Pianist and composer Kavyesh Kaviraj tells his own story on his debut album Fables.
Fables is the debut album from pianist and composer Kavyesh Kaviraj. The bandleader arrives in full force, after years accompanying the likes of Wynton Marsalis, David Sanchez, Justin Robinson, Roosevelt Collier, Steve Cole, and many others. Over eight original compositions, Kaviraj is riveting, playing with astonishing virtuosity and spirit. He is matched by a stellar band, anchored by bassist Jeff Bailey, drummer Kevin Washington, saxophonist Pete Whitman, and trumpeter Omar Abdulkarim. The group has performed together for years in various arrangements, and the camaraderie shows.
On Fables, Kaviraj presents music that is intense, beautiful, and reaching. The project, more than seven years in the making, is rooted in a longstanding desire to tell stories through music. “When I was a child, my mother gave me as many storybooks as she could find — Russian children’s books, old Indian parables, and of course, Aesop’s Fables. I developed a love for the allegory and imagery of the hero’s journey, and that influence is at the heart of this project.”
Here, Kaviraj employs the device quite literally: each song is a fable, with its own story and moral. Taken together, they describe his life as an immigrant, marked by diverse influences, an unrelenting faith in people, and not always knowing where to call home.
These themes come as no surprise. Born to musical parents in Oman, Kaviraj began his journey at the piano at age two. His father, a lifelong music educator, exposed him to Carnatic and Hindustani music early on, eventually encouraging him to move to India as a teenager to further his studies. In 2016, he again relocated, this time to the United States. No small change, it was here that his Indian and Middle Eastern roots met jazz, a fusion that shows up often — and masterfully — on the record.
Finding this mid-point wasn’t easy. “As a musician, I’ve never belonged fully in any one category. For years, this dissonance held me back,” explains Kaviraj. “Thankfully, I learned to accept that my identity is mine to craft. Instead of needing to be one thing, it’s ok — great, even — to be many.”
It’s perhaps no surprise, then, that this is where the album begins. With “Who Am I”, Kaviraj tells the story of finding himself, and his voice as an artist. Opening with a repeating figure in the piano, the piece has a steady heartbeat, soft yet essential. It quickly unfolds into a more forceful solo section, with Kaviraj leading in a spirited dialogue with drummer Kevin Washington. Powerful shifts to darker tonal centers provide a contrast to the song’s floating, more hypnotic core, in recognition that our true nature is complex, and made up of many shades.
“Saudade”, follows as a buoyant counterpoint. “Where I grew up in India, many Brazilian teachers came to live and work. They taught me the word ‘saudade’, which means to reminisce or long for a place or time. As much as the US is home, I often find myself thinking back to the music and people of my village.” These recollections, clearly fond, form the basis for this second piece.
With “Rain”, the music returns to a lush, more forceful texture. The song constantly surprises, at moments dark, then suddenly light. It’s hard to pin down, in a good way, and feels clearly inspired by its subject: rain, which can be beautiful at times, and at others, overwhelming. Focused on the memory of a particularly powerful storm from Kaviraj’s childhood, the composition centers on an extended pedal point, with the pianist leading the group on a moving, Keith Jarrett-like exploration. Eventually, he veers into a powerful ostinato, providing a backdrop for an explosive solo by Washington.
“Beloved” immediately calms — gentle, almost dreamlike. It glides with a sense of curious, longing discovery, which comes as no surprise given its source: the story of Kaviraj’s parents finding love. “As is common in many Indian families, my parents had an arranged marriage. Though they’d met earlier in life, it was only when their marriage was proposed that they began the journey of getting to know each other. I tried to capture this with this piece, setting out to write a simple love song. What emerged is a bit more complex — but still breathable, singable, legato, and honest”. The song, which finds Kaviraj on keyboard, features a beautiful solo by trumpeter Omar Abdulkarim, who floats atop the core ostinato with a breathiness that suits it perfectly.
“Take My Hand” enters with vocals, which five songs in come as a welcome surprise. It’s also here that you notice a clear theme in the horn writing and playing: almost always at a soft dynamic, never more the focus than any other element of the ensemble. It’s in this way that the group feels like a true meeting of equals, all in support of the music. The timing couldn’t be more apt, with this particular piece inspired by a sculpture, entitled Okciyapi, in the Twin Cities’ Loring Park. Okciyapi, derived from a Dakota phrase, means to help each other — an ethos that is in no short supply here. Again, Abdulkarim solos, showing off a sound and lyricism that feel deeply suited to the music. This is not an album of pyrotechnics, so much as melodies and emotions deeply felt.
One of the dynamic highs of the album, “They Cannot Expel Hope” tells a political story. Not nearly as delicate as its neighbors, here the band moves, capturing the tension and tumult of its “fable”: the expulsion of two African American lawmakers by the Tennessee legislature in 2023, and their inspiring road back to the chamber. For all its intensity, the piece is undeniably aspirational. Saxophonist Pete Whitman plays one of his more moving solos, with Kaviraj pushing him to a powerful crescendo before himself taking a solo that stands out as a highlight of the album.
“Lullaby” draws inspiration from Kaviraj’s mother, Pushpavalli TK, herself a well-known Malayalam singer. “One of her most famous songs is a lullaby, which played constantly in our house growing up,” explains Kaviraj. The influence shows, with the piece clearly marking what feels like a textural home of the album. “The song starts out as a soothing lullaby, before going on to reveal the hopes and dreams she has for her son — including, amongst other things, ruling the world.” Though Kaviraj has no such intentions, the progression from soft to quite intense is one he’s clearly learned, and employs masterfully throughout the record.
“Smoke of the Midnight Lamp” is a fitting end to the album. It finds the pianist at one of his darker moments: fresh out of college, broke, and with a ticking immigration clock. “It was one of the coldest winters on record, and a time when my life was filled with uncertainty. In many ways, I felt trapped,” explains Kaviraj. What saved him, clearly, was music. “It was really all I had. I poured myself into it, found solace in it.” Named for the lamp he jokingly imagined burning as he played through the night, the piece is a climax in more ways than one. Here, the band is at its peak, with Whitman leading the group on a powerful, extended solo. When the lush, anthemic melody returns, it’s not only played, but sung — a rare but essential moment of voice on the album. Taken together, this final movement betrays the passion, commitment, and heart of the band’s leader, and of the musicians he’s assembled. “Thank god for the piano,” says Kaviraj. “Thank god for music.”