With The Sirens, Potter sounds like he's discovering new languages while still speaking his own.
The Sirens arrives as a deliberate left turn. By this point in his career, Potter had established himself as a commanding saxophonist with a gift for straight-ahead jazz and a hunger for technical depth. But this record—recorded in 2011 and released on ECM—doesn't sound like a consolidation of that reputation. It sounds like someone pushing against the walls.
What you hear first is restraint. The band moves carefully through these pieces, leaving space between ideas. Craig Taborn on piano and Larry Grenadier on bass anchor things you already know, but David Virelles and Eric Harland pull the music in directions that feel both precise and uncertain. The saxophone lines breathe differently here—sometimes pinched and exploratory, sometimes floating above the rhythm rather than driving it. Potter's tone stays recognizable, but the way he deploys it suggests he's asking himself new questions about phrasing and texture. Songs don't follow expected arcs. They unfold.
All About Jazz correspondent John Kelman heard this shift clearly, writing that Potter "delivered one unlike any he's done before." He's right. This isn't Potter doing what Potter does. It's Potter trying to do something he hasn't done. Whether you connect with the results depends partly on patience—the album rewards listeners willing to sit with its quieter moments—but also on how you feel about an established musician genuinely taking risks rather than repeating a winning formula. The record matters because it proves Potter can still surprise himself.