No mere repertory exercise, this — perhaps even less so than drummer Terri Lyne Carrington’s inspired 2013 update of Ellington/Roach/Mingus’ Money Jungle. Always in touch with her social conscience, Carrington reimagines Max Roach’s 1960 We Insist! Freedom Now Suite from top to bottom with an eye toward its current-day relevance.

The scope of her reconceptualization is clear in her choice of collaborator. Absurdly gifted though she is, vocalist Christie Dashiell’s instrument doesn’t have the urgent authority of Abbey Lincoln’s (could anyone’s?). Instead, she deals in subtlety and understatement: On two different versions of “Freedom Day,” her “whisper, listen” leans far more in the former direction; her “Driva’man” expresses sadness and fatigue rather than raw effrontery. Dashiell appeals to our compassion, not our rage, and it is in its own way every bit as effective.

It’s not just the vocal that’s different, though. Carrington changes the aforementioned “Driva’man” from an aggressive work song to a pathos-laden piece of Afropop, with bassist Morgan Guerin, guitarist Matthew Stevens and percussionist Weedie Bramah meeting her in beautiful polyrhythmic convergence. The suite’s most incendiary section, “Triptych,” remains shaped by wordless vocals — but also a section of shouted slogans by Dashiell, offset with solos and interplay from trumpeter Milena Casado, bassist Devon Gates, multi-reedist Guerin (who here plays saxophones and bass clarinet) and Carrington. If it’s not the primal screams that Lincoln made infamous, it instead carries the weight of the 65 years of history that have lapsed in between the two versions of the work.

What, then, does Carrington and Dashiell’s re-envisioning of We Insist! say about the world on the near side of those 65 years? Black America is no less angry today than it was then (nor should it be). Perhaps, though, there’s a hope that the rest of us — living in a media-saturated world that constantly beats us over the head with facts and fictions alike — can better relate to anguish and exhaustion. Here’s hoping we get it.

When you live, work and play in New York, the city’s renowned culture is there for the taking. But even if your day-to-day pursuits are of the utmost sophistication, there’s no escaping the raw grit and inherent riskiness of urban life. Nobody knows that better than Michael Dease, who spent more than a decade of his formative years in the Big Apple, and whose latest double album, City Life, bustles like Seventh Avenue at rush hour and soars as high as the Empire State building. It’s the third recording project on which Dease has collaborated with the prolific composer Gregg Hill, who succeeds in bringing out a more adventurous side of the versatile trombonist, known among listeners as a torchbearer for the jazz tradition. Both of the wide-ranging albums that constitute City Life feature Dease with a rhythm section of bassist Linda May Han Oh and drummer Jeff “Tain” Watts. They perform as a trio for the entirety of Disc 1, with the leader’s daughter, the vital tenor saxophonist Brooklyn Dease, contributing vocals on two tracks. The core trio expands into a quintet on Disc 2 as Dease welcomes pianist Geoffrey Keezer and tenor saxophonist Nicole Glover into the bustling fray, with bassist Jared Beckstead-Craan, Dease’s former student, taking Oh’s place on two tracks. City Life’s two sets revolve around 12 new pieces by Hill, as well as a pair by Dease (who recently received a Guggenheim Fellowship for Music Composition), two lesser-known works from the vast oeuvre of bebop-’bone icon J.J. Johnson, one by the late guitarist Emily Remler, one by saxophonist Greg Tardy and one by saxophonist Sharel Cassity. Sporting such edgy titles as “Danger Zone,” “Say Whaaat?” and “Mr. Hurt,” and evoking images of the quieter, more refined aspects of urban living in polished gems like “Tea Time” and “Rainy Afternoon,” this wide-ranging collection of mostly original music vibrantly captures the kaleidoscopic colors and multifarious flavors of life in the big city.

There are so many reasons that trumpeter Theo Croker graces the June 2025 cover of DownBeat. For starters, he’s been steadily building a loyal fandom with his beautiful tone and creative mind — from 2019’s Star People Nation to 2021’s BLK2LIFE // A FUTURE PAST to 2022’s LOVE QUANTUM. His live shows are mesmerizing, danceable joyfests. Moreover, he does all of this while refusing to be boxed neatly into any specific musical genre, as deftly displayed by his latest release, Dream Manifest. Jazz? Yep. Soul? For days. Hip-hop? No doubt. R&B? Yes, siree. All of that and some trippy melodies and beats to glide over. The album, which brings together members of Croker’s past and current bands, has a true party feel. It’s a group that transcends generations, styles and art forms — Mike King, Eric Wheeler, Michael Shekwoaga Ode and Miguel Marcel Russell, plus guest artists McDole, Estelle, Kassa Overall, MAAD, Gary Bartz, Natureboy Flako, Malaya and multidisciplinary artist and creative director D’LEAU. Of special note is the tune “light as a feather,” featuring Croker and Bartz trading fours over a groovy track with production by Natureboy Flako. On “high vibrations,” arranged by Croker and D’LEAU, the club beat is infectious, with Malaya’s vocals heightening the vibe. With “crystal waterfalls,” Croker brings a slow groove that lets his trumpet breathe with a Miles Davis-like love for using space and time to shape the mood. It also gives the band a chance to shine: Michael King’s fingers float over the Fender Rhodes and piano, Eric Wheeler’s callouses slide just right over the bass strings and drummer Shekwoaga Ode demonstrates exquisite touch on the brushes. But right after that break, the crew dives back into booty-shaking mode with “we still wanna dance,” another club-worthy drop from Croker and D’LEAU. One last note: Dream Manifest begins with “prelude 3” and ends with “postlude 3,” two short moments of discovery by the band. No rush here, just a couple chances to sit back and enjoy the sound of these gifted artists and their instruments. How many times have we all heard that jazz used to be dance music? Theo Croker’s bringing it back to the floor. But it’s not your father’s jazz or your grandfather’s. His music is made for today … with an eye toward tomorrow. To read DownBeat’s cover feature on Croker, click HERE. To check out his performance of “up frequency” on the June 16 episode of the Kelly Clarkson Show, click HERE.

Paradise, the exceptional new recording by The Westerlies brass quartet, comes at a perfect time in history. The music — sublime, precise and deeply spiritual — serves as a balm for the soul during a worrisome era. While the headlines scream of the starving of Palestinians in Gaza, the killing of Jews in Washington, D.C., the upheaval of international trade wars and the persistent sowing of divisiveness, The Westerlies turn their mighty clarion sound to the Sacred Harp music of the American South dating back to the mid-1800s. They have reshaped, recast and elevated this choral music — named for The Sacred Harp, a shape-note songbook from 1844 — into something that’s beautifully soothing and timeless. Let’s start with two stellar guest spots on this 10-track program. The first, thrilling take is the title song, performed by folk vocalist Sam Amidon, who is no stranger to this music as the son of a family of Sacred Harp singers. His voice carries a calm, almost pleading tone that oozes honesty, backed by the quiet majesty of the quartet. It builds to a heart-filling crescendo before coming to a cliff-dropping stop. It’s a wonderful effect. The second is “Weeping Mary,” sung by the sweet, sentimental vocalist Aoife O’Donovan. She slides beautifully into the horn arrangement. The horns play a key role on both of these tunes as well as on the rest of the set. Consisting of trumpeters Riley Mulherkar and Chloe Rowlands along with trombonists Andy Clausen and Addison Maye-Saxon, The Westerlies have the kind of innate cohesiveness that’s only a gained by playing together over a long period of time, and in this case across eight studio albums. Along with the album’s renderings of classic Sacred Harp works, trombonist Clausen adds two of his own pieces: “The 5:10 To Ronkonkoma” and “The Royal Band.” Rowlands contributes “Kerhonkson,” and Mulherkar offers “The Evening Trumpet.” These composers have clearly done their homework, as their music weaves beautifully into the tapestry of these songs of grace. With the input of engineer Philip Weinrobe, the sound of Paradise is fantastic, each part beautifully sculpted and expertly mixed into a very natural, raw recording where every breath can be heard and the band’s interplay is clearly audible. This is music of great simplicity, thoughtfulness and beauty. It is not easy-listening; it’s amazing listening.

While the fourth album from The Pete McGuinness Jazz Orchestra is a deliberately mixed bag in terms of styles and repertoire, it is a model of consistency from start to finish when one considers the high standard of creative innovation behind the arrangements and orchestrations and the superb execution by the leader and his familiar roster of loyal personnel. Over the course of nearly two decades, the veteran players that make up this New York-based ensemble have done a stellar job of upholding the eclectic sensibilities and expansive vision of ace arranger and vocalist McGuinness, a former trombonist who played alongside many of his elite peers in the esteemed big bands of Maria Schneider, Lionel Hampton, Jimmy Heath, Woody Herman (under the direction of Frank Tibieri), Mike Holober and John Fedchock (who lent his skills as session producer for the new recording) as well as Broadway pit orchestras. Mixed Bag, which ranges from serious swing to simmering bossa nova, elegant balladry to bracing modernism, is no exception. In fact, it’s the orchestra’s most ambitious offering to date. McGuinness was spurred to delve deeper as a composer and a vocalist for the album, which marks the group’s first release since he was forced to put down his horn due to a chops-debilitating neurological disorder known as “embouchure dystonia.” A former student of legendary arranger-composers Bob Brookmeyer and Manny Albam, and currently a professor of jazz studies and arranging at William Paterson University, McGuinness emerges undaunted on Mixed Bag, revealing his determination to venture down unexplored avenues. He also puts more emphasis on his singing than on previous releases, showing off his tastefully restrained, lyrically nuanced tenor vocals and embracing his well-developed scatting skills as a way to express himself as a soloist. In the Great American Songbook bag, the program includes two Cole Porter classics: a bossa nova reimagining of the romantic classic “So In Love” and a swaggering take on “From This Moment On.” From the standard jazz canon, we get a Brookmeyer-inspired arrangement of “Body And Soul,” a samba-groove take on John Lewis’ “Django” and a bari sax-dominated version of Thelonious Monk’s “’Round Midnight.” Trumpeter Chris Rogers contributes “Rebecca,” a longtime favorite of McGuinness’ recast here with a Brazilian feel. The remainder of the repertoire mostly consists of McGuinness originals: “The Dark Hours,” which veers into turbulent terrain; “Down The Rabbit Hole,” with jagged 12-tone techniques that draw the listener into a harmonically intriguing wonderland; the plush, sophisticated “Lilac Blues”; and “The Sly Fox,” an advanced romp written in tribute to another of McGuinness’ composer-arranger heroes, the late Bill Holman. Mixed Bag closes with an extra-special track, a lush rendition of Johnny Mandel’s ballad “Where Do You Start?” It’s McGuinness’ first effort at arranging for studio orchestra with strings, graced by his own heartrending vocal and a sublime guest appearance by pianist Bill Charlap. For this poignant final track — which includes flute, clarinet, French horn and the trombone section in addition to violins, violas, cellos, bass and drums — regular PMJO pianist Holober expertly takes on the essential role of conductor.

If the Melancholia of the title doesn’t tell you this is an exquisitely expressive album, the presence of trumpeter Ingrid Jensen as a featured guest should do the trick. Turkish-American pianist Mehmet Ali Sanlıkol groups Jensen with a Bostonian cohort on music both subtle and stunning — and, yes, melancholic.

Yet these seven tracks never become monotonous in their moodiness; if the music itself is subtle, the gradations between these “shades” are not. “One Melancholic Montuno,” for example, is in the same key as “My Blues”; there the resemblance ends. The former is a stirring-but-stately duo for piano and trumpet, with the Afro-Caribbean flair that its name suggests; the latter is not a blues, but a sad melody (played by Jensen and soprano saxophonist Lihi Haruvi-Means) that unfurls with such aching that its slow tempo does nothing to dampen its catharsis. Even the two tunes that share traditional Turkish modes, Sanlıkol’s self-invented Renaissance 17 microtonal keyboard (which sounds like a Wurlitzer electric piano) and his vocals are different: “Şeddi Araban Şarkı,” a downcast ballad, finds him wailing in a Bryan Ferry-like croon, while “Hüseyni Jam” is a medium-up swinger with bassist James Heazlewood-Dale and drummer George Lernis at a trot and Sanlıkol adopting a falsetto à la Milton Nascimento. That it manages to evoke melancholy at all is a minor miracle.

“My Blues” — which does adopt a bluesy feel in its middle section, pushed along with powerful solos by Sanlıkol, Haruvi-Means and Jensen — is well positioned as the closer, since it’s the album’s crowning moment. Yet the penultimate “Buselik” isn’t far behind. It’s a haunting tone poem, begun with wordless falsetto vocals and piano from Sanlıkol; Jensen and Haruvi-Means soon join with empathetic obbligati, then Heazlewood-Dale and Lernis come in just before the halfway point to ratchet up the tension with a double-time rhythm. Jensen’s note-bending cries brought a tear to this writer’s eye.