Upright bassist Billy Mohler drew inspiration from the Ornette Coleman Quartet in formulating Ultraviolet (his third album with his own chordless trio). But it was their commitment to spontaneity and invention that he channeled, not atonal free-jazz. If anything, Mohler and company push for as much rich, accessible melody and groove as they can find.

That’s not to say that these musicians are rigidly inside. Tenor saxophonist Chris Speed and trumpeter Shane Endsley occasionally color outside the lines as their intrigue-streaked solos on “The Wait” and “Evolution,” respectively, develop. The horns even go into cartwheeling counterpoint at the end of “Reconstruction.” But it’s a means, and a subtly applied one at that, to a resonant and sumptuous end. Dissonant passagework doesn’t subvert the beauty of Endsley’s satisfying resolution on “Ultraviolet,” nor does it dilute the effectiveness of his long-note fills behind Speed on “Reconstruction.” Add in the beguiling rhythmic head-nodders that Mohler and drummer Nate Wood (the latter with a remarkably light touch) concoct together — their bellycrawl on “Disorder II” is a hook in itself.

The album’s four full-length tunes are punctuated by five short, moody, through-composed interludes, all Mohler originals. (Perhaps “meditations” is a better word; save “Disorder II,” none generate any momentum.) Not only does each enhance the album’s overall gorgeousness, however, but their presence takes nothing away from the spontaneity Mohler was shooting for. The 64-second album opener “Matador,” while managing to be even more sorrowful than the keystone interlude “Sorrow,” nonetheless has its creative juices seeping out the edges. Without sacrificing an iota of integrity or freshness, Ultraviolet is as deliciously listenable as postmodern jazz gets.

On his 10th album as a leader, New York alto saxophonist Mike DiRubbo fronts a new quartet featuring organist Brian Charette, drummer Jongkuk Kim and guitarist Andrew Renfroe. They’ve got a definite thing going on from the get-go of Inner Light, an hourlong program of forward-looking music with roots that stretch back decades. And that thing — a collective sum of their personal and musical experiences and interconnections — allows them to achieve a group sound like no other. These guys really know how to work the accents and juxtapose the downbeats and upbeats of the nine DiRubbo compositions and two non-originals (John Coltrane’s “Straight Street” and the standard “Dearly Beloved”) they take on here. The quartet drops into high gear immediately with the opener “JK in NYC,” as DiRubbo’s bold alto emerges with its strong attack and sets the train in motion while Charette gives a Hammond master class that’s as dirty as it is churchy. The quartet covers an extensive amount of musical ground from there, gaining momentum and building intensity from track to track, setting up a long flow of tension-and-release that seems to propel itself. There’s nothing sentimental about this music; everything is played deliberately, with the kind of conviction that pulls the listener in, lays everything on the line and makes no apologies. It swells with confidence. Heavy on passionate blowing and teeming with knotty surprises, Inner Light will take you on a long, evocative journey where clarity meets complexity and spiritual truth is the ultimate destination.

Since his 2011 debut album When the Heart Emerges Glistening (Blue Note), trumpeter/composer Ambrose Akinmusire has created music with a deep, soulful thoughtfulness and purpose that stretches boundaries and pulls at the heartstrings. He has done it again with his latest recording, Owl Song (Nonesuch), a quiet rush of gorgeous sound where space, tone and beauty come together in one of the most impactful albums of 2023. For this outing, Akinmusire has chosen a definite less-is-more philosophy, beginning with his bandmates for the recording — a simple trio with guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Herlin Riley. The music they make is nothing short of stunning. They weave in, out and through each other with grace, Frisell’s guitar serving up beautiful, often repeated, motifs; Riley’s drums keeping steady, fascinating rhythms. For his part, Akinmusire chooses long, lovely tones that squeeze feelings of love, loss and angst from every single note. “Owl Song 1” and “Owl Song 2” offer stellar examples played at achingly slow paces with plenty of space for experimentation and interaction. The appropriately titled “Grace” offers a taste of the appreciation Akinmusire has for this music, while “Mr. Frisell” and “Mr. Riley” demonstrate his appreciation for his two gifted collaborators. This is one of the most interesting recordings to come along in a very long time by one of the most interesting artists of our time. DownBeat will be featuring Akinmusire on the March 2024 issue cover.

Bassist Todd Sickafoose spent the 15 years between his recording debut (2008’s Tiny Resistors) and his newly released album Bear Proof touring with rocker Ani DiFranco and arranging and orchestrating the score for Broadway’s Hadestown. Perhaps that explains Bear Proof’s indie-rock edge, as well as its dramatic — though one might say cinematic more than theatrical — sweep. Or, perhaps not: These are the same ideas Sickafoose had unleashed on Tiny Resistors. Now they’re more refined, more considered, calculated for maximum impact.

Performed and recorded by Sickafoose’s octet as one long, nonstop piece, Bear Proof is as unified as that suggests, but also episodic. Some episodes are more discrete than others. “Switched On” announces itself with a thudding piano chord (from Erik Deutsch) that simply cuts off the soft Allison Miller cymbal fills that end the preceding “Bent Into Shape,” whereas on “Flush,” the whispers of Ben Goldberg’s clarinet and Sickafoose’s bass flows naturally and almost seamlessly into the melted guitar line Adam Levy begins on “Magnetic North.” The ebbs and flows in between those segues tend to build slowly, carefully and temporarily. What counts as a swelling crescendo of guitar, cornet (Kirk Knuffke) and accordion (Rob Reich) takes nearly five minutes to develop and is over in a few seconds.

All of this means that it’s not an album for the impatient. Bear Proof’s pleasures accrue gradually and often come in carefully contained packets like “Magnetic North.” There are deposits of lush orchestration on “Turns Luck,” for example, but the payoff comes not in their climax but in the release of the gentle piano solo that flows out once they’ve passed. Conversely, it’s the tension side that makes Jenny Scheinman’s taut, intense violin solo on “Switched On” so compelling. The album has the goods; wait for them.

Quite a bit of darkness both inside and outside drummer Mareike Wiening’s personal life went into the music of Reveal, her third recording. But that darkness doesn’t overwhelm the music. At nearly every turn, one finds rays (sometimes more) of hope emanating through the performances.

Indeed, the performances are the key aspects of that hope. “Declaration Of Truth,” for example, is an outwardly menacing tune in 5/4 that might have been much more ominous were it not for Glenn Zaleski’s lithe, skipping piano line and solo. (There’s even a brief moment where his left hand is a foreboding counterpoint to his more optimistic right.) Similarly, “Encore” is a feature for tenor saxophonist Rich Perry (though with a truly doleful opening solo from bassist Johannes Felscher), one that seems determined to soak him in pathos or regret. Yet there’s an indomitable spirit in his warm sax tone, continually suggesting that it will find its way out of the gloom surrounding it. Perry and Zaleski combine their positivities on “Old Beginning,” both acknowledging adversity yet refusing to surrender to it; here, they rope in guitarist Alex Goodman, whose solo begins wallowing in darker tones and ends by allowing in, if not full-on hope, then the possibility of it.

These evolving moods don’t function across the board. The slow “Choral Anthem” — which is not choral, but is one of three tunes with guest trumpeter Dave Douglas — is as forbidding and insular as this music gets. Nor is Wiening herself some sort of Pollyanna: Her tight ride-cymbal beat creates tension and prods like a nagging doubt. (Wiening is not an ostentatious drummer, but navigation of these tunes, as well as moments like the 30-second intro solo on the title track, betray some fearsome chops.) Yet the consistency with which the music and musicians keep finding the way forward through murky textures and atmospheres? That doesn’t happen by accident.