Over the holiday break, my sister got a CD from our parents as a gift, Keith Jarrett’s Paris Concert. I had heard some Keith Jarrett here and there at home since my dad has a few of his CDs, but I hadn’t paid much attention to him. I knew that he played jazz as well as classical music, and I remembered recently that I had been listening to Arvo Part’s Tabula Rasa, on which Jarrett plays piano, for much of last semester. So, I made a mental note to listen to Jarrett’s CD, especially its 38-minute long improvisation.

I heard bits and pieces of this improvisation over the next few days as my sister listened to it now and then, but I didn’t listen to it fully until I was in the car, on my way back from New Hampshire. I borrowed my sister’s iPod, put it on, and promptly fell asleep listening within five minutes. I woke up suddenly; I was in the middle of thundering piano chords. The sustain pedal had been welded down and Jarrett’s left hand was laying the bedrock for the right to carefully play a tender melody over it. I was quite moved. I thought of two things. First, it sounded like rock piano-playing to me. It was almost cheesy how strongly it appealed to my emotions. Second, I wondered — as Jarrett delicately ended the piece with beautiful arpeggios — how he could have possibly ended up here after starting the piece in such a straightforward way.

Listening to the piece over and over reveals how Jarrett gently moves from one style to the next as he plays. He starts the piece in a baroque fashion, following general rules of counterpoint handed down from before Bach’s time. As he begins the improvisation, melodies come and go to him and he chooses which ones to pursue. Some are simply diversions, and at other points you can hear him forcefully repeat a phrase a few times, hesitating before launching off into something new. You can tell that he’s waiting for an idea to arrive.

It’s interesting to see a contemporary pianist who very much enjoys classical improvisation, an art which has seemingly disappeared over the last century. In Milos Forman’s Amadeus film, there are many scenes with Mozart gaily improvising in the way we now think of jazz musicians doing the same. It was a really common skill that many musicians had in that time, and I personally would love to see it regain its lost popularity. Unfortunately, current education on classical instruments emphasizes pure performance from written work. Even cadenzas, small improvised sections of music in classical pieces, have now been written out by professionals. A student now learns a cadenza by reading and memorizing it. As a result, there is no difference between it and the rest of the composed piece.

The reason for this decline in classical improvisation is hard to explain. My only hope is that, with time, this old art can be rediscovered and taught to a new generation of classical musicians who can advance it the same way as Jarrett.

Back in September, I wrote a column about food music, briefly touching upon the song “Artichoke” from New York City band Cibo Matto’s 1996 album, Viva! La Woman. In fact, a food motif is present throughout the album’s nonsensical songs. What results is a very successful album, teetering between silliness and seriousness, and trip hop and indie rock.

“Apple” – “Apple” begins with a clattering rhythm and whispered chant. The song squeaks and chugs like a machine, almost enough to be danceable — but then wordless moans creep in and out slowly enough to capture your full attention.

“Beef Jerky” – In the beginning, “Beef Jerky” sounds like a 1950s sitcom — an apron-clad housewife is sweeping joyously, when a grizzly bear rips through the door and eats the pie that’s cooling on the windowsill. Then it gets sassy with vocalist Miho Hatori squealing, “Who cares? I don’t care!” and “A horse’s ass is better than yours!”

“Sugar Water” – Michel Gondry (The Science of Sleep) directed a really stunning video for “Sugar Water” featuring a split screen with the same footage — one playing forward, the other backward. In the video, both members of Cibo Matto end up accidentally colliding.

“White Pepper Ice Cream” – The members of Cibo Matto wonder what white pepper ice cream would taste like, eventually determining that they do not care. Jazzy brass blasts in and out in the background as Hatori’s signature whispy vocals float over a sparse beat.

“Birthday Cake” – In this spunky track, Hatori drops the Miss Nice-Lady routine and screams at the top of her lungs, busting mad, strangely pronounced rhymes. Mainly, Hatori informs listeners that she put pot in the cake so they should just shut up and eat it.

“Theme” – Although not obviously titled after a foodstuff, “Theme” is about a sensual meeting with a man drinking a cappuccino in Milan. “The accidental meeting made my blood red like Chianti,” the song goes, referencing an Italian red wine.

“The Candy Man” – Reminiscent of Willy Wonka’s creepy but magical boat ride, the song’s chorus is a modern take on the chipper “Candy Man” song in 1971’s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. Still, it seems they’re not just singing about the man’s candy…

“Le Pain Perdu” (“The Lost Bread”) – Using some trumpets and dance beat, Cibo Matto compares everyday life to stale bread and a dull relationship to overly sweet and mushy maple syrup.

It’s hard to find a band with a sound quite like Growing. The group’s music is at once challenging, unique, and simple. Often grouped as drone/ambient music, a typical Growing track is a 10-minute plus instrumental wash, without much obvious variation. No melody. No beat. But, stay with me now —though the songs may lack variation, they’re not boring.

Growing is Kevin Doria on bass guitar and Joe Denardo on electric guitar, although you could hardly guess the instrumentation just by listening to most tracks. It’s more accurate to say that each musician plays a series of effects through pedals and amplifiers, rather than guitars. After experimenting for years, Doria and Denardo seem to have found the exact sounds they wanted to make, and they continue to break new ground.

Growing formed in 2001 in Olympia, Wash. as a three-piece group, releasing several cassettes and a video before its first LP, The Sky’s Run Into the Sea (2003). On The Sky’s Run, the new sounds weren’t there yet; the band seemed impatient, with a stadium rock guitar solo on almost every track. Following the LP, the third member left, allowing the band the creative flexibility that it needed.

Growing’s next album, The Soul of the Rainbow and the Harmony of Light, represents a distinct shift. On Soul, the band seems calmer — there is no rush to do something artificially interesting. Thus, Doria and Denardo are able to use more subtle variations as they move away from the guitar sounds to create a serene and enveloping effect. The good thing about this kind of ambient music is that it doesn’t have to be the focus of the listener. It’s just as good with the volume low, for somebody sitting on the porch reading, as it is when it’s filling the room completely.

Skip ahead to Color Wheel, the fourth LP. Color Wheel makes you forget that the world exists, allowing the mind to wander. Here, the duo has really figured out how to make the sounds they want, capable of completely overwhelming the listener without brute force. The album has a much more dynamic feel, while maintaining the patience of Soul. The opener is brilliant, starting out with a soaring overlay of delayed guitar sounding like a choir of horns, and a strong rumbling drone that trades focus with what can only be described as an incandescent glow — probably orange. Eventually the drone fades, and an explosion that’s not quite a tone comes in at unpredictable intervals, followed by a harsh rhythmic sound. The beauty isn’t gone though, as the “guitarist” overlays a more continuous stream of bright reflections and huge angelic flourishes at just the right times.

Following in Color Wheel’s tracks, this year’s Vision Swim is amazing as well.