On their new album, Gilda Razani and Hanzō Wanning take us on a thrilling, boundary-crossing journey. Their „Songs Without Words“ draw from Persian folk music, jazz, chamber music, synth-pop, and electronic soundscapes. Each of the six expansive tracks contains a small universe within itself. They skillfully defy listener expectations, taking complete freedom to create their multifaceted soundscapes. Razani, in addition to playing the soprano saxophone, is a master of the wondrous theremin, an instrument played without physical contact. Hanzō Wanning grounds the music with warm piano melodies and ethereal synth sounds. On some tracks, percussionist Fethi Ak joins them on the darbuka, adding a third, rhythmic dimension. Razani’s Persian homeland with its traditional customs is as much an inspiration as the courageous Iranian actress Taraneh Alidoosti, who risked her life and gave up her career through public protest. The trio concludes with „Reverie,“ a piece in which thoughts are free to drift and we can delve deep within ourselves.

Melodiva

It’s around 11 PM and after spending nearly an hour listening to “Songs Without Words” again and again, I finally decided it was time to write about it. About Aphrodite created a 6-track album that pulled me into its own world without saying a single word. Every piece has its unique character but together they flow like one complete journey.

The production is professional from start to end and it’s clear how much care went into every detail. The instrumentation is creative with small touches that kept catching my attention each time I played the album. I also enjoyed all the sound design which gives every track its identity while keeping the whole record connected. The melodies stayed with me long after the music stopped and that’s something I always appreciate.

You can hear influences from different musical traditions but they blend together so smoothly that nothing sounds out of place. The theremin, soprano saxophone, piano, synthesizers and percussion all have their purpose, creating an atmosphere that’s easy to get lost in. Even though the album moves through different moods it never never loses its direction.

This is a well crafted project with impressive musicianship and many thoughtful ideas packed into only 6 tracks. I honestly enjoyed spending time with it and I can easily see myself coming back whenever I want music that lets my mind wander somewhere else. About Aphrodite have created something memorable and I’m looking forward to hearing where they go next.

cheerstothevikings.com

A record that feels less like a collection of compositions and more like a shifting geography of sound, Songs Without Words positions About Aphrodite in a space where jazz intuition and electronic architecture blur into a single language. Across its unfolding, the album resists fixed identity, instead leaning into movement, ambiguity, and a kind of quiet emotional drift that rarely settles in one place for too long. What emerges is a work shaped by contrast: intimacy and distance, structure and improvisation, tradition and synthetic abstraction coexisting without forcing resolution.
The rhythmic foundation of the album is deliberately unstable in a way that feels organic rather than conceptual. Beats are rarely foregrounded in a conventional sense; instead, they appear as pulses, interruptions, or subtle gravitational pulls beneath the surface. Electronic textures often behave like air currents, reshaping the harmonic space without dominating it. At times, the jazz influence surfaces through phrasing and timing rather than overt swing, creating a sense of suspended motion. The synth work, in particular, avoids predictability, favoring evolving tonal layers that stretch and dissolve rather than repeat.
Instrumentation plays a central role in defining the emotional temperature of the record. Gilda Razani’s theremin and soprano saxophone introduce two distinct registers of expression: one almost vocal, wavering and spectral, the other grounded yet capable of sudden vulnerability. Hanzō Wanning builds the harmonic framework through piano and synthesizers, alternating between acoustic warmth and electronic depth in a way that never feels binary. When Fethi Ak’s darbuka enters the picture, the rhythmic space expands further, adding a tactile, almost earthbound resonance that contrasts sharply with the floating upper layers. The trio configuration, when present, feels less like an arrangement choice and more like a conversation that shifts its own rules mid-sentence.
Across the six pieces, the album draws from a wide cultural and musical spectrum without reducing it to collage. Persian melodic references surface in fragmented forms, often embedded within broader improvisational gestures rather than presented as thematic statements. Tracks such as “Sartschubeh” and “Newrusi Cats” reflect this approach clearly, where cultural memory is not illustrated but subtly echoed. “Loretta’s Sinfonia” and “Heroine of the Night” lean into duality, unfolding in movements that suggest narrative without fully committing to linear storytelling. “Taraneh” carries a more intimate emotional charge, while “Reverie” dissolves the album into a softer, almost weightless conclusion.
What ties everything together is a shared sensitivity to space. Silence is treated as an active component rather than absence, and the music often feels as though it is listening to itself as much as it is being performed. The interplay between acoustic and electronic elements never resolves into hierarchy; instead, each texture seems to adjust its presence in response to the others. This constant recalibration gives the album a living quality, as if it were being composed in real time even in its most structured moments.
Songs Without Words stands as a release of high quality, one that we are pleased to host and review on our webzine. It is not an album that demands immediate understanding, nor does it rely on recognisable climaxes or familiar genre markers. Instead, it invites a slower form of attention, one that rewards repeated listening with subtle shifts in perception. In its refusal to settle, it finds a quiet strength, offering a listening experience that feels both distant and deeply personal at once.

parkettchannel.it

On Songs Without Words, About Aphrodite invents a sensitive geography where the theremin, the piano, and Persian memory speak a language without borders.

One can enter Songs Without Words as if stepping into a railway station at dawn. There are no clearly legible signs, no announced destination, yet from the very first moment comes the feeling that something is carrying us elsewhere. About Aphrodite’s album does not describe the world from a fixed point of view. Instead, it moves through it in fragments, memories, and fortunate encounters between traditions that have too often been kept apart.

The duo of Gilda Razani and Hanzō Wanning rejects the musical postcard. Here, Persian melody is not used as exotic decoration, jazz does not assume the role of an intellectual language, and electronics are not simply there to modernize the whole. These musical materials rub against one another, contradict each other, and eventually settle into a curious balance. Razani’s theremin and soprano saxophone float above Wanning’s piano and synthesizer harmonies, while Fethi Ak’s darbuka periodically introduces a more earthly pulse rooted in Turkish and Kurdish traditions.

“Sartschubeh” opens the album under the sign of turmeric, which in Persia is placed on the heads of newborns as a blessing for good fortune. The piece possesses the quality of a beginning: something is emerging, still fragile, still wrapped in mystery. The sounds seem to advance on tiptoe, somewhere between family ritual and contemporary abstraction. The theremin—so often associated with strangeness or science fiction—becomes almost maternal here, like a voice offering a blessing without speaking a single word.

“Loretta’s Sinfonia” is built upon contrast. Its opening slows time, establishing a restrained gravity before a more dance-like movement gently shifts the entire piece. The structure echoes an Iranian musical logic in which restraint precedes rhythmic release. Loretta is a dancer, and the composition seems conceived for her body: first motionless, almost observed, then gradually animated by movement itself. Wanning’s piano functions less as a foundation than as a constantly shifting space.

With “Newrusi Cats,” About Aphrodite turns toward Nowruz, the Persian New Year celebrated around the spring equinox. The piece carries the excitement of renewal: gifts, the ritual of leaping over flames, and the joyful superstition surrounding the tiny creatures emerging from the earth. Yet the composition never attempts to illustrate the celebration literally. Instead, it preserves its primal energy: the hope for a better year and the belief that the world can begin anew with nothing more than the changing of a season.

“Taraneh” is undoubtedly one of the album’s most deeply human moments. The name means song or melody, yet the piece is devoted above all to the brief and courageous life of an Iranian woman. Without lyrics, About Aphrodite avoids biographical storytelling in favor of suggestion. The soprano saxophone takes on an almost vocal quality—fragile without ever becoming mournful. Its emotional force does not arise from an emphatic crescendo but from the way a silhouette briefly appears before slipping away again, just before we are able to hold onto it.

“Heroine of the Night” embraces darkness. Its heroine bears little resemblance to the traditional conquering figure. She weaves shadows, watches over sleep, and draws her strength from what daylight cannot perceive. The theremin unfolds with ghostly elegance, while the electronic textures sketch a nocturnal sky in which every note seems suspended. The piece confirms the duo’s remarkable ability to create tension without relying on heavy percussion, using only the slow transformation of timbre.

“Reverie” closes the album like a dream that refuses interpretation. Thought moves freely, without any imposed direction. Piano and synthesizers create a landscape of shifting contours, where memories become almost indistinguishable from imagination. After the rituals, the characters, and the celebrations, the music returns to a more intimate state. The journey ends not so much in a place as in a state of mind.

Above all, About Aphrodite succeeds in making the circulation of cultures audible without turning it into a demonstrative statement. At a time when borders are hardening and the foreigner is once again too easily portrayed as a threat, Songs Without Words offers a simple idea: music has never waited for permission to travel. Melodies move with families, diasporas, celebrations, mourning, and memory.

The album’s political strength lies precisely in its gentleness. There are no slogans, no declarations—only a theremin, a darbuka, a soprano saxophone, and a piano discovering that they have far more to say to one another than anyone might have imagined.

On Songs Without Words, the absence of words creates no silence. On the contrary, it leaves enough space for multiple stories, multiple languages, and multiple landscapes to exist simultaneously. And in that world, at last, no one needs to present their papers.

extravafrench.com

ABOUT APHRODITE BUILDS A WORLD WITHOUT A PASSPORT ON SONGS WITHOUT WORDS

Some records announce their ambition immediately, and some let it reveal itself slowly across six tracks until the listener realizes they have been somewhere entirely new without ever being told they were traveling. Songs Without Words belongs firmly to the second category. The duo of Gilda Razani and Hanzō Wanning, working under the name About Aphrodite, have built a record that treats genre less as a destination and more as terrain to pass through, moving between Persian folk tradition, jazz phrasing, chamber arrangement, and synth textures with the kind of ease that only comes from artists who never saw those categories as separate rooms in the first place.

What makes the title an honest description rather than a clever marketing line is how little the album relies on lyrical narrative to carry its emotional weight. Instrumental records built around cultural and folkloric reference points risk becoming purely academic, more interested in demonstrating knowledge than in actually moving a listener, but Songs Without Words avoids that trap by keeping its storytelling embedded directly in the music’s structure and texture rather than in explanation. The album asks listeners to feel their way through meaning rather than read their way through it, which is a considerably harder trick to pull off convincingly, and one this project mostly earns.

Sartschubeh opens the record with a title drawn from the Iranian word for turmeric, tied to the tradition of placing the plant on a newborn’s head for good luck, and that image of blessing and beginning sets the tone for everything that follows without the song needing to spell any of it out. There is a warmth to how the track introduces the album’s core sonic vocabulary, threading Persian folk melodic instinct through jazz adjacent harmonic movement in a way that feels curious rather than showcase driven. It functions less as a statement piece and more as an invitation, easing the listener into a musical language that will keep shifting shape across the rest of the record.

Loretta’s Sinfonia follows with a structural choice that reflects genuine attention to tradition rather than surface level borrowing, built as a two movement piece that begins slow before shifting into something more dance like, mirroring an Iranian musical convention of easing into rhythm rather than launching straight into it. Named for an actual dancer, the track carries a physicality that comes through even without visual accompaniment, the second movement feeling less like a tempo change and more like a body finally allowed to move after sitting still. It is one of the clearest examples on the record of the duo translating a specific cultural framework into instrumental language without flattening it into generic world music shorthand.

Newrusi Cats shifts toward something more playful and communal, drawing from Persian New Year celebrations and the folk belief that spotting small worms emerging from the ground on that day brings particular fortune for the year ahead. There is a lightness here that keeps the album from settling into unbroken solemnity, a reminder that folk tradition carries joy and superstition alongside gravity and ritual. The track’s energy captures something of the celebratory scale being referenced without needing literal sound effects or obvious cultural signifiers to get there, relying instead on rhythmic lift and melodic brightness to suggest festivity.

Taraneh marks the album’s emotional turn toward something heavier, named for a Persian woman whose name translates to melody or sound, and dedicated to telling of a short, courageous life cut down far too early. Without lyrics to state that history directly, the composition carries the weight through restraint, allowing space and tension to suggest loss more effectively than a more explicit musical statement might have. This is where the album’s instrumental approach proves most valuable, since grief handled through implication rather than direct narration often lands with more lasting resonance than something spelled out in words ever could. The track does not ask for tears. It simply holds space for them.

Heroine of the Night, one of the record’s two lead singles, shifts the album into its most atmospheric and nocturnal register, built around the image of a shadow weaver who finds her power in darkness rather than daylight, a quiet guardian moving unseen through a sleeping world. The synth and electronic textures introduced here feel earned rather than tacked on, arriving exactly when the album needs a different kind of sonic language to convey something less rooted in daytime folk tradition and closer to myth. There is a hush to the track that distinguishes it from the record’s earlier, more rhythmically active moments, proof that the duo understands pacing across a full listen rather than just crafting individually strong tracks in isolation.

Reverie closes the record on its most abstract and dreamlike note, built around the sensation of thoughts drifting freely and hidden moments surfacing without warning or explanation. As a closing statement, it makes sense structurally, pulling back from the more grounded cultural specificity of earlier tracks into something closer to pure atmosphere, letting the album exhale rather than conclude with force. That choice to end quietly rather than with a climactic flourish suggests confidence in everything that came before it, an understanding that the record’s cumulative weight does not require a dramatic final gesture to land.

Coming from Protomaterial Records, a Barcelona based label built specifically around artists resisting easy categorization, Songs Without Words fits its home comfortably without feeling like it was engineered to satisfy a label’s aesthetic mandate. The record’s real achievement lies in how naturally its genre blending unfolds, never announcing a fusion so much as simply existing as a singular, coherent musical language built from multiple inherited traditions. Razani and Wanning are not translating Persian folk music for a Western audience, nor are they decorating jazz and chamber composition with borrowed exotic flavor. They are working from somewhere genuinely their own, a space where turmeric blessings and shadow weavers and Persian New Year worms can all coexist inside the same six track world, no passport required, no explanation necessary beyond simply listening closely enough to hear it.

apricot-magazine.com

About Aphrodite did something special with Songs Without Words. The duo, Gilda Razani and Hanzō Wanning, put together an incredible album that mixes different musical traditions without any boundaries. You can hear Persian folk melodies blending right into European jazz harmony and electronic textures.

The instruments they chose are a massive part of why this works. Gilda plays the soprano saxophone and the theremin, which is an incredibly rare combination. Hanzō matches that by holding down the harmony on the piano. On a few of the pieces, guest percussionist Fethi Ak joins in on the darbuka, adding a Turkish and Kurdish rhythmic pulse that locks everything into place.

Every single track has a specific story behind it. The first song, Sartschubeh, gets its name from the Iranian word for turmeric, which people place on newborn babies for good luck. Loretta’s Sinfonia builds beautifully, starting out slow before shifting into a traditional Iranian dance rhythm, and another standout is Newrusi Cats, a track named after the small worms that emerge during the Persian New Year on March 20. It captures the massive energy of a holiday where people jump over fire and exchange gifts.

The later tracks keep that momentum going. Taraneh honors the short, courageous life of a woman from Iran, while Heroine of the Night brings a quiet, late-night atmosphere. The whole experience wraps up with Reverie, a track that lets your thoughts drift completely free.

Go follow About Aphrodite on social media so you can stay updated on new releases this year.

beachhousemag.co

Talented duo About Aphrodite traverse a variety of styles on Songs Without Words, an album released via Protomaterial Records. Blending Persian folk tradition, jazz, chamber music, and synth textures, Gilda Razani and Hanzō Wanning craft a global soundtrack that moves seamlessly from eerie, theremin-led foreboding into cinematic, saxophone-driven soundscapes. The result embraces both meticulous arrangements and spontaneous jams, also taking musical inspiration from Razani’s Persian heritage.

Opening the album, “Sartschubeh” ushers in a delectably eerie soundscape. Spacey theremin, outdoor ambience, and touches of chilly piano venture to an absorbing expanse, where saxophone and piano glisten in their gorgeous interplay. Razani’s saxophone work and Wanning’s piano playing are quickly on full display with this impressive opener, stirring in both its hauntingly spacious beginnings and saxophone-propelled swells. The moody “Loretta’s Sinfonia” arrives next, a two-movement work that spans from initially subdued, hypnotic flair to a danceable vibrancy, reflecting the Iranian tradition of beginning slowly before shifting into rhythmic movement. Jazzy percussive pitter-patter and magnetic piano work are especially compelling during that memorable second section.

Another standout, “Heroine of the Night” dazzles in its balancing of emotive piano playing and darker exotic mystique, progressing from expressive piano work and charismatic rhythms into chilling, sporadic vocal haunts. This track flows seamlessly into album finale “Reverie,” crafting a dream-like soundscape with its lulling mixture of saxophone and piano, which at the five-minute turn enthralls in its shift from twinkling keys to solemn saxophone expressions, which then take strong hold across the final two minutes. Songs Without Words is a beautiful full-length achievement from About Aphrodite.

obscuresound.com

Blending cultures, genres, and emotions with remarkable elegance, About Aphrodite’s Songs Without Words transcends linguistic boundaries. In this interview, the duo discusses musical alchemy, Persian influences, artistic connection, and the universal language of music.

1. “Songs Without Words” blends Persian folk traditions, jazz, chamber music, synth-pop, and electronic textures into a remarkably unified sound. How did you approach weaving such diverse influences together while maintaining a cohesive artistic identity?

We are very familiar with the various stylistic elements that make up “Songs Without Words”; we have considerable experience with each one of them. That is why blending them — while simultaneously preserving or even forging a new identity — does not feel difficult. Of course, it involves a bit of musical alchemy, in the hope that the whole will amount to more than the sum of its parts, but when you know the individual elements and their effects well, the chances of success certainly improve!

2. The album’s title suggests communication beyond language. What emotions, stories, or experiences did you hope listeners would discover through these instrumental compositions?

What the six “Songs Without Words” have in common, among other things, is that they are all based on simple, highly lyrical melodies. Their harmonic structures are uncomplicated, too.

Frequently we break out of this framework through improvisation, yet we always return to it, making it very easy and inviting to follow our little stories.

Moreover, the musical category of “Songs Without Words” is deeply Romantic in spirit. It embodies the hope that there exists a form of poetry beyond spoken language — one that is deeper and fosters a stronger sense of connection than words alone allow. One might think of it as a reverse Tower of Babel: the possibility of telling stories and conveying emotions across all linguistic barriers.
Yet these emotional worlds remain open; they emerge in the space between the telling and the listening.

3. Gilda, your combination of theremin and soprano saxophone is highly distinctive, while Hanzō’s piano and synthesizer work creates rich sonic landscapes. How did your individual musical backgrounds shape the creative dialogue at the heart of this record?

Let me start with a little anecdote: one night, I actually dreamt that I could play the theremin, and the next morning I had an overwhelming desire to turn that dream into reality. I told Hanzō about it, and he initially thought I was crazy. But no sooner said than done! In a way, the theremin found its way to me; ever since, I’ve been a saxophonist and thereminist — or the other way around.
Hanzō is an experienced jazz pianist who also studied classical composition. He has always had a keen interest in electronic music, too. Building on this foundation, we’ve embarked on so many musical journeys — spanning acoustic jazz, world music, techno, ambient, and every conceivable crossover project. The current chapter of our shared story is “Songs Without Words”.

4. Several tracks draw inspiration from Persian culture and history, including “Sartschubeh,” “Newrusi Cats,” and “Taraneh.” Could you share how these cultural references influenced the compositions and why it was important to bring these stories into the album?

As a Persian woman who grew up in Germany, I am naturally shaped by both Eastern and Western culture and history. That may sound like a cliché, but it is simply the case.

While there is much to be said about this multicultural background, one aspect is particularly important to me: we never actually set out to create an album with such a distinctively Oriental influence. It just happened organically; looking back, it might seem as though we had deliberately chosen a specific theme, but that wasn’t the case.

Many subconscious processes were at play. Of course, we aren’t prophets, but the fact remains that shortly after we finished *Songs Without Words*, Iran increasingly moved to the center of global politics. Naturally, our positive sentiments and solidarity lie with the Persian civilian population — a people battered from both within and without.

5. A recurring theme throughout the project is the idea that “music has no passport.” In today’s increasingly divided world, what role do you believe cross-cultural collaboration and artistic exchange can play in fostering understanding between people?

We firmly believe in the unifying power of art in general, and music in particular. Simply because we have never known anything other than being musicians, we can easily jam with musicians from anywhere in the world and always find a common language.

Moreover, our tours through a wide variety of countries have taught us one thing for certain: people everywhere share more or less the same idea of what constitutes a fulfilling life. Yet the opportunities to achieve such a life are distributed so unfairly, and the problems are vast and far-reaching. They are global in nature and, of course, can only be solved globally.
If we had a common language at the level of global politics — the kind that comes so naturally and is so welcomed among musicians from diverse cultural backgrounds — the world would be a better place!

6. With “Songs Without Words” now reaching audiences worldwide, what do you hope listeners take away from this musical journey, and what are the next creative horizons for About Aphrodite?

After recording this album and listening to it in its entirety, we realized what we want to convey to our listeners. We aim to transmit a sense of lightness and the joy of living through our music, coupled with a touch of melancholy. Our music is meant to uplift, not weigh you down.

With About Aphrodite, we already have a fair amount of new, unreleased material. What might be the shared focus of these new tracks — and those yet to come? We’re excited to find out ourselves!

theinterviewist.com

About Aphrodite presents „Songs Without Words“ – a poetic and captivating global soundtrack that travels the world without needing a passport. Drawing from Persian folk music, jazz, chamber music, synth-pop, and electronic sounds, the duo of Gilda Razani and Hanzō Wanning creates something entirely unique: an album that transcends genre boundaries. This is how the official press text describes the album.

The album opens with the track „Sartschubeh“; it’s the Persian word for turmeric. In Persia, it’s customary to place turmeric on a newborn’s head, as the plant is said to bring good fortune. This sets the mood for the music to come: we hear what sounds like exotic bird voices. But it’s actually the sound of a theremin. This is a contactless electronic musical instrument developed in 1920 by Leon Theremin. Gilda Razani plays this instrument, which brings us „jungle sounds,“ according to our listening impression. There also seems to be flute sounds and percussive elements mixed in. Spherical soundscapes emerge as we continue listening. The ethereal sounds rise above Hanzō Wanning’s changeable keyboard playing. His piano work gradually pairs with the „soprano saxophone song,“ thanks to Gilda Razani. Due to the repeating sound motifs, the music has something quite hypnotic about it. At the same time, the music floats along, light, almost transparent. Toward the end of the piece, we hear once again a „concert of birds,“ exotic birds like loris and cockatoos, as one might imagine. Synth soundscape is woven together with keyboard sounds and a steady click-clack. And then you hear the theremin again, as if it were the antipode of the keyboard instrument, if you will. But the last note belongs to the soprano saxophone, doesn’t it?

After the first piece, we hear „Loretta’s Sinfonia.“ This seems to be more of a story about Loretta the dancer rather than a classical symphony. The melody has a slightly oriental touch with „saxophone frenzy“ and rattle sounds as well as spherical music. On the darbuka or frame drum, we experience Fetih Ak, while at the piano, the pianist acts as if he wants to stage musical rapids. Exotic sound is thanks to the theremin. It harmoniously unites with the keyboard playing. Listening to this, one can experience a dancer’s turns. The movements are both powerful and graceful. And to this, we hear the sound of the theremin, exquisite electronic music that sounds as if Wurlitzer piano and Fender Rhodes were being merged.

In the next piece, we hear rising wind and high-pitched keyboard playing. At the same time, we have the listening impression that an oriental flute or a zurna can be heard. But it’s saxophonist Gilda Razani who gives us this listening impression with her soprano saxophone. „Newrusi Cats“ is about the Persian New Year festival on March 20th. We experience musical exuberance, though not exactly overflowing. And the theremin can be heard again. The sound has something of space rock and electronic music like Mike Oldfield, doesn’t it? The piano playing appears more earthy and grounded. Gilda Razani lets sound clouds be heard when she makes her woodwind resonate. There’s nothing heavy about it. The motto is: Life is beautiful. Enjoy it.

After „Taraneh,“ the „Heroine of the Night“ is sung. The piano passages are intense, offering strong rhythmics. The theremin sounds like a singing voice, rising to high soprano. A certain orchestral brilliance dwells within the piece, so that the reviewer had to think of Alan Parsons Project here and there. And at the end, a dream is musically realized: „Reverie.“

jazzhalo.be

About Aphrodite’s Songs Without Words moves like a lantern carried through several cities at once: warm in the hand, flickering with histories, and always catching some new edge of the room. The duo of Gilda Razani and Hanzō Wanning treat genre less as a set of borders than a series of invitations, allowing Persian folk echoes to drift into jazz harmony, chamber-like precision, synth-pop shimmer, and electronic haze. What emerges is music with a rare sense of scale. It can feel close enough to hear the breath inside it, then open suddenly into something wider and more weathered, as if each piece is finding its own horizon.”

Razani’s presence gives the project much of its strange, searching centre. Theremin and soprano saxophone make for an uncommon pairing, and on Songs Without Words they become two different forms of longing. The theremin glides with an almost spectral delicacy, its lines hovering like light caught in fog; the saxophone answers with breath, grain, and a distinctly human edge. Where one instrument seems to dissolve into air, the other pulls the music back toward the body. Wanning’s piano and synthesizers deepen that dialogue, shaping harmonic spaces that move between acoustic warmth and a cooler nocturnal pulse. When percussionist Fethi Ak enters on darbuka, the album gains another kind of heartbeat, one rooted in Turkish and Kurdish tradition and felt as much in the chest as in the ear.

Part of the album’s force comes from the tension between design and discovery. These pieces often feel carefully composed, with gestures placed deliberately and textures given room to bloom, yet they also carry the looseness of players listening closely to one another in real time. A passage can seem suspended, almost weightless, before rhythm or melodic instinct tilts it somewhere unexpected. That balance suits the record’s emotional weather. It moves through dreamy lightness, inward reflection, and quiet longing without pressing too hard on any single feeling. The restraint matters; rather than dramatizing emotion, About Aphrodite let it gather slowly.

The track titles deepen that sense of myth meeting lived experience. “Sartschubeh” nods to turmeric and good fortune, grounding the music in colour, ritual, and blessing. “Loretta’s Sinfonia” unfolds in two movements, beginning in slowness before turning toward dance. “Taraneh” carries the weight of a short, courageous life, while “Heroine of the Night” and “Reverie” feel like scenes glimpsed through half-sleep: luminous, suggestive, and never fully fixed. Across the album, meaning often arrives through motion rather than explanation.

In that sense, Songs Without Words is less interested in destination than passage. It crosses between cultures, between written structure and instinct, between solitude and shared rhythm. At a time when so much music is asked to define itself quickly, About Aphrodite choose drift, friction, and possibility. The album does not hand listeners a map. It invites them to stay attentive as the map redraws itself.

songplode.art

It is arguably one of the most striking combinations of modern jazz and highly sophisticated neoclassical music: we are talking about About Aphrodite’s new album ‘Songs Without Words’, which immerses us deeply in a dreamlike, atmospheric yet poignant landscape and reveals six striking compositions. 
BerlinOnAir.de

The duo About Aphrodite sets surprisingly fresh accents with its current album, due for release at the end of June on the label Protomaterial Records. The title *Songs Without Words* outlines a clear concept that runs throughout the entire recording. The pieces follow distinct compositional trajectories and develop narrative arcs without relying on language or vocals. In fact, these are songs in the truest sense: musical narratives whose dramaturgy emerges from melody, timbre, and movement. Gilda Razani’s soprano saxophone shapes the character of many compositions. Her tone remains fluid and clearly defined, shifting between virtuosic passages and restrained, chamber music-like moments. At times, this creates sonic landscapes reminiscent of those border regions between jazz and chamber music known from groups such as Oregon. Hanzō Wanning’s piano playing provides a warm counterbalance: arpeggios and melodic figures structure the pieces without pushing themselves into the foreground. On several tracks, the duo is joined by percussionist Fethi Ak. His darbuka, shaped by Turkish-Kurdish traditions, functions less as a driving rhythmic instrument and more as a sonic extension that structures the musical space with subtle differentiation. Often, it seems to surround the music rather than propel it. Particularly striking is the use of lyrical synthesizer textures, which gently expand About Aphrodite’s familiar sonic universe. Electronic textures slip beneath the acoustic instruments, opening new perspectives without overshadowing the organic character of the music. Across much of the album lies that peculiar suspension between melancholy and serenity, resisting any simple categorization. The spaciousness characteristic of About Aphrodite remains present, yet feels more deeply integrated into the compositional flow than on earlier releases. Gilda Razani’s theremin plays a special role here. This touchless electronic instrument does not appear as a technical curiosity or spectacular effect. Rather, Razani integrates its floating lines into a remarkably natural relationship with saxophone, piano, and electronics. Often, the theremin is barely distinguishable as an independent voice—and that is precisely where its impact lies. It expands the sonic space with a presence that is difficult to locate, giving the pieces additional depth. Where others demonstrate the instrument, Razani makes music with it. Several compositions draw on motifs and narratives from the Persian cultural sphere. “Sartschubeh” refers to a ritual for blessing newborns, while “Loretta’s Sinfonia” follows a dramaturgy moving from a calm beginning toward dance-like intensification. “Newrusi Cats” references the Persian New Year festival Nouruz, while “Taraneh” is dedicated to a young Iranian woman. These cultural references are not presented programmatically, but they form a recognizable resonance space within the music. The pieces often develop from repeating motifs and finely interwoven textures. This creates music that remains centered within itself without becoming static. Improvisational lines occasionally draw on ornamentations shaped by Eastern traditions, yet without slipping into folklore or world music clichés. A sign of maturity is, not least, the serenity with which About Aphrodite brings together different musical roots. Persian melodic language, Turkish rhythm, European jazz harmony, and electronic sound design meet here not as decorative ingredients, but as components of a developed musical language. *Songs Without Words* achieves its impact not through grand gestures or dramatic climaxes, but through concentration and consistency. The music moves between chamber jazz, electronic sound design, and the musical traditions of the Middle East without being clearly assignable to any one of these spheres. Its strength lies precisely in this openness. The pieces tell their stories quietly, yet with conviction—and reveal a formation that no longer needs to search for its own voice.
nrwjazz.net

… convinces with great composition and sound, one of the most fascinating duos of recent years. It is hard to escape the hypnotic charm of the music, which is both structured and complex. Highly recommended! (18/20)

What Hans and Gilda achieve in this album can only be called an immersive audio experience. Out of melancholy undertones springs music full of tonal fantasy and lyrical depth, and behind the duo’s conscious and animated musical freedom lies a wealth of in-depth knowledge and experience”

… an album as brilliant as the stars in the sky, Membran Music takes ‘Polaris‘ as its theme. The instrumental cosmos, with Theremin, piano, soprano saxophone and live electronics moves from classical music to progressive jazz, but at the same time always retaining its dark colouring. It is unique in the same way as ABOUT APHRODITE! (13/15)