His trumpet lines are calls of hope and longing, streaks of light in the darkness.
Ravensburg opens with space—Mathias Eick's trumpet floating over sparse piano and strings, unhurried, almost searching. There's no rush here. Andreas Ulvo on piano leaves room to breathe between chords, Håkon Aase's violin moves in patient counterpoint, and the rhythm section of Audun Erlien on bass and Helge Norbakken on percussion settles into a gentle pulse. This is Eick's world: intimate, reflective, built on the purity of his tone rather than energy or display.
His fourth ECM album as a leader, recorded in June 2017, centers loosely on family and personal connection. Eick named it after Ravensburg, a town in Swabia, Germany, where his grandmother came from—a deliberate turn inward after his previous album, Midwest, which was a journey toward home. Here the compass points to the people closest to him: lovers, friends, family. The music reflects that intimacy. Nothing is overplayed. The ensemble works small, conversation-like, with Ulvo's piano and Aase's violin often leading while Eick's trumpet responds, waits, listens. Torstein Lofthus on membranophone adds texture without intrusion.
What distinguishes this record is restraint and clarity. Eick's trumpet sound remains one of the purest in jazz—radiant without being bright, lyrical without sentiment. RTÉ.ie gave it four out of five stars, and JazzTimes critic Thomas Conrad noted the album reveals gradual, intelligent growth. No one plays trumpet lines like Eick's. They are provisional, mysterious, rarely stating anything outright. If you've heard his earlier ECM work and want to see where his language deepens, this is the place.