| Jazz |
Isabelle and Raphaël Olivier’s Open: A Beautiful Dialogue Between Harp, Guitar and Jazz
A guitar, a harp, birdsong, a shaft of sunlight filtering through the studio’s ecru curtains. In my headphones, Open, the new album by Raphaël Olivier and Isabelle Olivier, begins to unfold. I stop what I am doing and listen. There is no grand entrance, no attempt to seize the listener’s attention through technical display or elaborate effects. The music simply settles into the room, as though it had always belonged there. Its first impression is one of calm, but beneath that apparent simplicity lies a remarkably rich musical conversation. This is contemplative music, certainly, but never passive: it is the work of two French musicians with classical training who have spent their careers exploring the possibilities beyond the traditions in which they were first formed. Their music takes the road less traveled. Jazz, folk, pop, songwriting and contemporary experimentation meet here without turning the album into a catalogue of influences. These traditions are not quoted for effect; they have been absorbed, transformed and made part of a language that feels entirely their own. Listening, I find myself imagining poems discovered in an old box, their pages yellowed with age, brought back into the light and given new life through a contemporary reading. Yet there is nothing nostalgic about Open. Its relationship with the past is imaginative rather than sentimental. The musical vocabulary of the 20th century is present throughout, filtered through two artists who understand that tradition remains alive only when someone is willing to take it somewhere new.
What catches my attention first is the quality of the exchange between Isabelle and Raphaël. The combination of harp and guitar might initially seem unusual. Both are string instruments, but their histories, physical characteristics and expressive possibilities are quite different. Bringing them together is one thing; finding a genuine balance between them is another. Here, neither instrument is relegated to an accompanying role, and neither seeks to dominate. Their relationship is delicate, sometimes almost precarious, yet that very fragility gives the music its distinctive character. Anyone familiar with the harp and the extraordinary range of sounds it can produce will recognize the imagination Isabelle Olivier brings to her instrument. She explores its possibilities with evident pleasure, but never at the expense of musical purpose. The harp can be orchestral and imposing, capable of extraordinary harmonic richness. It can also be percussive, intimate, atmospheric or unexpectedly mysterious. Olivier moves among these possibilities with remarkable freedom. She does not use the instrument as a decorative signature or as a shortcut to an instantly recognizable sound. She listens to it, challenges it and allows its natural qualities to emerge. Her playing suggests a relationship built over many years, extending beyond technical command into something closer to an intimate understanding of the instrument’s personality.
Raphaël Olivier approaches the guitar with a comparable openness. His experience as a guitarist, composer and producer informs an approach attentive not only to melody and harmony, but also to texture, atmosphere and the architecture of a composition. The guitar is never simply there to support the harp. It answers, questions, accompanies and occasionally moves in an entirely different direction. A genuine conversation takes place between the two musicians, with moments of closeness followed by passages in which each is free to explore independently. Nothing feels predetermined. The partnership works because each musician seems to understand what the other is trying to express, sometimes before the thought has fully taken shape. There is another dimension to this collaboration worth considering. Isabelle and Raphaël are mother and son, and their musical relationship has developed over 13 years. It would be easy to present this as an appealing family story, an emotional detail intended to lend the album an additional layer of intimacy. But that would miss the point. What interests me is the way a personal relationship has become the foundation for a genuinely independent artistic dialogue. Raphaël is not simply following in his mother’s footsteps, and Isabelle is not trying to pass on a musical doctrine. Each brings a different experience, sensibility and set of references. Their collaboration does not depend on similarity. Quite the opposite: its strength comes from the freedom each gives the other to remain an individual. The result is neither a musical inheritance preserved intact nor a generational compromise. It is something created in the space between them.
Artistic transmission is rarely straightforward. It involves what is learned, of course, but also what is questioned, challenged and ultimately transformed. On Open, the relationship between generations takes the form of an ongoing conversation. One senses the years of experimentation behind the music: the rehearsals, the exchanges, the ideas pursued and those eventually left behind. The album does not attempt to document that entire process. Instead, it offers something more revealing: the sound of two musicians who have had enough time to discover how they work together. The record unfolds like a walk through a succession of landscapes that gradually become familiar. Each composition has its own identity, yet a shared atmosphere runs throughout. “Bird in the Forest” establishes an immediate connection with the natural world. It does not attempt to reproduce the sounds of a forest or provide a musical illustration of nature. Rather, it creates a sense of space, encouraging the listener to notice small details, the movement of sound and the possibilities of silence. Open landscapes come to mind, along with the movement of air and the presence of things that remain just beyond sight. The music does not describe the forest. It seems to breathe with it.
“Woman Farmer” moves toward a more distinctly folk-oriented sensibility. Its melodic directness is a reminder of how much depth popular musical traditions can contain when approached without condescension. Folk music is not a fixed heritage to be preserved behind glass. It continues to evolve through the people who reinterpret it, carry it into new contexts and bring it into contact with other traditions. Isabelle and Raphaël seem to understand this instinctively. Their approach is neither academic nor nostalgic; these influences have become part of the music’s natural vocabulary.
With “Bread Blues,” another character emerges. Blues and swing introduce a more earthy, playful quality without disturbing the album’s overall balance. What I particularly appreciate is the absence of musical name-dropping. The references are there, but they are never underlined. The musicians are not trying to demonstrate that they know the vocabulary of jazz or blues. They have absorbed these traditions well enough to use them freely, without constantly pointing back to their origins.
“Shapes (Duo)” is, for me, one of the album’s most revealing moments. Harp and guitar seem to be exploring their own boundaries, testing how far they can move independently while remaining connected. The composition is built around proximity and distance, around gestures that are sometimes barely perceptible. Its interest lies not simply in the notes being played, but in the way they meet, overlap and leave room for one another. There is almost the sensation of listening to two people thinking aloud together, except that their conversation takes place entirely through sound.
“Looking for Dad” introduces a more intimate atmosphere. Its title naturally suggests questions of memory, family and absence. I would rather leave those associations open than impose a specific biographical interpretation on the piece. Music has a particular ability to evoke feelings without reducing them to a narrative. Each listener can find a memory, a face, a distance or a moment from their own life. That freedom matters. The composition does not explain itself, and it does not need to.
“How Many Miles” extends the sense of a journey already underway. Distance can refer to travel, experience or the time separating two moments in a person’s life. In the context of this album, the title takes on an additional resonance. Thirteen years of musical collaboration represent more than a sequence of rehearsals or recording sessions. They suggest a gradual process of discovery, shaped by personal changes as much as by artistic development. The question in the title lingers without demanding an answer.
One of the album’s pleasures is the way it approaches familiar songs. Reinterpreting a well-known composition is always a delicate exercise. There is the risk of simply reproducing what listeners already know, or of changing so much that the original loses its identity. “No Surprises,” by Radiohead, is a particularly interesting choice. The original already contains an unusual tension between the apparent innocence of its melody and the darker emotional world beneath it. Reimagining it in such a stripped-back acoustic setting calls for a careful sense of proportion. The aim is not to recreate Radiohead’s sound or compete with an interpretation that has become part of contemporary musical memory. It is to find the song’s emotional center and allow it to emerge in a different setting. Guitar and harp establish a new atmosphere, while the voice gives the melody another kind of intimacy. The arrangement does not seek to impress through complexity. Instead, it reveals how much remains when the familiar sonic surroundings are stripped away.
That, to me, is the real art of reinterpretation. Changing a song’s arrangement is not enough. One must discover why it continues to matter and find a way to make that meaning audible again. Isabelle and Raphaël approach the composition with respect, but without reverence. They make it their own without losing what made it memorable in the first place. “On the Edge” introduces a different kind of tension. The title suggests a precarious position, a point of balance that could shift at any moment. That feeling is reflected in the relationship between the instruments. The musicians do not appear to control every detail or anticipate every possible development. They leave room for uncertainty, for the small deviations that give a performance its life. Such freedom requires considerable trust. It comes from knowing another musician well enough to accept that not every gesture needs to be planned in advance.
And then there is “Moon River,” the track I keep returning to. The melody belongs to our collective musical memory. It has been performed and rearranged countless times, and most listeners will have their own associations with it. The temptation might have been to produce another elaborate version, adding layers of arrangement and instrumental effects to establish a distinctive interpretation. Isabelle and Raphaël take the opposite approach.
Nothing intrudes on the quiet beauty of their reading. The melody unfolds with an almost disarming naturalness. Guitar and harp find an extraordinary balance, while the voice follows the musical line without attempting to dominate it. Everything depends on restraint. It takes real maturity to recognize that a melody this strong does not need to be constantly emphasized. Sometimes the greatest service a musician can offer a composition is simply to give it room to breathe. Here, too, the understanding between the two artists becomes especially apparent. Both could easily put their individual abilities on display, yet neither seems interested in doing so. Their instruments serve a shared musical intention. The performance’s beauty lies in its refusal to overstate anything: notes are allowed to resonate, silences remain undisturbed. I find myself doing very little beyond listening.
The cello adds another dimension in “Yarrow.” Its presence opens up a more expansive sonic space and recalls the connections between Raphaël’s musical background and his early classical training. The cello has an almost vocal quality, with a capacity for warmth and sustained expression that brings a different emotional depth to the ensemble. Its appearance feels less like an additional ornament than a carefully chosen voice within an already established musical conversation. The return of “Shapes (Mix)” gives the album a sense of closure without making it feel entirely finished. We encounter familiar musical material, but our perception has changed. Everything heard along the way has altered the way we understand it. The album reveals itself as more than a collection of individual pieces linked by the presence of harp and guitar. It has an internal rhythm, a sense of progression and an emotional continuity that becomes increasingly apparent as the listening experience unfolds.
What I particularly admire about this approach is that it never forces a choice between sophistication and accessibility. The compositions are carefully developed, the arrangements are precise, and the two instruments are used with an intimate understanding of their possibilities. Yet there is no sense that the musicians are trying to impress the listener. One can listen closely to the harmonies, the phrasing and the instrumental exchanges, or simply surrender to the melodies and atmosphere. Neither way of listening diminishes the other.
The sound itself is central to the experience. When an album relies so heavily on two acoustic instruments, recording and production become part of the musical expression. The attack of a string, the decay of a note, the resonance of the harp and the spaces between phrases all matter. The listener needs to sense the physical presence of the instruments rather than hear them flattened into a uniform sonic surface. Here, that attention to detail preserves the individuality of each instrument while maintaining the delicate balance between them.
We have become accustomed to productions that fill every available space, layering sounds and effects in an effort to hold our attention. Open takes another route. It trusts the instruments, the compositions and, perhaps most importantly, the listener. This is not a nostalgic return to some imagined purity of acoustic music. It is a conscious decision to let sound retain its physical and expressive qualities. Music does not always need production techniques to make itself heard. That openness also reflects two artistic careers never confined to a single discipline. Over the years, Isabelle Olivier has developed a distinctive approach to the harp, jazz and composition, extending her work through international collaborations and encounters with other artistic forms. Raphaël Olivier has built a career bringing together performance, composition and production. Their respective experiences give them a broad understanding of musical possibilities. More important, neither has lost the curiosity to explore them.
That curiosity may be what distinguishes artists who continue to develop from those who eventually become repetitions of their own past. Technical mastery is essential, but it is not enough. There must also be a willingness to be surprised, to welcome unexpected ideas and to engage with musical worlds beyond familiar territory. Open is shaped by precisely that disposition. It does not attempt to establish a definitive identity. It allows one to emerge through the act of playing together.
I would not want to turn this album into a theoretical statement. It does not need to carry the burden of a manifesto. Its strength lies in its apparent simplicity and in the pleasure it offers through listening. Questions of artistic inheritance, musical boundaries and the relationship between generations naturally arise when considering the story behind the record. But they should never obscure the most immediate truth: this music works because it is beautiful, because these two artists have found something meaningful to share, and because they have discovered how to make that exchange audible. There is a kind of sincerity one recognizes without needing to explain at length. It can be heard in the choice of a single note, in the way a phrase is allowed to breathe, or in a silence deliberately left untouched. It appears when two musicians no longer feel the need to demonstrate what they can do and instead concentrate on discovering what is worth playing together. That is what I take away from Open.
When the album ends, I remain in the room for a few moments. The sunlight may have shifted; the birds are still singing outside, and the guitar and harp seem to have left something of their presence behind. I think again of “Moon River,” of the delicacy of the arrangements and the remarkable discipline required to resist unnecessary embellishment. I think, too, of the journey Isabelle and Raphaël have taken together, of a family relationship that has become a genuine artistic adventure rather than a convenient promotional narrative.
There is a quiet generosity in this music. It invites us to rediscover the pleasure of listening attentively, without preconceptions and without the need to classify everything we hear. Nothing is forced, nothing overstated. Isabelle and Raphaël bring their individual histories and sensibilities into a relationship built on trust, allowing the music to find its own direction. I smile, let myself be carried along, and find myself wanting to start the album again. And when the last notes have faded, there is only one thing left to do: applaud.
Thierry De Clemensat
Member at Jazz Journalists Association
USA correspondent for Paris-Move and ABS magazine
Editor in chief – Bayou Blue Radio, Bayou Blue News
PARIS-MOVE, November 11th, 2026
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Musicians :
Isabelle Olivier: harp
Raphael Oliovier: guitar, voices
Track Listing :
Bird in the Forest
Woman Farmer
Bread Blues
Shapes (Duo)
Looking for Dad
How Many Miles
No Surprises
On the Edge
Moon River
Yarrow
Shapes (Mix)