The DL Jazz Trio
The DL is where jazz spills over the rim, threading its way through the familiar streets of Columbia, CA, and igniting each corner with the soul of true musicianship. Born from late-night jams and the unspoken understanding that only comes from those who’ve lived the music, The DL weaves threads of funk and jazz into something as rich as the history of the land they call home.
Led by the vision and verve of Kazzimir Salvo, The DL is a trio that’s less about solos and more about stories. Their music moves like the heart of a working town, each note a testament to long roads traveled and stories told. For them, jazz is both a journey and an arrival, a way of seeing the world and of letting it pour into their fingers and through their instruments. Every performance is a tale spun in real time, both raw and refined, inviting listeners to step in and feel it all, to be in the moment without needing a single word.
The DL—three musicians, one unbreakable rhythm, and the kind of jazz that doesn't just play but lingers, breathing life into every listener long after the last note fades.
Our Story
They say the music chooses you, and for *The DL*, that was true from the beginning. In a town where most things come slow and steady, their music rose up fast and free—a sound born from back roads and long nights, carved out in the flickering light of dim-lit rooms. Columbia, CA, wasn’t the place you’d expect to birth a funk-jazz trio, but that was half the beauty of it. The music was as much a part of the place as the dust and the trees; it was wild, and at the same time, grounded.
They started out as strangers, three men who each had their own stories, their own lives full of tangled chords and sharp, unexpected notes. But together, they found a rhythm that felt as old as the Sierra Nevadas and as fresh as the crisp mountain air. *Kazzimir Salvo*, the heartbeat of the trio, led with a kind of quiet fire—a look in his eyes that told you he’d seen things and was telling you through every beat, every rise and fall of his instrument. The others followed, filling in spaces with their own voices, their own stories layered over his.
They didn’t play for applause or for fame, but for the way the music lifted, drifted, and wound itself into the lives of those who came to listen. Their sound wasn’t polished or perfect; it was something you felt, something raw and honest, carrying the weight of things learned the hard way and the simple joys that made it worth it. They’d play until their fingers ached, each note echoing off the walls like an unspoken promise, a kind of reverence to the life they lived and the music that made them whole.
People came from towns over, curious and a little unsure, but soon enough they found themselves pulled in, caught in the sway of the bass, the wandering sax. When *The DL* played, it wasn’t just jazz or funk—it was an invitation, a reminder that sometimes the best stories come from the smallest places, told by those who knew how to listen.
And so they played on, not for fortune but for the soul of it. They became a part of the land, a part of its people—a sound as true and lasting as the place itself.
