Album review: Olly Chalk – In Those Remote Stars (Resonant Postcards)

Olly Chalk (piano, synthesizer); Ruta Sipola (flute);  Daniel Kemshell (guitar); Hugo Piper (bass); Corrie Dick (drums)

There is a palpable sense of return, renewal and hard-won joy running through In Those Remote Stars, the new album from south-east London pianist and composer Olly Chalk. Developed collaboratively with a close-knit quintet and released on Jonny Mansfield’s artist-led imprint Resonant Postcards, the record feels less like a statement of intent than a deeply considered exhale: music rediscovered, re-centred and quietly glowing.

Written in the aftermath of the pandemic - and following a brief, bruising detour into stand-up comedy - Chalk’s compositions are shaped by the experience of falling out of, and then decisively back in, love with music. That emotional arc gives the album its particular gravity. These are chamber-jazz pieces infused with warmth and curiosity, where virtuosity is always in service of atmosphere, narrative and shared exploration.

 

The quintet is superb throughout: Chalk on piano and discreet synths, Ruta Sipola’s flute providing a luminous, pastoral thread, Daniel Kemshell’s guitar lines drifting between lyricism and bite, Hugo Piper’s bass grounding the music with patient authority, and Corrie Dick’s drums offering colour, momentum and finely judged restraint. Their interplay feels genuinely collegiate - not merely well-rehearsed, but deeply empathetic.

 

Opening track Sanctity sets the tone, unfolding with a serene inevitability as flute, piano and percussion interlock in gently intensifying cycles. There is an almost Arcadian quality to the writing here, music that seems to breathe and listen as much as it speaks. Howdy, one of the album’s singles, drifts by with an unforced ease: meandering guitar, soft-focus harmony and a sense of contentment that feels hard-earned rather than naive.

 

Elsewhere, Chalk’s influences surface subtly and without pastiche. There are flashes of 1970s Frank Zappa in the quickfire, synth-tinged passages, the lucid melodicism of Kate Bush, and the genre-fluid sensibilities of David Binney and Aaron Parks. Yet where Zappa could sometimes feel arch or ironic, In Those Remote Stars is grounded in warmth and generosity. The music is curious, not clever for its own sake.

 

Zenjo, inspired by the stillness of an imagined forest, reveals one of the album’s defining qualities: an “idyllic darkness”, particularly evident in Piper’s bass work, that allows angularity and softness to coexist. The title track is a highlight - a pensive meditation that briefly recalls Bill Evans’ Peace Piece before opening out into something more expansive, as guitars and flute lift the music into flight.

 

At the album’s centre sit two brief, exquisite solo piano interludes: Matter Is In The Making and Stranger Beings Yet. Radically concise, they occupy a fascinating midpoint between Anton Webern’s distilled miniatures and the introspective warmth of Vince Guaraldi - moments of reflection that deepen the album’s sense of inward journey.

 

By the time Daughters Of The Sun closes the record, with flute and synths rising together in understated eloquence, the album’s emotional trajectory is complete. What remains is a quiet but profound meditation on imagination, rediscovery and the possibility of better worlds - remote, perhaps, but vividly felt.

 

In Those Remote Stars is not a record that demands attention; it earns it. In rediscovering his own joy in music-making, Olly Chalk has created an album that invites the listener to do the same - to linger, to listen closely, and to trust where the music might lead next. Glenn Wright