Improvised piano compositions seem so rare. Perhaps it’s the shock that such a stately instrument is being used so carelessly, and even the most savant and adventurous feel that to proceed with a record of such improprieties is akin to the first step in a virgin snow. A singular footprint turns into a stampede of untraceable soles lost in a rush toward nothing. Bravo to Amanda Feery for planting her left foot down, as Spells from the Ice Age is a lush, organic expose of piano as tool-to-fool. There is very much a stately air to be found, but it does not preclude Feery to dally around, as if searching for a particular discordant moment to ruin the black tie stiffness. This is not Mozart composing songs concerning flatulence in a royal court, but there is hardly any stoicism to be found. Music is a plaything, and though its power to carry ideas through language barriers and artistic critique allows it to maintain its lofty residence in pop culture, it is meant to be freely explored out in the open. There is no right process and Feery’s fearlessness proves that if there is, its merits are in finding and exploiting those flaws until the right process becomes whatever works best. So beat away on that piano until your fingers bleed and the stigma of coldness is thawed.
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