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.

George Colligan is masterful at his craft, world-class as a pianist, keyboardist, composer, bandleader and musical storyteller. But we don’t get to see him enough because he’s also world-class as a jazz educator, serving as a full professor at Portland State University in Oregon. So, when he does come to town — be it with his own groups or working as a sideman, especially shining as a long-time member of groups led by drummer Jack DeJohnette — you’ve gotta catch him. Just to whet your interest, his latest recording, Live At The Jazz Standard, is a perfect introduction to (or reacquaintance with) Colligan’s work. It’s a beautiful display of all of his artistic skill and panache in a trio setting where he turns the tables and has DeJohnette join him, along with the always-interesting Linda May Han Oh on bass. What we have here is a fantastic five-tune set where the songs are terrific, the musicianship special and the chance to stretch out and solo is over-the-top amazing. The set begins with “Waiting For Solitude.” This is where Colligan’s musical storytelling shines. The percussive attack and interaction between the three builds an angsty tension, but Colligan knows just where to release and slide into some beautiful lines. Oh delivers a terrific bass solo, and you can almost feel the three musicians listen and respond to each other throughout. In introducing “Song For The Tarahumera,” Colligan asks the audience if they knew the book Born To Run by Christopher McDougall, about an indigenous people in Mexico with extraordinary ability as endurance runners. When no one answers, he says, “Really? No exercise enthusiasts in the house?” All this and funny, too. Clocking in at over 14 minutes, the tune is a bit of an endurance test, even giving the sense of a running pace with DeJohnette kicking off the tune with a long, killer drum solo. A family man, Colligan delivers the lovely “Her Majesty” in honor of his wife, the talented pianist Kelly Politzer. He offers “Liam’s Lament” as an homage to his son when he was 2 years old. “I know lament sounds heavy for a 2-year-old,” he quipped. “You haven’t met my son. He’s heavy, he’s a heavy dude.” The tune starts out with Colligan playing accordion, reminding us of the beauty of that instrument. But, true to the song’s title, it builds to a bit of a musical tantrum (sorry, Liam) before resolving. The set concludes with “If A Mountain Was Smooth, You Couldn’t Climb It.” It’s a special closing number: uplifting, majestic and an opportunity for all three musicians to really shine. Live At The Jazz Standard offers a wonderful glimpse into the musical world of George Colligan. It’s a world full of great songs performed by incredible musicians, a world that puts a smile on your face.

This is the first Editor’s Unpick that we’ve ever run online. There was a lotta talk when André 3000 put out New Blue Sun, his instrumental flute recording, a couple of years ago. It was OK, meh, and many of us in the jazz world applauded the attempt. (Many also flat-out panned it.) With 7 piano sketches, André offers an EP of seven solo piano renderings lasting from under a minute to three-and-a-half minutes, improvisations he said were recorded a decade ago and never intended to be put out. So why do it now? This is not a professional record. He is not a good piano player. This is noodling at home, just one step up from Lou Reed’s 1975 release Metal Machine Music (go find it and blame me later for wasting your time). So, again, why do it? Does he owe the record company an album and wants to get out of the contract? Or was it all just to make his piano-themed costume for this year’s Met Gala make sense? Whatever the case, it’s the worst solo piano recording on a major label that this reviewer has ever heard. So, why one star, not zero? It’s 2025, and everybody gets a participation trophy these days. Now that I’ve joined the scads writers who have written about this EP, some loving it (insert rolling-eye emoji here), you’ll go out, listen to this and blame me for, again, wasting your time. Sorry, André — I love ya, but no. (If you do listen, I’d love to hear your feedback. Email me at editor@downbeat.com.)

On Metropolarity, tenor saxophonist Jasper Blom, a pivotal force on the vibrant Dutch jazz scene, is joined by his quartet colleagues of 20 years to perform new versions of his original compositions in collaboration with the 50-strong Metropole Orkest, the Netherlands-based non-classical orchestra celebrated for its forward-facing creative vision and long history of collaboration with progressive-minded popular artists from Ella Fitzgerald, Dizzy Gillespie and Herbie Hancock to Jacob Collier, Snarky Puppy and DOMi & JD BECK. Metropole’s signature blend of daring orchestration and melodic accessibility makes it an especially appropriate fit for Blom’s advanced yet engaging writing style. The symbiotic virtuosity of Blom and his heavyweight quartet mates — guitarist Jesse Van Ruller, bassist Frans Van Der Hoeven and drummer Martijn Vink — blooms brilliantly in the orchestra’s verdant garden bed, which serves to extend the core combo in both supporting and interactive roles. A striking blend of the leader’s innovative compositions, the quartet’s tight, intuitive improvisations and the majestic sweep of the Metropole Orkest (conducted here by the formidable Christian Elsässer interpreting exquisitely crafted charts by esteemed large-ensemble arrangers Jochen Neuffer, Damiano Pascarelli, Calle Rasmussen, Callum Au, Rob Horsting and Elsässer himself), Metropolarity is a fitting and monumental tribute to Blom’s distinguished career at the front ranks of European jazz performers, composers, collaborators and bandleaders.

If the words “silt” or “remembrance” ring a bell in a jazz context, you might have already figured out that Silt Remembrance Ensemble is the latest project of bassist, poet and conceptualist Luke Stewart. It brings together his Silt Trio (with tenor saxophonist Brian Settles, drummer Chad Taylor) and members of his Remembrance Quintet (saxophonists Daniel Carter, who also plays trumpet, and Jamal Moore, who also plays percussion). The result, The Order, doesn’t sound quite like either group — although it does sound indefatigably like Stewart.

In fact, it might be said to encapsulate everything Stewart does best. The tunes tend toward the kind of infectious, organic grooves that shape the Silt Trio’s two albums, as on the bass-driven “River Road” and “Commandments” or the drum-circle-with-saxes “Lion’s Den.” Yet it has the wider textural palette, busier interaction and poetic augmentations of the Remembrance Quintet; the evocative literary and spoken voices of No Land (“Memory”) and Janice Lowe (“The Order”) distinguish themselves, as does Stewart’s on “Repeat.”

Even mash-up ensembles like this one are more than the sum of their parts, though. Silt Remembrance’s own identity presents itself most robustly on the eponymous “Silt Remembrance.” Beginning with Carter’s bleating alto dancing over an African-inspired rhythm, it soon features all three saxophonists furiously engaging with each other, with counterpoint giving way to cooperative development and back again. As they gradually cohere, bass and drums increasingly diverge, creating a looser framework that never quite gets all the way to free before reuniting in another determined groove.

Much is happening here, all of it captivating. DB