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

DownBeat published its first full-length feature on composer/alto saxophonist Steve Lehman in the May issue with good reason. His music (and career) continue to grow with each and every album he puts out and every live show he puts on. In the case of his most recent album, The Music Of Anthony Braxton on Pi, listeners get a good dose of both. Here we have Lehman with his working trio of Matt Brewer on bass and Damion Reid on drums, plus tenor saxophonist Mark Turner, performing the music of one of Lehman’s greatest mentors. They dig into Braxton’s catalog with drive, ambition and fury, delivering the master’s music with grit, groove and just the right amount of outside-the-lines spice. Braxton’s music has always been absolutely heady, taking a different path from the rest of the crowd, and that’s what makes it so special. This trio +1 fans that flame, but also gives the music a deeply soulful spin. For example, they take on “34a” at a slightly slower tempo, but still at breakneck speed. That gives Brewer’s bass and Reid’s drums the opportunity to seriously lock in as Lehman and Turner blaze over the rhythm. From the outset, it’s important to note how well this music was recorded. Every nuance is captured, from the rattle of the E string on Brewer’s bass to the slap of a saxophone key. All four members of the ensemble shine throughout. Brewer’s bass solo on “40b” is divine. Lehman and Turner thrill on unison lines on “23b + 23G,” then sprint off on their own killer solos. With both Lehman and Turner on the fast-growing L.A. jazz scene now, it’s exciting to hear them together, both creatively gifted improvisers. They absolutely feed off of each other throughout the set. And Reid brings an easy, fiery grace to the drum kit, fueling changes in tempo and color on “23e + 40a” and “23c.” In addition to the five Braxton tunes in this set, it also includes two Lehman originals: “L.A. Genes” and “Unbroken and Unspoken,” both terrific additions to his body of work. They close with Thelonious Monk’s “Trinkle, Tinkle,” in a performance Lehman included to demonstrate the connection between its melodic line to Braxton’s “23b.” Steve Lehman is a thinking man’s musician who also knows how to burn.

Veteran drummer Phil Haynes, a prolific composer and improviser who’s been featured on nearly 90 releases from myriad American and European labels (including his own Corner Store Jazz imprint), pairs up with two of his longtime collaborators — electric guitarist Steve Salerno and upright bassist Drew Gress — on the visceral new recording Return To Electric. The album not only reconnects Haynes with old friends from his two decades spent living and working in New York, but it also fulfills a long-held dream of making a fusion album — one that ultimately serves as a vehicle for nostalgic yet progressive time-travel back to the genre’s early experimental days, awash in the edgy, iconic sounds of the electric guitar that captivated and inspired him as a youth coming of age in Oregon. The trio takes on fusion classics by Wayne Shorter (“Paraphernalia”), Chick Corea (“Crystal Silence”), John McLaughlin (“Spectrum” and “Lotus On Irish Springs”) and George Russell (“Living Time”), alongside repurposed Haynes originals and a trio of short improvised solo “Cadenzas” by each member of the band. Passages of free-improv play abound on Return To Electric, whose 13 modest-length tracks seldom stick to any one groove or stay on any particular tack for very long. Unrestrained by strict song forms, the music shifts with an organic feel, touching on everything from ethereal atmospherics and hard-hitting rip-and-crunch to old-school funk grooves, easygoing swing diversions and a sparse, exploratory “sandbox” approach to group improvisation. Another, simultaneous new release, Transition(s), marks the debut of Haynes in a duo configuration co-led with guitarist Ben Monder, a fellow seeker on the New York downtown scene a quarter-century ago who semi-regularly teamed up with the drummer for informal improv sessions that almost always culminated in a meditation on “Transition,” the title track from John Coltrane’s posthumously released 1970 album. Here, the tune serves as the guiding star for a set of airy, spacious art pieces — at times amorphous and atmospheric, at others tense and urgent or lyrical and weightless, all of it built upon a still-vital, telepathy-like stream of communication that was, in retrospect, long overdue for a reawakening.

Myra Melford Splash is a damned exciting piano trio record. You can know that without immersing yourself in the paintings of Cy Twombly, whose work inspires the music — although the piece on the album cover (part of Twombly’s famed Lepanto cycle) certainly suggests the bright contrast, odd shapes and ordered abstraction within.

What’s more important is that those elements make Splash a blast to listen to. Pianist Melford’s expressionistic squiggles really pop against bassist Michael Formanek and drummer/vibraphonist Ches Smith’s deceptively steady grooves on “Drift.” Inversely, it’s they who stand out against her determined propulsion on “Freewheeler.” “A Line With A Mind Of Its Own” finds all three players somehow in relief against each other, each playing their own version of the idea expressed in the title while also working in tandem. One never knows where any or all of them will go, but it sure is fun to find out.

A powerful sense of kinesis drives the entire album (not unlike the graffitiesque forms in Twombly’s art, but, again, that’s a minor point). In the first two of Splash’s three “interludes,” that kinesis functions ironically; frantic or pointed piano, bass and vibes figures converge into placid, meditative wholes. (The closing “Chalk,” though not an interlude, does the same.) The third accomplishes a more daunting task as a tranquil whole deconstructs itself into oblong shards — without sacrificing the tranquility.

It’s “Drypaint,” however, that best showcases the motion at work in this music. Formanek transitions back and forth between Melford and Smith, partnering with one then the other to draw angular, segmented lines that aggressively clash with whoever is the odd trio-mate out at any given moment. It’s as striking and fresh an approach as Twombly’s.

The crisis in the title of this gripping album by Mexican-born drummer Gustavo Cortiñas, who now lives in Chicago, applies to the globe warming, but rings just as true for the entire sense of chaos we’re experiencing at the moment. This is impactful music, marked with all the sorrow, strife, confusion, anger and bits of joy that go into the confounding mix of emotions Cortiñas feels at this moment in history.

From the downbeat of the opening tune, “The Basic Economic Farsity,” this album grabs the ears and demands attention. Even though it’s a drummer’s record, drums are not at the forefront, rather part of an excellent ensemble. The music begins with the pleading violin of Mark Feldman in a solo that pulls at the heartstrings for well over two minutes before Cortiñas enters along with Jon Irabagon on tenor saxophone and Dave Miller on guitar. At moments the music squaks and squeals in splatters of sound, then locks into a hard groove only to splinter into sound-surfing angst. The effect serves as great storytelling without saying a word. Tunes such as “The Growth Imperative,” “Skepticism,” “The Crisis Knows No Border” and “Your Right Under The Sun” will appeal to those of us who like their jazz with a bit of punk attitude. But there are beautiful, quieter moments, too, such as “Oil And Water Don’t Mix,” “Sea Levels Rising” and “The Man Of Flesh And Bone.” And “Wishcycle” is a great headphone noise interlude.

The album’s closing number shows Cortiñas at his finest with nearly six minutes of intense drum soloing on “Meditation On The End Of Times” — but to call it soloing doesn’t do this piece justice. It is exquisite instant composition that happens to take place on the drums. Cortiñas is masterful, as are his bandmates, as is the entirety of The Crisis Knows No Borders.