what phase Howe Gelb has reached. His output is so multifarious, that we have long passed his primary identity as the pioneering Godfather of alt-country and subcategories that might include; lo-fi dust bowl avant-gardist and desert gypsy balladeer. Surely on the way he must have ticked off his blue and cubist periods too. Most recently, he’s embodied the American standard lounge pianist. Gelb alone at the piano sounding someway between torch song Sinatra and late-era Leonard Cohen.

For 2016 ‘Future Standards,’ Gelb stated he began writing his own version of the American standards because he couldn’t reliably produce covers of the classics. This is similar reasoning to why he began writing original songs in the first instance; his style so idiosyncratic, as a young musician, it made any cover song entirely unrecognisable. Necessity, however, is the mother of invention, and such invention leads to endpoints as unique and rich as this collection of instrumental piano improvisations.

‘Weathering Some Piano‘ captures Gelb bent over the keys, letting his imagination drift as if dawn had broken over whatever roadside bar he landed in several years ago and never went. It’s morning music. Coffee buzzed. In ‘Coffee vs. Rain,’ one of the rare spoken word moments on the album, Gelb’s unmistakable baritone intones, “This is your wake-up call. It’s your alarm.” The album is a continuous awakening, the drift of clouds, the scattering of birds. The drama of light and shadow.

Opener ‘Weathered‘ mutates from tentative to stately before becoming bluesy. It’s the weathering of steel. The rich hue of rust reflects the arid canvas of Gelb’s home in Tucson, Arizona. In his TedxTucson talk, ‘The Influence of Non-Influence,’ Gelb discusses how the desert’s endless space and minimalism have shaped his work. This album feels like the culmination of that influence. Desert minimalism met with vibrant bursts of colour—like bright Bougainvillea or the architecture of Luis Barragán, with bright colours, peeling paint on architectural facades in oranges, pinks, and reds.

The fragmentation encourages listeners’ involvement, inviting the piecing together of fragmented elements, like threading clouds, into narratives of our own creation. The second track, ‘Rhapsody in Cloud Formations,’ unfurls gracefully, gaining Gershwin confidence and daubing the canvas with bright strokes. ‘The Convenience of Gravity‘ possesses a mournful grandeur, reminiscent of a faded hotel draped in tarnished red velvet and gold.

‘The Sky That Can’t Make Up Its Mind‘ shifts through various modes and melodies before soaring with a flock of high notes. It’s ethereal and theatrical. It unpacks like a scattered attic of memories. Notes reappear, melodies evolve. Days stretch into years marked by slow, circular changes—ever the same, yet always different. As Heraclitus said, “You cannot step into the same river twice.” The album is multifaceted, refusing to linger on any one theme long enough for it to dominate. Jazz motifs and bluesy piano rolls are interspersed with disjointed and variable rhythms.

‘The Promise of Thunder‘ evokes classical balladry, as if awaiting an Ella Fitzgerald vocal. ‘Puddle Jumpin” carries blues influences but remains too nimble to be confined. It conjures reminiscences of Thelonious Monk, particularly ‘Monk Alone,’ with its lyrical, lurching playful joy, while elsewhere there’s the bluesy strut of Champion Jack Dupree. But things never stray from its lo-fi heart, maintaining a texture composed of the creaks of the piano stool, Gelb’s breathing audible in the quiet moments, and the distant sound of birds.

At times, we hear echoes of Erik Satie or Gonzales’ ‘Solo Piano,’ but it’s unmistakably Gelb. While Neil Young gave us ‘Live Rust,’ Gelb gives ‘Improvised Rust.’ In its unspoken manner, the album playfully encapsulates the mood and posture that have defined Gelb’s career, cradling time and experience within the modest beauty of weathered grace.