You ever think about the architecture of a saxophone solo? That mad swirl of motion, deliberate but unrestrained, occupying both the ground floor and the penthouse at once? Thatās the mindset Jackson Mathod drags into the room with āMandible,ā though the instrument in his hands isnāt a sax, but his ever-faithful trumpet. And trust me, it bites. Hard. āMandibleā isnāt interested in predictable elegance; no, it chews right through the gums of tradition. At its core, the theme is as vivid as graffiti on a rain-soaked brick wall: the trumpet, bold and reflective, dabbling in mad conversations with fuzzy electric [ā¦]
Jackson Mathod's "Mandible": A Hurricane of Melodies and Whispers You ever think about the architecture of a saxophone solo? That mad swirl of motion, deliberate but unrestrained, occupying both the ground floor and the penthouse at once? Thatās the mindset Jackson Mathod drags into the room with "Mandible," though the instrument in his hands isn't a sax, but his ever-faithful trumpet. And trust me, it bites. Hard. https://open.spotify.com/album/4tJw63JBv0GZTMgcjbHYbr?si=BnI-02xdQDqtPGS4DJ1pfg "Mandible" isnāt interested in predictable elegance; no, it chews right through the gums of tradition. At its core, the theme is as vivid as graffiti on a rain-soaked brick wall: the trumpet, bold and reflective, dabbling in mad conversations with fuzzy electric keys. It questions the edges of sound, poking at the idea of how elastic a melody can be before it snapsāor before it delights. Mathod seems more like an artistic mechanic here, dismantling our expectations of what a trumpet should confine itself to. Are you prepared for an eruption? You should be. [caption id="attachment_58115" align="alignnone" width="1067"] Jackson Mathod's "Mandible": A Hurricane of Melodies and Whispers[/caption] The improvisation on display here feels almost narrativeālike an argument flaring up during dinner between two equally fascinating but wildly different aunts. One moment, cacophony grips you; the next, everything dips into something intimate and surreal, as if someone turned the raging heater off just to hear whispers in the room we never noticed before. Thereās defiance in this juxtaposition, a refusal to choose simplicity, to be merely palatable. Instead, Mathod confronts us: How uniquely can something fuse old-world genre staples with digital-era ambition? Not jazzy enough to background, not electronic enough to numb, "Mandible" trickles and explodes, then trickles some moreāan artwork in three-act rhythms stitched to a hurricane's pulse. Iād say itās surgery-through-earbuds, less music and more anthropological storytelling from bones unknown. Teeth meet teeth. Donāt look away while they grind. Follow Jackson Mathod on Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.
