More than six decades after their formation, Soft Machine continue to defy gravity and genre with Thirteen, their aptly named thirteenth studio album. Rather than serving as an epilogue, the record searches the musical cosmos, proving the band’s pioneering spirit remains wildly alive.

Emerging in the late 1960s as psychedelic adventurers sharing stages with Pink Floyd and the Jimi Hendrix Experience, Soft Machine quickly evolved into one of Europe’s most influential jazz-rock fusion groups. Across decades of shifting lineups, the band has never clung to a single identity, instead gliding effortlessly between progressive jazz, otherworldly psychedelia, free improvisation, and ambient experimentation. Thirteen continues along that same path with boundaryless ethos.

At the heart of the album is guitarist John Etheridge, whose five-decade tenure with the group anchors the music’s elegance and fire. His playing is as lyrical as ever, flowing through the album’s intricate arrangements with unusual ease. Saxophonist, flautist, and keyboardist Theo Travis emerges as the principal architect, contributing six of the thirteen songs. His centerpiece, “The Longest Night,” stretches beyond thirteen minutes, unfolding as a journey through shifting moods and progressive structures.

The rhythm section injects a yourthfulness and vitality into the band’s sound. Drummer Asaf Sirkis, the newest member of the lineup, brings both technical precision and unbridled imagination. His talents were once praised by former Soft Machine drummer Robert Wyatt, who highlighted Sirkis’ “ethereal, haunting compositions,” a quality that echoes throughout the album. Bassist Fred Baker complements the ensemble with tough yet nuanced playing, particularly on his song “Turmoil,” where deranged fuzz bass and manic solos create a sort of controlled chaos.

Thirteen thrives on its remarkable stylistic breadth. “Pens To The Foal Mode” captures the band in a moment of pure, unfiltered improvisation, showing off their free-jazz roots. “Open Road” shifts gears into a fiery jazz-rock burner, propelled by unsparing solos from Etheridge and Travis. In contrast, “Disappear” is a delicate ballad, beginning with ethereal looped flutes before blossoming into a tender piano-led piece. One of the album’s most poignant moments arrives with “Daevid’s Special Cuppa,” featuring a posthumous cameo from founding member Daevid Allen. Built around a guitar part recorded years earlier, the track unfolds as a psychedelic, tribal meditation, with soprano sax, guitar, and the haunting tones of the duduk drifting over hypnotic rhythms. It serves as both homage and continuation, bridging the band’s storied past with its ever-evolving present.