Brad Mehldau : Ride Into the Sun Review

by Steven Miller

Brad Mehldau has always walked the borders between musical worlds. On Ride Into the Sun, he threads genres into a single, glowing tapestry. This 16-track cycle arrives as a summation of so many influences that have shaped Mehldau’s pianistic universe.  The lyricism of jazz piano, the harmonic intensity of 20th-century classical music, the earthy pulse of 60s folk-rock, the open-hearted warmth of Americana, and his enduring fascination with counterpoint. What makes this album feel different is its sense of architecture. These stylistic excursions are movements in a unified work, each track feeding the next with orchestral color, thematic recall, and harmonic continuation.

The album is a study in hybrid writing with a fusion of a deeper kind of synthesis. Mehldau explores how a single harmonic idea can move between folk guitar textures, full orchestral swells, modal passages, lyrical solo piano melodies, intervallic modernism, and pianistic cadenzas that naturally live in the same sound space. Listeners drawn to 60s rock and world-music influence will feel the album’s pulse in its rhythmic grounding and its expanded instrumentation, while those with ears for contemporary classical composition will find much to love here, and will recognize the unmistakable imprint of American classical lineage.

The opening movement, “Ride Into the Sun: Part I,” begins with arpeggiated piano chords. Mehldau’s playing is luminous, flowing, and pastoral. The composition carries a lyrical melody that feels deeply rooted in American music. As the orchestra enters, it doesn’t sit behind the piano; it becomes part of its voice. The theme passes between the piano and the various sections of the orchestra with striking fluidity, creating a dialogue. This is the first major declaration of the album’s fusion of jazz phrasing, rock-inflected harmonic direction, and classical orchestration treated as equal partners.

The middle section invites a shift toward 20th-century classical writing. The harmonies tighten, the intervals stretch, and a modernist tension surfaces reminiscent of early-century American expressionism and serialism. The piano chords bring sharper serial contours; however, Mehldau never abandons tonality, as the gravitational pull toward a center remains constant, a crucial point in how he modulates intensity to bring about emotional coherence.

At the track’s apex is Mehldau’s piano cadenza, but his touch at the piano becomes the narrative throughout the performance. In a remarkable gesture of structural awareness, the orchestral return doesn’t overwhelm; instead, it dissolves gradually into a series of gorgeously voiced chords that lead directly into the intimate solo-piano track “Thirteen.” It is sequencing at its most intentional.

“Everybody Cares, Everybody Understands” lands in the ear like a rediscovered reel of late-60s American rock, but refined through Mehldau’s harmonic and rhythmic lens. A hip guitar part opens the tune, its rhythmic texture unmistakably steeped in that era’s folk-rock sensibility. Mehldau’s piano enters as a lead and supporting voice, a co-conspirator.  Mehldau’s voicings mirror the guitar’s resonance, and the interlocking patterns create a rhythmic weave that feels organic and very enjoyable to hear.

The groove is relaxed yet alive, driven by subtle kinetic details. Mehldau uses register to merge with the guitar’s timbre. At times, he uses mid-range comping, lightly percussive figures, and harmonically rich right-hand melodies that add to the texture. As the electric guitar joins, the arrangement broadens, and a small vocal ensemble enters with sustained “ahh” harmonies that expand the warmth of the track without distracting from its rootsy foundation.

Halfway through, the drums and orchestra enter, layering intensity without breaking the folk groove. The bass sound is especially notable with full, woody, and perfectly tuned to the harmonic language of the 60s. The writing makes the cadential figures land with surprising emotional weight. Mehldau adds blues-inflected fills, subtle colors in the phrasing that reinforce the link between jazz harmony and 60s rock attitude. The orchestral cadence near the close is elegant and understated, nudging the harmony toward “Somebody,” the next track in the sequence. A moment of connective tissue, masterfully handled.

“Colorbars (feat. Chris Thile)” may be the album’s most effortless expression of its hybrid spirit. Thile’s mandolin enters first with its warm, percussive, and rhythmically alive sound. His vocal entrance sets a distinctly Americana tone. The composition is not a gesture toward genre, but a fully grounded statement of exploration of American music. Mehldau joins with a sensitivity that reveals his long-standing affection for American folk traditions. The piano doesn’t impose genre onto the mandolin; instead, it listens, adapts, and meets it on common ground.

The band establishes a groove that feels equal parts Americana, folk-rock, and jazz. The backbeat is subtle but present. The harmonic language leans with hints of blues coloration and open-string resonance, allowing the mandolin and piano to occupy shared harmonic space. Thile’s vocals thrive in this atmosphere of intimate, honest, and rhythmically aligned pulses.

Mehldau’s piano solo becomes the track’s central hinge. His lines dance between blues gesture and jazz motivic development, revealing how deeply he understands the vocabulary of both traditions. Notice how he uses rhythmic displacement to keep the solo mobile without breaking the feel, a hallmark of his cross-genre approach. Thile’s mandolin solo blooms with references from his upper-register falsetto leaps. He launches into a rhythmic and expressive mandolin improvisation that mirrors the composition’s style and colors.

“Ride Into the Sun: Conclusion” is the final movement that completes the album’s architectural design. It begins with the orchestra in a bold, open sonority with elements of broad brass, rich wind colors, and a distinctly American harmonic signature. The writing nods to late-60s and early-70s modern classical thought, but with a melodic sensibility that keeps it anchored in emotional clarity rather than abstraction.

As the piano enters, it acts as a soloist and structural mediator. Themes reappear, transformed by the journey of the album. The orchestra passes the motif through brass, woodwinds, and strings, each adding contour until the ensemble reaches a collective swell. At the height of this build, Mehldau takes the reins alone: a piano passage shaped with ascending register, cumulative intensity, and crystalline articulation. It’s a callback to the many textures heard in the album, a mirror that transforms the journey into focus and understanding.

The climax lands with a brilliant orchestral bloom before the texture thins, returning to solo piano. Mehldau explores the thematic material one last time, placing American folk and jazz sensibilities side by side in gently shifting constellations of harmony. Then, unexpectedly yet perfectly, the band returns with an Americana-rock-soul groove. The transition feels celebratory, acting like a communal arrival point. Mehldau’s lines ride the groove with a deep pocket and melodic purpose, ending the album on a note of grounded joy.

Ride Into the Sun is Brad Mehldau creating a structurally unified project across 16 tracks. Mehldau proves that the boundaries between jazz, rock, classical, and Americana are not obstacles but opportunities for expanded musical logic. The large ensemble and piano offer a harmonic craft where you will hear the improvisational integrity, 60s rock, Americana, American classical, and world-music color. It’s an album that makes it a joy to find all the many elements that make it sound like something deeply familiar, but filled with many surprises.