Robinson has spent the better part of a decade reinventing his own hands. Having rebuilt his technique from scratch after tendonitis threatened to end his career entirely, he plays now with the loose, elastic confidence of a man who has nothing left to prove and everything left to enjoy. That freedom is all over this track. The notes tumble and skip rather than march; phrases bend, double back, and land somewhere unexpected, as though the piano itself were shrugging off gravity.
Robinson has said he wrote the piece after months of struggle, both personal and global, chasing something uplifting to counterbalance the noise. The music bears that out without ever sounding like a mood board. This is not therapeutic wallpaper. It has mischief in it, a puckish, syncopated wit that recalls the playful side of Keith Jarrett or the melodic sleight of hand of Michael Nyman, filtered through Robinson's own restless curiosity. The whimsy is earned rather than decorative; you can hear the discipline underneath the looseness, the classical bones beneath the jazz-inflected skin.
What elevates the track above pleasant background listening is its refusal to sit still. Just as a phrase seems settled, Robinson tips it sideways, chasing a new idea before the old one has finished breathing. It gives the piece a conversational quality, less a composed statement than a mind thinking aloud, doubling back, laughing at itself, and pressing on regardless.
The accompanying video, directed by longtime collaborator Klaus Hoch, matches that spirit beat for beat. Set inside a sun-bleached mansion perched above the sea, it follows two figures picking their way back toward one another through the debris of a shared past. Hoch shoots the house like a character in its own right, all sweeping staircases and light pouring through tall windows, and lets the emotional thaw between the two leads unfold with a restraint that never tips into sentimentality. The reconciliation on screen mirrors the one in the music: nothing is forced, nothing is rushed, and the resolution, when it comes, feels like relief rather than triumph.
Robinson has built his reputation on invention, most famously the Refractor Piano, but "Bent Out of Shape" is a reminder that his gift travels comfortably back to the plain acoustic instrument too. Stripped of gadgetry, the piece leans entirely on melody, touch, and a keen instinct for when to let a phrase breathe. It is a small, generous piece of work, warm without being saccharine, clever without showing off, and it leaves you humming long after the final chord has faded. If *Excursions* keeps this standard, Robinson will have made not just a comeback but a genuinely joyful one.