In June of 2014, Pianist Vadim Neselovskyi was in his native Ukraine, eager and ready to bring his singular brand of energy to a crowd at that country's premier jazz gathering—the Alfa Jazz Fest. Minutes before his trio was set to take the stage, Neselovskyi learned that a Ukrainian military plane had been shot down by separatists. The audience he was due to perform for was in a downhearted state, reflective of the feeling(s) across the entire nation, and the setlist that Neselovskyi had put together lacked proper meaning in the context and climate of the moment. Weighing those issues, and wishing to honor the festival organizer's request to play something as a dedication to the victims of that tragedy, Neselovskyi did what any good jazz musician would do: he improvised, assembling a program in real time that was dictated by the circumstances and driven by the emotional needs of those there to hear it. That concert was a moving experience like no other for those involved, it cemented the relationship(s) in Neselovskyi's trio, and it served as a primary influence for Get Up And Go.

Within this collection there are performances that conjure the melancholic tides that swept through the festival on that June day, but the overriding theme isn't one of sadness. Instead, Neselovskyi and his bandmates use balance as their central thesis, aiming to prove that a mixture of highs and lows helps to keep the scales of life in check. This trio is just as likely to dwell on tragedy here as it is to celebrate the triumph of music and man, and that's exactly how it should be. Life, after all, is a tapestry woven out of many different events and emotions, not just a single thread, and Neselovskyi's music feeds off of that idea in brilliant fashion.

The selection that ended up ushering in the aforementioned concert—"Krai," a sorrowful solo piano work that's alternately tense and prayerful—appears here. But it's telling that Neselovskyi chose not to use it as an opener, saving it for later and making it the centerpiece instead. The song that does kick things off—the circling "On A Bicycle"—speaks to an optimistic outlook. As the program moves on from that point, Neselovskyi and company navigate and pave emotional switchbacks. First they change gears by visiting "Winter," an incredibly evocative piece that gives Loomis' rich and elegant arco work a moment in the cold sun. Then they're off on a frisky Mediterranean-inspired jaunt dubbed "San Felio," on to a hazy "Station Taiga" that benefits from guest vocalist