Deja Vu: A Chamber-Style Jazz Experiment Without Percussion

The Third Stream Quartet album «Deja Vu» – a recording of an ascetic chamber music format

«Deja Vu» is an album by The Third Stream Quartet, released by Jersika Records on January 31, 2025. It is available both digitally (streaming and high-quality download – MP3, FLAC, 24-bit/96kHz) and on 12-inch black vinyl (180 g, «old style» single sleeve cover, two-page insert, fully analog recording, A|A|A chain). The recording was made in March 2024 at the Jersika Records studio in Riga, directly onto analog tape using a Studer A80 two-track tape recorder, without editing or overdubbing. This «direct-to-tape» method ensures maximum signal integrity and preserves the acoustic authenticity of the performance.

The quartet’s lineup: Indriķis Veitners — clarinet, Ēriks Miezis — vibraphone, Pranas Kentra — electric guitar, Andris Grunte — double bass. Stylistically, the ensemble balances between cool jazz and third stream, forgoing drums to achieve a chamber-style sound. This choice immediately defines the recording’s dramaturgy — the rhythmic pulsation is maintained by the bass walking line and the guitar’s harmonic texture, while the clarinet and vibraphone fill the melodic space.

The central work of the album is the «Third Stream Suite» in three parts — a composition with a clear harmonic architecture, where tonal centers and modulations are arranged like architectural supports, between which melodic lines flow freely. The remaining compositions — from «A Paraphrase of a Melody Composed by Heitor Villa-Lobos» to the title track «Deja Vu» — maintain this same aesthetic. The clarinet’s timbre is warm, with precise articulation and phrasing based on both legato flow and finely measured staccato. Miezis creates an airy, harmonic structure with the vibraphone, where the choice of voicing often relies on fourths and seconds, resulting in a transparent verticality. Kentra’s guitar adds color and texture, using both comping and contrapuntal lines. At the same time, Grunte on double bass is the ensemble’s backbone, whose intonation and time feel hold the entire structure together.

In general, the ensemble’s «time feel metamorphosis» is the primary key that opens the doors of music to the listener’s heart, letting in both nostalgia and that quiet joy that enriches daily life. It is like the movement of an internal clock that not only holds the sounds together but also allows them to breathe in the same rhythm as the listener. Meeting Ēriks Miezis in this recording is like entering a room where light falls from above, and everything becomes clearer — his vibraphone timbre and harmonic thinking give the ensemble an airy yet substantial dimension. Pranas Kentra is one of those musicians whose presence in the ensemble is both a solid foundation and an unpredictable impulse — his guitar phrases are both architecturally precise and possess a subtle, personal touch. Indriķis Veitners, on this journey, sometimes finds himself in situations where the material demands more than just technical precision — it also requires flexibility and the ability to adapt when everything is not yet entirely predictable. And yet he manages, not with a loud triumph, but with that quiet self-restraint that is sometimes more convincing than any virtuosity.

There is a strange mixture — on one hand, the overall sound of the ensemble addresses me, the breath of the space, and the logic of the choice of instruments. It is like architecture where each element takes its place, and the light falls at the right angle. And yet, while listening, I sometimes inadvertently catch myself wishing for more organic life — for that which cannot be planned in a score. There is a feeling that between the notes and their performance, there is a small gap where the air has not yet had time to breathe in. At times, it is audible that the musical material is not simple for the artists, but sometimes it seems as if it is played with the same ease as one reads a sheet seen for the first time — precisely, but still without that which is gained only through long-term interaction. And yet… perhaps this restraint is part of the work’s true face. Perhaps the organicity I long for is not a deficiency but a choice — like the silence between two sentences that allows the listener to fill the space themselves.

From an audiophile’s perspective, the recording is qualitatively crafted — the stereo panorama is concentrated, with a good bass attack that is particularly intriguing in light of Andris Grunte’s live performance and technical peculiarities. I listened to the album in all available signal versions — both in digital formats (FLAC and high-resolution 24-bit/96kHz) and on vinyl (180 g). I listened on full-range speakers and with various headphones and professional IEMs (In-Ear Monitors) to evaluate sound consistency and detail in different listening environments. Analog tape works here as another «musician» — providing warmth, harmonic-content-enriching overtones, and a spatiality that digital processing alone could not imitate. Sound engineer Mārtiņš Krastiņš has ensured that each instrument breathes in its place. Still, the overall sound maintains intimacy thanks to carefully chosen microphone positioning and the use of the room’s acoustics.

The design is ascetic, as is sometimes characteristic of Jersika Record releases — clean, uncluttered, allowing the content to speak for itself. It is also the merit of Jersika Records — to provide a platform for such experiments that document the facets of the diamond of Latvian jazz.

In conclusion, this recording is like a small stone in the mosaic of our common culture. Each musician, artist, and cultural curator has put their hand, their time, and their voice into it. And, as it often is with mosaics, if a particular piece is not noticed or appreciated, it gradually falls out, leaving the image incomplete. If we do not learn to see in these works that which is true and real, they may disappear not with a noise, but quietly, like a city street that no one turns into anymore, until it disappears from the map.

What we as listeners do not always notice is not only the quality of individual albums, but also the volume of the catalog itself. Because a broad catalog is like a city — in it, alongside cathedrals and squares, there are also narrow streets into which one wanders only by chance. In some of them, unexpected beauty is revealed; in others, only the fact that they exist. But this fact is also part of the overall map, and perhaps that is precisely why the city is alive.

I like original composition, and I know how much energy is invested in it — not only mathematically finding chord and melody sequences, but often also heart, feeling, and, if successful, heart once again. My record player found the sound of this record pleasing, and therefore I will wait with interest for the next step in this ensemble’s microcosm — in music.