Veteran guitarist Brad Shepik has long gone without his propers. Hard Believer, the second album by his world-fusion Believers trio with electric bassist Sam Minaie and drummer/percussionist John Hadfield, should go a long way toward rectifying that. If nothing else, the sheer stylistic range the material evokes from Shepik and company is cause for celebration.

If I emphasize Shepik’s presence, it’s not because he’s Believers’ leader; Hard Believer’s warm, jazzy opening title track crystallizes this, putting the guitarist into accompaniment of Minaie’s lead lines. Hadfield is no sideman either, leading from the back on the angry glitch-rocker “Broken English” and the Persian-spiced reggae groove “Ranglin.” Shepik, though, on the New York jazz scene since the early ’90s, is the eldest and best known of the group (and an erstwhile employer of the other two in his Human Activity quintet): the one who has most earned the stardom that eludes him.

That’s even more true on Hard Believer. The nature of the instrumentation puts Shepik by default on the front line; even so, he is the spice in the Eastern funk “In The Weeds” (perhaps reminiscent of the Balkan sounds Shepik once explored with Dave Douglas and Jim Black in the Tiny Bell Trio), the chill in the Metheny-ish “Falling Grace” (where he also offers hints of Jerry Garcia in his single-note lines), the sting in the blistering “”Rocinante.” He is also the featured voice on “Corduroy,” a moody slow-burn with strong echoes of Radiohead. With Minaie and Hadfield providing a steady, heavy bulldozer roll, Shepik concocts glowing, often burning shapes like a low flame (with occasional leaping tongues). It’s a fusioneer’s performance, with a rock mien but a jazz-bred vocabulary, and while it’s enough to establish his mastery, the trio’s grim integration shows there’s enough brilliance to go around.

If you’re looking for two saxophones sounding badass, swinging and flat-out fun, drop the needle on Horns Locked, the new recording by tenormen Nick Hempton and Cory Weeds. This is an old-school blowing session between two friends having a blast. Backed by Nick Peck killin’ it on the Hammond B-3 and Jesse Cahill driving the beat on drums, the band launches into this “tenor battle” with a slammin’ version of James Moody’s “Last Train From Overlook” that get the feet tapping from the downbeat. The whole album is just smiles and bluesy grease with a heartbreakingly slow “Polkadots And Moonbeams” aimed right at your heart. The tenor compatriots — Hempton from New York, Weeds from Vancouver, Canada — dig into the work of their heroes, no doubt. Dexter Gordon’s “Soy Califa” brims with the energy of trading fours and playing unison lines. Gene Ammons’ “The One Before” grooves along on a cloud of B-3 magic. But both artists bring in their own work, which lives up to the rest of the set. Hempton’s “Change For A Dollar” serves as an extreme blowing vehicle and both of these guys charge hard, playing fierce and dropping in a few pearls. Was that a glimpse of “Mona Lisa” there? Weeds offers up “Conn Men,” and if you know about saxophones, you know exactly what he’s talking about. It’s a sweet, swinging number. Weeds’ arrangement of “When You’re Smiling” is perfectly placed near the end of the set. And “Loose Ends” closes this jam session with exactly the kind of toe-tapper you’d expect for on such a roller coaster of tenor madness. Recorded partly live in the studio and partly in front of a sold-out crowd at Frankie’s Jazz Club in Vancouver, Horns Locked is more of a swinging love fest than a cutting contest. These are two masters of the tenor saxophone enjoying the history of that instrument and adding some of their own. With Peck and Cahill at their side, this is a fiercesome foursome that should be playing heavily on the festival circuit this summer. They are just that much fun. “The album is a tonic for uncertainty,” said Hempton in the press materials. “Simple songs, unambiguous melodies and hard driving rhythms to bolster us in precarious times.” Drink it up. Nick Hempton and Cory Weeds are serving up something special here.

Mark Turner’s We Raise Them To Lift Their Heads is a self-portrait of the artist as a perpetually maturing improviser/player of the highest order. Recorded in Copenhagen in late 2019 and produced by guitarist Jakob Bro, the album is a solo performance of melodies, rhythmic explorations (both slow and fast) and implied harmonies that gives an inside perspective on what it means to be Mark Turner. It conveys an up-close and personal depiction of the struggles and rewards of being a serious artist devoted to crafting a uniquely distinct voice, and the focus, dedication and honesty it demands.

We Raise Them To Lift Their Heads brings the listener inside Turner’s instrument. Pads thud, keys click and notes occasionally warble as Turner quests his way through two of his own compositions, three pieces by Bro and “Misterioso” by Thelonious Monk. We hear him in a naked, pure context, with nothing else but the natural ambience of the room he’s playing in. Hear his tongued attacks, his breath accents, his slurred bits of phrasing, the plosive pop of his altissimo and the unselfconscious swallow of his larynx. Intuit when he’s about to end each track just by paying attention to the way his breathing changes, the way his ideas and patterns wind down or wrap up. It doesn’t even take an experienced or discriminating ear to sense these captivating subtleties; you can just tell that resolution is imminent if you immerse yourself in this music and simply let it flow and turn in whatever direction Turner takes. Truth lies within.

One of the recording sessions with Turner and Bro that eventually led to We Raise Them To Lift Their Heads is depicted in the 2022 documentary Music for Black Pigeons, which premiered at the 79th Venice Biennale and was screened at cinemas and film festivals worldwide. A 14-year project by Danish directors Jørgen Leth and Andreas Koefoed, the film also portrays Bro’s creative interactions with various other prominent figures in the global jazz realm, including Paul Motian, Lee Konitz, Midori Takada, Bill Frisell, Craig Taborn, Joe Lovano, Larry Grenadier, Andrew Cyrille, Palle Mikkelborg, Joey Baron, Thomas Morgan, Arve Henriksen and Manfred Eicher.

There’s a prevailing notion in modern jazz circles that Turner has been one of the more interesting and important voices on the tenor saxophone for the last quarter-century or so. We Raise Them To Lift Their Heads provides further evidence of such hard-earned, and heartfelt, esteem.

With the Hammond organ riding a wave of visibility it hasn’t seen since late-‘60s soul jazz, what better stratagem than a tribute to one of the avatars of that sound? Brian Charette first established himself in New York playing at a Harlem club on an organ that once belonged to “Brother” (or “Captain”) Jack McDuff, whose vinegary sound and soulful licks Charette successfully channels and extends on You Don’t Know Jack!

It’s not an album of McDuff’s music, per se; only two of his tunes, the blues “Jolly Black Giant” and the bossa nova “6:30 In The Morning,” stand against originals by Charette (and one by tenor saxophonist Cory Weeds, who also produced the album in Vancouver). But it groks the sound and style that made McDuff tick, compositionally — place Charette’s opening “Early America” next to McDuff’s 1969 “Theme From An Electric Surfboard” and see if they’re not congruent — and improvisationally. “Microcosmic Orbit” might sound like a title from a Sun Ra record, but it’s a vehicle for the kind of punctilious, singsong phrasings that McDuff loved. (Not to mention his weirdly scratchy organ timbre; I don’t know how the hell McDuff made that sound, but Charette does.)

All that is not to say that there’s no originality on You Don’t Know Jack! The title track, oddly enough, features Charette playing a hiccup-y blues line that Jack would probably never touch. And while Weeds and guitarist Dave Sikula easily evoke the greasy, gritsy feel of down-home soul jazz, neither conjures the sound of any instrumentalist in particular. (As for drummer John Lee, he simply and tastefully swings: What else is there?) What’s more, Weeds’ “Have You Met Joan?” is a Bird-style bebop head that, for its six-minute length, recontextualizes the whole affair. Delicious.

Sometimes you just need some trippy music from an artist who’s painting well outside the lines in bright, bold colors. Enter Elliot Galvin, a sound-surfing keyboardist, composer and improviser. Galvin is well-known in his native England through four previous leader recordings as well as his associations with Shabaka Hutchings, Emma-Jean Thackray, Norma Winstone and many more. The album title comes from “the ruins we live with, how we can construct something new from the ashes of what came before, but first we must burn it down, the creative act of destruction,” says Galvin in press notes for the recording. And from that, the album takes on a film noir soundtrack vibe, beginning with “A House, A City,” which employs some cool synth sounds and studio effects sliding into some beautiful solo piano work performed on the first instrument he played as a child. “Still Under Storms” delivers a bit of avant punk nuance with killer, intense synth statements along with a simple, vibrate-your-bones bass line from Ruth Goller (who also delivers some neat atmospheric vocalese elsewhere on the album) and a stanky drum line by Sebastian Rochford. The aforementioned Hutchings makes a guest appearance on several tracks, like the grooving “Gold Bright” (a highpoint of this album) and “High And Wide,” a truly wonderful, atmospheric breath of exploring space with minimalism. Compare that to the bombastically loud “As If By Weapons,” which pulls no punches while indulging in Galvin’s sheer joy of, well, making noise. You can almost see him smiling as this one dives into your ears and stays there, especially with its almost church-like ending. Throughout the recording the Ligeti String Quartet plays a major role — sometimes accenting and tweaking through a tune like “In Concentric Circles,” other times quietly guiding listeners to a more thoughtful space, as on “Giants Corrupted.” If you’re looking for easy listening, you won’t find it here. Elliot Galvin is an explorer with great vision. He has something to say to the world in a voice that is distinct, thoughtful and appealing to listeners who like their music with a double shot of experimentation.