As far as I can tell, there isn't a lot of middle ground when it comes to opinions on minimalism. Folks tend to gravitate toward, or be repulsed by, the music of artists such as Philip Glass, Steve Reich, and John Cage.

Though my ear parts are highly susceptible to the charms of those composers, I can certainly see why a person can think otherwise. Long-form compositions such as Einstein On The Beach, Music for Eighteen Musicians, and 4' 33" take some getting used to, if not requiring a downright suspension of disbelief.

I brought up John Cage not to be inflammatory, but to point out he was very much about pushing the boundaries of perception regarding music. Cage was all about getting people to look at the idea of composition in a different way.

The same can be said for Nik Bärtsch's group, Ronin. The instrumentation is jazz-like (piano, bass, bass and contrabass clarinet, drums, percussion), but the music is not. At least... not in the sense of a melody fitted to a set of key centers that are used as base material for improvisation.

What Stoa brings to the table is a series of composed looping structures that fill out the musical space in a way that manages to bridge the worlds of jazz and neo-classical minimalism. While most of Stoa is composed, Bärtsch did leave room for improvisation. This gives the grooves (Bärtsch refers to this as "Zen Funk") a very organic feel.

And what exactly does Zen Funk sound like?

"Modul 36" begins ominously with a deep, muted piano note that echoes as if sent out across the Grand Canyon. This is repeated a few times before moving up an octave and continuing. Both the percussive clack of the note and its overtones ring out. The note gives way to a similarly muted arpeggio that after a fashion is allowed to go full voice as the percussion (Andi Pupato) and bass (Björn Meyer) frame the moment. Bärtsch's piano splits off into two figures driving the same descending path as a low, low clarinet (Sha) shadows that line.

If Philip Glass and Steve Reich attempted to compose some jazz, it might sound like this.

But wait — we're not finished yet. That was only the first seven minutes!

The piano and clarinet drop away exposing the bass and drums (Kaspar Rast) mining a smart groove which, after a bit, is circled by more muted piano tones...until a whirlwind of piano falls in place, pushed along by insistent single clarinet pulses.

Nine minutes down, 6:18 to go!

A bridge of ascending chords then moves on to a Bärtsch piano solo of sorts — by that I mean that it's less about sketching and framing a melody than pulling and teasing out the vamp.

Two minutes left.

Acoustic and Fender Rhodes piano figures swirl around each other in a culmination of what "Modul 36" is about...before everything slowly fades away to showcase a single, echoed piano tone.

The rest of Stoa is full of surprising turns and ideas. There's even an Anthony Braxton-esque "composite", "Modul 38_17", where two compositions are nested or "stacked".

Honestly, when I first listened to this piece of music, my initial thought was "What the hell was that?!" I still don't have an answer. Nik Bärtsch's Ronin is not playing jazz. It's not playing pure minimalism either.

What it is is a beautiful and thought-provoking counterexample to the notion that there's nothing new to be heard out there.