You know what? I walked in a fan of piano and accordion. I walked out kind of buzzing. Not from coffee. From sound. Wild, careful, funny sound. Someone else had a similar rush in their own write-up, which you can read here.
Who are these two, anyway?
Antonello Salis plays piano like it’s a drum one minute and a river the next. He’s Sardinian, and you can hear the folk roots peeking through the jazz. Get a deeper taste of his restless discography and current projects on his official website. For a taste of him unaccompanied, check out this thoughtful All About Jazz review of his album “PianoSolo.” He also plays accordion, but this time he sat mostly at the grand. For a glimpse of how his accordion dialogues with even more unexpected partners—say, a berimbau—take a look at this night he shared with Naná Vasconcelos over here.
Simone Zanchini holds an accordion like a secret engine. He can make it sing sweet, or snarl, or storm. Sometimes all three in one breath.
People call them jazz. That’s fair. But it’s also play. It’s risk. It’s two big ears listening hard.
The room, the mood
Small hall. Low lights. No fancy set. Just a shiny grand, a chair, a couple mics, and that black-and-chrome accordion. I sat close enough to see the bellows move and the dust lift when Salis hit the low strings.
A couple in front of me whispered, “Is this free jazz?” I shrugged. Then the first note hit, and we all shut up.
First tune: a hush, then a grin
They opened quiet—so quiet you could hear the bellows breathe. Zanchini held a single note and bent it with the air, like a violin but warmer. Salis reached into the piano and plucked a low string with his left hand while his right hand tapped a tiny rhythm on the keys. No rush. Just a slow build.
Then he did that Salis thing: stood up mid-phrase, slapped the piano frame with his palm for a backbeat, and slid back to the bench without losing the pulse. I let out a tiny laugh. Couldn’t help it. It felt like a magic trick.
Real moments that stuck
- A quick quote of Caravan popped up, just two bars, and they twisted it into a knotted groove. Everyone caught it. You could feel the smirks.
- Zanchini did a bellows shake that sounded like far-off thunder, then snapped to a bright, almost music-box melody. The contrast hit hard.
- Salis muted the piano strings with a cloth and made a soft, dry clack under Zanchini’s line. It turned the grand into a giant kalimba for a minute.
- They slid into a simple folk phrase—felt Sardinian to me—and turned it inside out. Same shape, new colors. Like watching someone fold paper into a bird.
- At one point, Zanchini leaned into the mic and let a tiny growl sit under a high note. It was weird and human, in a good way.
The dance between them
Here’s the thing: their timing is tight, but not stiff. They push and pull. One leans forward, the other leans back, and the time breathes. When Salis stacks big, crunchy chords (jazz folks call them clusters), Zanchini answers with thin, high threads. When Zanchini goes fast, like “how are those fingers doing that” fast, Salis drops to a single note pedal point and makes space.
They stop on a dime. Then they hang. Then, wham—back in. It’s theater without the drama hands.
How it made me feel
I felt my chest lift when they hit the big swells. I felt calm during the whisper parts. I caught myself tapping the seat rail like a kid. I also got a bit teary on a slow tune midway through—no big reason, just that warm, late-night kind of feeling music can give. Turns out I’m not the only one; another audience member wrote about getting hit in much the same way here. Funny how that happens when folks trust a melody.
I tested them at home, too
After the show, I put on their duo recording on my phone while cooking pasta. Studio sound is cleaner, of course. You hear the tiny reeds and the felt on the hammers. The wild edges are still there, but a bit neater. One track starts with a slow drone and a small, bright piano figure; another breaks a standard into puzzle pieces and fits them back together. If you want another perspective on Salis holding the stage all by himself, JazzTimes published a sharp take on that same “PianoSolo” session that captures much of what I heard. It’s not the same as the room—nothing is—but it holds up. It’s good company for a slow simmer.
What I loved
- Humor without being cute
- Big dynamic swings—whisper to roar
- Real folk flavor under the jazz lines
- That inside-piano percussion (I’m a sucker for it)
- Zanchini’s control of air and attack; the man paints with bellows
Tiny gripes, because I’m me
- A couple free sections ran a bit long. I like space, but I also like a landing.
- One loud peak felt harsh in the room. Might’ve been the mic, not them.
Who should go hear them?
- If you love Monk, Piazzolla, or short stories with surprise endings
- If you like your jazz with mud on the boots and sparkle on top
- If you want to feel risk, not just hear notes
Maybe skip if you need tidy, verse-chorus songs all night. This isn’t that.
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Final word
I came for craft. I stayed for heart. These two listen so hard that you feel braver, just sitting there. Is that corny? Maybe. But I walked out lighter, and I kept hearing that soft bellows breath in my head. And dinner tasted better, which says a lot, since the pasta was kind of overcooked.