by Adorjan Horvát
There are jazz albums that announce themselves through velocity, density, or sheer volume of ideas. Then there are records that reveal their ambition through architecture, and those are the ones to latch onto for deep listening. Time Shift, guitarist and composer Tim Jago’s first album under his own name after many years of collaborative work, belongs firmly to the latter category. Its deepest statement is not made in flashes of virtuosity or stylistic spectacle, but in how the music is creatively given structural identity that shapes form, interaction that builds stories, and momentum that flows naturally across the entire record.
From the opening moments of the title track, “Time Shift,” rhythm is given a clarity that allows structures to give the flow personality. This focus on storied groove is the organizing principle. A contagious tutti figure establishes the feel with clarity and intent, immediately situating the listener inside a form that develops and flexes without losing its defining logic. The drums set a modern, energetic foundation, but what is striking is how consistently the primary groove returns, anchoring the music even as melodic and harmonic material evolves. Time here is elastic, but never vague; motion is constant, but never disorienting.
This balance, between flexibility and control, defines the album. Jago’s compositions unfold through clearly articulated sections that rotate, repeat, and transform with deliberation. In “Time Shift,” the initial material gives way to a variation through rhythmic augmentation, followed by a more open melodic environment before the form reasserts itself. Solos rotate methodically with guitar, saxophone, and keyboards trading phrases. These subtleties allow individual voices to come to the fore with an impressive ensemble coherence. The effect is about cumulative momentum as each statement grows from the last.
That sense of continuity is inseparable from the ensemble itself. The core band is Mark Small on saxophone, Martin Bejerano on keyboards, Dion Kerr on electric and upright bass, and David Chiverton on drums. Together, they are a responsive, integrated unit. Throughout the album, tutti passages frequently give way to open interaction, and the transitions feel organic rather than procedural. The rhythm section, in particular, demonstrates a remarkable ability to maintain groove continuity while accommodating sectional change, a skill that allows complex forms to remain legible to the ear and encourages deeper listening.
“Soil to Sky” offers a vivid example of this approach. Built on a contemporary, nu-jazz–inflected groove, the piece unfolds through layered sections distinguished by shifts in texture and guitar tone rather than abrupt formal breaks. The rhythm section sustains a deep, steady foundation as the surface evolves, while saxophone and guitar frequently state melodic material together, reinforcing a collective identity before branching into individual expression. Jago’s guitar tone moves from warm and acoustic-leaning to more effected territory, not as an ornamental choice but as a way of marking space within a textured form. Even in solo passages, whether the Smalls’ creative articulation or the Jago’s blend of picked and slurred phrasing, the ensemble remains tightly attuned, responding to shape rather than simply counting time.
This sensitivity to structure extends to the album’s treatment of standard repertoire. “Body and Soul,” often burdened by interpretive excess, is approached here with jazz-aware intelligence. The modern feel remains intact, but the arrangement subtly reworks the song’s familiar patterns through voicing and texture. Jago presents the main melody through a blend of single-note lines and chord voicings. His ability to fluidly create harmonic depth without obscuring the tune’s essence is very enjoyable. Jago’s solo draws on post-bop and contemporary vocabulary, followed by saxophone and keyboard statements that feel like a continuation of the conversational theme. Tradition is not dismantled; it is reframed, treated as a living structure capable of supporting new internal configurations.
If rhythm provides the album’s spine, tone and texture supply its joints. Across the record, guitar tone shifts function as formal signposts, helping the listener navigate changing sections without explicit cues. Compositional textures come in contrast with the ensemble shaping with dynamics and deep listening. This is evident on “Kind Minded,” where multiple meter changes are woven seamlessly into a continuous flow. The groove remains consistent even as the underlying time shifts, and when Chiverton steps forward for a solo, the material draws explicitly on rhythmic ideas introduced earlier in the piece. It is an example that all the ensemble members express in their improvisations, making each solo not a departure but a development of the story.
What ultimately distinguishes Time Shift is its compositional confidence. Jago’s leadership is evident through design, through forms that hold, grooves that adapt, and spaces that invite dialogue. The album resists the temptation to overstate its own complexity; instead, it trusts that careful listeners will hear how the parts interlock. This is music that values durability over display, architecture over ornament.
Listening closely, one becomes aware that what is played is a shared understanding that keeps the ensemble aligned. In that sense, Time Shift is aptly named. It does not seek to escape time, but to shape it through stretching, compressing, and rearticulating it with clarity and purpose. The result is a record that rewards repeated listening, each pass revealing more of the careful design beneath its fluid surface. That’s the short of it!
