Jazz trios are like old friendships - full of shared history, spontaneous laughter, and the occasional polite disagreement over tempo. With "And Now", Norwegian pianist Kjetil Mulelid and his trio remind us that even well-worn conversations can still surprise, that a single note can turn a moment electric, and that sometimes, the best way forward is to invite someone new to the table.

Since their debut in 2017 ("Not Nearly Enough To Buy A House" - a title that still rings painfully true for musicians and non-musicians alike), the Kjetil Mulelid Trio has carved out a space for themselves in contemporary piano jazz. Critics have drawn lines from their music to the expressive lyricism of Bill Evans, the spiritual searching of Keith Jarrett, and the Nordic clarity of Tord Gustavsen. But comparisons aside, this is a group that thrives on interplay - the kind of listening so attuned it feels telepathic.

"And Now" marks a turning point for the trio, as it introduces Rune Nergaard on bass, replacing longtime member Bjørn Marius Hegge. Mulelid has spoken openly about his uncertainty when Hegge left, wondering whether the trio could continue. But then he heard Nergaard - whose raw, exploratory approach had already been making waves in Norway’s avant-jazz scene - playing double bass for Fra det Onde in Oslo. It was, as Mulelid describes, a revelatory moment. The trio reconvened with drummer Andreas Winther, and before they knew it, they had an album.

And what an album it is. From the opening minutes of "Age of Enlightenment / Parasite", it's clear that something has shifted in the trio’s dynamic. The piece begins meditatively, Mulelid’s crystalline piano lines floating over Nergaard’s weighty, searching bass. Then, around the halfway mark, something cracks - Andreas Winther’s drums burst forward, pushing the music into more turbulent waters. This isn’t just a polite conversation between instruments; it’s a dialogue where all voices demand to be heard.

"And The We Turned Away" is introspective yet restless, its delicate harmonies always teetering on the edge of dissonance, while "Moia Arn" has the kind of wistful, open-ended melody that could soundtrack a slow Scandinavian sunrise. "The Greatest Love" is pure lyrical beauty - an unhurried meditation that allows each phrase to breathe.

One of Mulelid’s strengths as a composer and improviser is his ability to balance structure with spontaneity, melancholy with moments of pure joy. This contrast is particularly striking in "Singing Sands", where Nergaard’s bass takes on an almost vocal quality, bending and stretching time, before the piece gently dissolves into silence.

Then there’s "Waltz for Agoja", a piece that feels both weightless and deeply grounded. It dances lightly, full of understated elegance, but there’s also a quiet intensity beneath the surface. And in "Any Day Now", the trio builds a slow-burning tension, subtly shifting textures and dynamics, never quite allowing the piece to settle.

The album closes with "Sailor’s Song, Part II", a sequel (or perhaps an echo) of an earlier composition. It sways like a boat at sea - uncertain, unsteady, yet somehow always finding its way back.

Jazz trios live and die by their chemistry, and with "And Now", Mulelid, Nergaard, and Winther prove that they’ve found something special. This is music that breathes - it listens, it questions, it responds. It doesn’t rush to conclusions, nor does it settle into predictable patterns.
Mulelid has always been a pianist who understands the power of space - of knowing when to let a phrase linger, when to allow silence to speak. And in Nergaard, he’s found a bassist who’s unafraid to push, to reshape, to challenge. The result is a trio that feels both newly energized and deeply at ease with itself.

So where does "And Now" stand in the evolution of the Kjetil Mulelid Trio? Perhaps the title itself holds the answer. This is not about what was, nor what’s yet to come. It’s about this moment - right now. And it’s a moment worth savoring.

Score: 88/100 - like watching the tide come in, unpredictable yet inevitable.