“There was a seed that all of us were holding on to in our own places and individually, and it was enough reason to bring us all back to putting in the time and effort to play together again,” Patrick said.

Tucked in the corner of Lowlands Bar on a frigid January evening, Alaara found unexpected magic. A door beside them swung open, freezing air gushed in sending shivers through their bodies as they played together just over the hum of voices in the dim-lit room. The Brooklyn-based trio, composed of pianist Sonya Belaya, percussionist Nicole Patrick, and guitarist Grey McMurray, were improvising together for the first time, and it felt like the beginning of a conversation they wanted to keep having.

“There is some sort of tangible, stoic sentimentality about how we all relate to music that we like, and that felt specific and was maybe my most favorite thing,” McMurray said.

“[Alaara] is really different from my other projects and processes, where there's a lot of onus on really thinking through a concept super in-depth and a lot of preparation and moving parts. It’s like a breath of fresh air to strip away all of that and just listen to each other,” Belaya said.

“To really slow down and to actually be in that space of patience and listening is extremely hard for me. And it's also the best version of myself when I actually do that. So, I think to get to embody that musically is the best version of who I want to be as a person,” Belaya said.

Belaya was the impetus and connector for the trio. She and Patrick had been friends for many years but had never played music together, while she and McMurray had met during the pandemic. After that first set, they knew they wanted to keep the band up. They didn’t want to talk about it, they just wanted to keep playing together and seeing where it could go. That brought them to want to record an album, seeking to capture the spark they found in live performance. So, they went to a tiny podcast studio and improvised, spinning meditative melodies out of thin air.

“Going into recording, we just wanted to see what happens,” McMurray said.

“There was no discussion as to what we were doing, how long we were going to be there. We did a soundcheck and then that just continued and drifted into about a 50-minute thing that naturally came to a close. And then we were like, well, that that was cool. You want to do that another time or something?” Patrick said.

“There was a seed that all of us were holding on to in our own places and individually, and it was enough reason to bring us all back to putting in the time and effort to play together again,” Patrick said.

A desire for patience, listening, and understanding is at the core of their work, and it seeps into and extends beyond the sound of their music. Since first finding their shared language at that set in January 2021, they’ve continued to explore it, recording an album and playing an array of shows across New York. At their concerts, they bring their deep listening style to the stage, focusing on playing each note with intention. 

“Patience is like exegesis—the way you just evaporate into a text to go beyond the thing to get to another place,” McMurray said.

“[Patience is] a core part of who we all are and the way we exist in our lives, so it's peaceful to be around that. Patience works in a reciprocal way and it's easier to exist in it when it's also around you,” Patrick said.

With each performance, they hope to just keep doing what they do best—taking music one step at a time and inviting the audience to get lost with them. As Belaya summed it up: “Give yourself the compassion to stay in one place and to just be in that space and take it into some other aspect of your life.”

About Vanessa Ague

Vanessa Ague is a violinist and critic who writes for publications including the Wire, Pitchfork, and Bandcamp Daily. She is a recent graduate of the Craig Newmark Graduate School of Journalism at CUNY.