Kaisa Mäensivu: jazz seeks home in Helsinki and New York
As her music unfolds, the illusion of ubiquity becomes a reality. Under this sonic atmosphere, two antagonistic cities coexist, and the seven-hour time difference dissolves into harmonies that glow like the midnight sun. Meanwhile, in the silence between notes, the echo of an unresolved chord vibrates: What does it mean to belong?
The resonant depth of her double bass mirrors a life lived between two continents. “I wrote this music in my two home bases—part in Finland, part in New York,” explains Kaisa Mäensivu, whose latest album, Moving Parts, collapses geography and time. “That became the heart of the project: capturing the tranquil calm of Helsinki and the pulsing energy of New York.” Speaking from the Finnish time zone, Mäensivu reflects on her fast-paced rhythm of life; the next day, she’ll be on a flight back to the States.
The opening track, Tykytys—a Finnish word that translates to palpitation—is an apt title for music that pulses straight through the soul. “The sound of the double bass made me fall in love. It’s an acoustic instrument, and you can feel the resonance through your body. It’s a very physical instrument, and I like that,” Kaisa shares. Across all seven tracks, her presence is palpable as she dives deep into each song’s unfolding story. “Most of the time, I still start on the piano to generate ideas,” she explains. “Recently, though, I’ve been trying to work more from the bass, beginning with a groove, a line, or a rhythmic cell, and letting the music grow from there.”
Each city leaves a profound imprint on her writing. Midnight Sun, as she recalls, is more than a song: a portrait of one of Finland’s most beautiful natural wonders. “The melody came to me during a nighttime drive. We had just played a festival in Pori, in western Finland, and had to drive back to Helsinki. It was around 2 AM, but the sky was completely bright because of the midnight sun. That’s when the melody appeared. I wrote it down right away. The rest of the piece came together later.”
Her dual identity comes alive through Kaisa’s Machine, an ever-shifting quintet formed with her friends from New York. “All the instruments are rhythm- or harmony-based—a rare combination,” she explains. Alongside her on bass are vibraphonist Sasha Berliner, guitarist Max Light, pianist Eden Ladin, and drummer Joe Peri. “Playing in Europe and the U.S., I work with a wide roster of musicians on tour. It’s refreshing to hear how different players interpret the music.” This rotating Machine feels like home—a place where her sound belongs.
For Kaisa, improvisation is the highest form of communication. Years of experience have sharpened her sense of what she seeks in her bandmates—fellow dreamers who support her musical vision. “It’s just about the music,” she says. “I don’t have any political agenda or motivation. Of course, it’s a form of self-expression—an art form where I can show who I am. But more than that, I want to leave behind my sound, my voice in this music. It may be small, but it’s unmistakably mine.”
I love playing live; that’s where the music is at its best. The studio can be intimidating because you know whatever you play will live forever. In concerts, we take risks, try new things, and stay more open to whatever happens.
The sonic reconstruction of cities goes beyond personal perception; Mäensivu’s canvas thrives on collaboration, elevating the spirit of both Helsinki and New York. “For ‘Origin Story,’ I invited Melissa Aldana because a lot was happening with the bass line and harmony,” she shares. “I figured this might be a track where a saxophone could help bring the melody forward—so it wouldn’t get lost in the rhythm."
Meanwhile, on Satama, which translates to harbor, listeners hear the distinct Finnish cadence of vocalist Maja Mannila. “The lyrics are about how we’re often searching for a destination, a goal—a harbor—somewhere to arrive or belong,” Mäensivu explains. “But the song questions whether you need that at all. Maybe you don’t have to find a harbor.”
For someone living between countries, constantly in motion, and navigating a musician’s unpredictable path, the lyric hits close to home.
In the end, it’s this constant oscillation between two distinct energies that defines the world of Kaisa Mäensivu. In Finland, she finds clarity in simplicity—the stillness of nature and the ease of everyday life. In New York, it’s the raw, electric current of possibility, those rare flashes of magic that materialize out of nowhere. Both places offer something essential: one grounds her, the other ignites her. Rooted in contrast and appealing to nostalgia, Moving Parts becomes a place she can always return to—especially when the question arises: what does it mean to belong?