Kris Davis Trio, Lost in Geneva Review

by Jeff Becker

An outstanding quality of the Kris Davis Trio’s Lost in Geneva is how much rhythmic and melodic information the three musicians can generate and how clearly they communicate through it. Pianist Kris Davis, bassist Robert Hurst, and drummer Johnathan Blake regularly pursue independent musical ideas, creating overlapping patterns, contrasting accents, and multiple layers of counterpoint. Yet the music rarely loses its sense of direction. Groove, motivic development, and a shared understanding of form turn complexity into collective momentum.

Released on 4166 Records, Lost in Geneva follows the trio’s 2024 album Run the Gauntlet. The established relationship among Davis, Hurst, and Blake is central to the new recording. Conventional distinctions between soloist and accompanist are fluid: Davis may establish a compositional framework, but Hurst and Blake participate in shaping its development. Each musician can occupy a distinct rhythmic or melodic space without disconnecting from the larger form.

“The Subtext” makes that communicative quality immediately apparent. Davis opens with two-part contrapuntal movement, a steady stream of eighth notes carrying something of Bach’s linear discipline while remaining grounded in contemporary jazz. Hurst and Blake enter without simply reinforcing the piano. They establish their own rhythmic and melodic relationships to the material, expanding the texture while preserving its forward motion.

Davis’s improvisation develops through wide arpeggios, rhythmic chordal gestures, and flowing melodic lines. Particularly effective are moments when an extended phrase lands on a compact, blues-inflected riff. The gesture functions as both cadence and point of recognition, connecting the composition’s construction and improvisation to familiar jazz language.

That balance continues in Hurst’s solo. His warm, resonant sound and secure time remain consistent across registers, while his phrasing preserves the eighth-note current established earlier. Even his pauses do not stop the sensation of motion. Blake responds through shifts of cymbal color and rhythmic placement before his own feature expands the conversation across the kit. Davis and Hurst supply changing accents against him, allowing Blake to solo both with and against the surrounding figures.

When the theme returns, the trio does more than restate it. The musicians gradually increase the activity until contrasting rhythmic groupings create a three-against-two sensation. Rather than replacing the original feel, the new one enters into dialogue with it. Rhythmic transformation becomes part of the composition’s development.

“Congestion Pricing” pushes the principle with finesse. Hurst begins alone, using double stops, natural harmonics, and upper-register movement to make the bass both harmonic foundation and melodic voice. By the time piano and drums arrive, the instrument has already disrupted the usual hierarchy of the piano trio.

A compound-meter groove develops beneath Davis’s syncopated lower-middle-register melody. Her left hand contributes another recurring pattern while dyads, melodic fragments, and open voicings create additional layers. Blake hears into those layers, answering accents and connecting figures without flattening their differences.

The fluidity of those interactions is the glue. Davis can move from single-note lines to broad chordal structures without changing the balanced weight of her touch. Hurst provides rhythmic authority without confining the piano, and Blake moves easily between sustaining the groove and becoming another developmental voice.

A funk-oriented passage makes the process especially clear. Davis initiates a rhythmic figure, Blake answers with a corresponding beat, and Hurst supplies a syncopated bass pattern. Davis then leaves substantial space between phrases. Rests and sustained tones allow the responses of Hurst and Blake to become part of the statement rather than accompaniment around it.

Even when Davis drops out for Hurst’s solo, the composition remains audible in the mind’s ear. Bass and drums retain its groove and rhythmic identity. Davis’s return brings blues-inflected material and progressively denser activity until the trio begins accelerating the perceived motion through piano runs, bass movement, and cymbal rolls.

Then something revealing happens: the parts begin to separate. For a moment, common time seems less important than three independent streams of activity. Davis eventually introduces a decisive rhythmic idea, and the musicians reconverge around a clear pulse and cadence.

That passage gets to the heart of Lost in Geneva. This trio can approach each performance as a story, taking the listener along with enough rhythmic memory and formal awareness to find the subtleties of each part engaging in its collective tale.

Hurst’s “The Bluesy Bird in Bob’s Backyard” reflects this language. Its catchy pickup, descending harmonic movement, and relaxed funk-inflected pocket give the music a different surface. A sixteenth-note pulse retains the flexibility of swing, creating ample room for Davis’s cleanly articulated chords and melodic lines. Short motives, often suggesting groups of three, circulate through the trio and become material for development.

Davis builds her solo with repeated notes, expanding arpeggios, and ascending figures. Ensemble hits and recurring riffs provide landmarks without restricting the improvisation. Hurst then takes over with a woody tone and clean, percussive attack, his accents aligning with Blake’s cymbal patterns while maintaining the pocket. Just as importantly, Hurst continues developing recognizable motives, treating his solo as a continuation of the episode.

Blake’s feature grows just as naturally from the composition. Bass movement and piano accents establish a framework around his ideas, and familiar trio figures eventually signal the return toward the close. Written material and improvisation consequently feel less like separate categories than different stages of the same developmental process.

That continuity of “The Bluesy Bird in Bob’s Backyard” comes from the trio. The composer changes, and the surface character changes with him, but the trio’s habits remain recognizable: motives are remembered, rhythmic information passes among instruments, and individual freedom operates within a strongly perceived sense of form.

The technical sophistication of Lost in Geneva therefore never needs to become its entire identity. Blues-inflected phrases, deep pockets, memorable riffs, and the physical pleasure of Blake’s drum sound provide immediate points of entry. Davis combines contrapuntal precision with lyricism and rhythmic imagination; Hurst brings harmonic breadth, melodic clarity, and formidable time; Blake treats color and rhythm as inseparable parts of the ensemble conversation.

Their independence creates the forward motion, but their shared musical understanding gives it shape. Davis, Hurst, and Blake do not need to agree on every accent or occupy the same rhythmic space to communicate the same musical direction.

The communication of Lost in Geneva lies in how the trio can make the music move in multiple directions at once, and in how little that dimensionality interferes with the listener’s ability to follow and enjoy the conversation.