Although the German singer may be largely defined by his interesting renditions of the music of anybody from Charles Ives to Kate Bush, this is an album in which he fully asserts himself as a composer. Or more precisely, an exponent of themes for vocal sounds rather than words. What is equally significant is the understatement if not outright discretion with which he performs on pieces that fully uphold the meaning of the title Elegy insofar as they have a quality of deep lament and poetic gravitas that plays to the strengths of a strong, sensitive ensemble. Claudia Quintet drummer-leader John Hollenbeck and guitarist Monder are longstanding Bleckmann collaborators and they serve the material very effectively, with the latter producing an array of yearning, often flickering reverberations to underline the shadowy quality of the singer's voice. Furthermore, pianist Maestro's gossamer chords and Tordini's spare basslines play their part on arrangements that have a vague aftertaste of the memorable meeting of Pat Metheny and Milton Nascimento. For the most part this is a work of considerable stealth, conceived almost as a theatre show, with a number of interludes bridging the various scenes in which Bleckmann and band create music that is all the more evocative for its lightness of touch and absence of words. There are just two reprises in the whole set – an adaptation of Chiao Jan's ‘The Poetry Of Zen’ and Sondheim's ‘Comedy Tonight’. For which there is, of course, tragedy tomorrow.