Richard S. Ginell oPianist Tigran Hamasyan — and we just say “pianist” to avoid pinning him down into one genre — has ranged all over the place from anodyne New Age noodling to the most rhythmically and harmonically complex jazz-based compositions. Most of all, though, his roaming is usually solidly rooted in his Armenian heritage. He doesn’t let us forget it, and his fans don’t let him forget it, either.
Thus, when Hamasyan made his first appearance at The Soraya on Saturday March 7, the region’s expansive Armenian diaspora turned up en masse for their countryman, who moved back to Armenia’s capital, Yerevan, in 2018. He was in town to promote his new album, Manifeste (released in February), which is an overt homage to his heritage, however expressed in a progressive musical language that takes cues from Western jazz-rock. He calls it, unsurprisingly, a “manifesto,” one of ideas about war, struggles of children, and the environment as they relate to Armenia, drawing upon musical sketches that date back to 2011
If one were to put a label on this music, it was highly charged jazz-rock of a mindset that was in fashion around 1972, full of repetitive, rapid-paced modules of notes emanating from Hamasyan’s acoustic grand piano, often spiced with Armenian melodic ideas. If the late keyboard giant Chick Corea had been Armenian, he might have come up with something like this.
Starting the album’s title track deceptively with delicate solo piano, Hamasyan quickly shifted into the higher electric gear with the rest of the band, occasionally vocalizing wordlessly. “Ultradance” kicked up the pace even further in a call-and-response manner, interpolating repeating solo piano riffs in between electric outbursts. The Armenian folk influence in melodic line and rhythm sounded the strongest in this number.
“War Time Poem” — in what Hamasyan called the “extended version” (to say the least) — found him preparing a few of the strings on the piano to make plunking sounds like droplets of water. The selection was expanded way beyond its length on the album into a new, partly-improvised, arc-like structure, eventually culminating in dissonant violence — hence, war time — before bowing out in the subdued way in which it started.
“Dardahan” rumbled along until the lopsided revolving rhythm took a hold of everyone in the foursome in unison, reminding me a bit of “Ostinato” from Herbie Hancock’s Mwandishi album. “A Eye (The Digital Leviathan),” punning on the tech tool that threatens to take over the world, was another series of repetitive riffs, with complex drumming dominating the field.
The contemplative finale, “National Repentance Anthem,” sounded like a minor-key lament for Armenia, with sampled water sounds and a moaning vocal from the composer. So moving was this music for the predominantly Armenian audience that they spontaneously started to hum and sing along with the tune. With a hand signal, Hamasyan quieted them down as he took a solo, after which the mass vocalizing started up again.
At encore time, at first, Hamasyan asked for requests, and the titles of many numbers from his previous albums were shouted out from the hall. But he took it back.
“We’re not going to do old stuff,” he said as he launched into “Prelude for All Seekers” from the album, plus another number with wistful whistling over a solo piano in the upper registers.
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