Perhaps more than with his other groups, Us Five gives Lovano a lab in which to try out new ideas, new configurations, and new sounds. The group’s latest release, Cross Currents (Blue Note), takes the group forward while Lovano looks back. Over the course of its running time, Lovano plays an assortment of horns and percussion, from Hungarian tarogato and Belgian aulochrome to Nigerian log drum and gongs; the group group includes Grammy Award winning bassist Esperanza Spalding and drummers Otis Brown III and Francisco Mela. This amalgam of unusual instruments, and the group’s dual drummer configuration, recalls the boundary-stretching ’60s recordings of John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman.

“Some of the instruments I play on the album I have collected through the years,” Lovano says. “They’re ancient sounds, they go back in time in the history of the world of music, from Asia, North Africa, Nigeria. These sounds feel like the earth, like having it come from your soul. It’s not just a technical thing. When you vibrate on the tonalities of these instruments and don’t try to play any specific kind of music, you feel the soul of the music in a different kind of way.”

A similar philosophy extends to the makeup of Lovano’s group. “To have a quintet with double drummers, a lot of points of reference can happen,” he says. “Anything can happen if everyone is paying attention and sharing a space together. That’s the idea. The double drummer configuration was inspired by Art Blakey, Max Roach, Billy Higgins and Ed Blackwell with Ornette, and Rashid Ali and Elvin Jones with Coltrane.”

As the masters have influenced Lovano, he has in turn influenced the new guard of younger jazz musicians.

“I realize what a deep relationship I have with all of these cats.” Lovano says. “It’s a beautiful scene today. As a musician, for a long time you’re in people’s audiences. Then all of a sudden, they’re in your audience. I was in Joe Henderson’s audience a lot,” he continues. “And the audiences of Dexter Gordon, George Coleman and Clifford Jordan. Once when I was playing the Berkhausen festival in Germany, Dexter was in the audience. That night I somehow held my notes just a little longer. I got up the next morning and Dexter was just coming in and we hung in the hotel lobby. I got the chills. That happens for all of us and it’s happening for these cats now. It’s a continuum. That’s how these things are handed down: in real time.”

eMusic’s Ken Micallef asked Lovano to listen and comment on new recordings from his favorite current saxophonists.

Broad themes, big idealism and a wide musical palette

“Lord, make me an instrument of thy peace. Where there is hatred let us so love; where there is doubt let us so faith; where there is despair let us so hope; where there is darkness let us so light.” So Kendrick Scott prays over “Pendulum,” which starts off his third album Conviction with all the anticipation of an impending thunderstorm, all brisk rhythmic winds and enveloping atmospheres. Here the 32-year-old drummer/composer goes for broad themes, big idealism and a wide musical palette. Like the Bruce Lee sample that graces Scott’s “Be Water,” Conviction flows freely, the music morphing from intimate straight ahead (“I Have A Dream”) to Charles Earland worthy, odd metered cosmic funk (“Cycling Through Reality”) to improvisational R&B (“Too Much”). At its core, the collection reflects Kendrick Scott, the thinker, a musician with a musical vision reflected by a suite-like cohesiveness that mirrors his masterful skills as a drummer (Terence Blanchard, Kenny Garrett, Gretchen Parlato) and his expressiveness as a composer. For its sense of cohesiveness and continuity alone, Conviction is an album in the classic sense of the word. A sprightly, air-filled drum solo opens “Cycling Through Reality,” an odd metered rally through the sweet guitar of Mike Moreno, a soaring solo by saxophonist/bass clarinetist John Ellis, and the empathetic piano of Taylor Eigsti (Scott and Eigsti form a dual rhythmic juggernaut throughout). “Apollo” creates a gentle, Pat Metheny-esque rural vision, “Serenity” an introspective palette of acoustic guitars, sizzling cymbal and pop vocal, “Memory of Enchantment” further moments of piano endowed solace. Next to last, “Be Water” invokes another prayer in the form of a Bruce Lee sample: “Here is natural instinct and here is control. You are to combine the two in harmony. Be water, my friend. Empty your mind. Be formless, shapeless, like water.” Scott and Oracle swirl through the song, immersed in improvisation, inspired by Lee’s directive to follow the shape of the music wherever it may lead them with fervor and intensity.

A wild, impish triumph that delivers everything its pairing promises

This inspired meeting between adventurous keyboardist Caine and gale-force drummer Bennink delivers everything their pairing promises. Caine, known for his avant-jazz/chamber excursions that approach classical masterworks with a uniquely twisted flavor, is challenged and encouraged at every turn by Bennink, a master of free jazz drumming with a unique, gleeful attitude. Recorded at Amsterdam’s Bimhuis in 2011, Sonic Boom is comprised of nine brief but exhilarating songs — if these roller coasters of form somersaulting function can be called songs. Caine plays impishly, no doubt inspired by Bennink’s childlike shenanigans, the kind of thing you might tell a young child to “STOP!” if not for the sheer joy billowing from his drums and cymbals. Performing primarily improvised material, the duo also cover Monk’s “Round Midnight,” but it goes all wrong. Caine extracts the familiar melody from the piano’s keys and internal wires, but then everything is dissembled and scattered, as if Madlib were dissecting/delivering the performance via two Technics SP 1200 turntables. Sticks fly, brushes swoon, Monk screams for mercy, and before you know it the pair are swinging sweetly, sparkling, like it’s 1959. They follow with an avuncular blues, “As I Was,” a sonic freefall through shocking accents; “Furious Urious,” and the equivalent of a swinging, Willie the Lion Smith barrel house shuffle, “Lockdown.” A triumph.

A nostalgic, star-studded trip to L.A.'s Sound City studio

In Dave Grohl’s world, if you want to direct a movie about a defunct recording studio, you make a few calls; take a few meetings, and wha-la! you’re a director. Similarly, if you need some fellow rock stars to record a tribute album supporting said tribute film, well — you get the picture. Thankfully, for the budding film auteur, Sound City – Real to Reel is everything we’ve come to expect from the former Nirvana drummer turned million-selling, molar-flashing Foo Fighter.

Writing and performing alongside Paul McCartney, Stevie Nicks, Rick Springfield, Trent Reznor, Josh Homme, Rick Nielsen, Lee Ving of Fear, Corey Taylor, Brad Wilk and Tim Commerford of Rage Against The Machine, and the Foos, Dave Grohl’s Real to Reel is a nostalgic tribute to L.A.’s closed Sound City studio, the birthplace to Rumours, Damn the Torpedoes, Rage Against The Machine and Nevermind. Sound City – Real to Reel is high on energetic hits, worthwhile rock-star vanity pieces, and one extremely nasty miss. The album was recorded on Sound City’s original analog Neve console, now safely ensconced in Grohl’s 606 recording studio.

First, the “Best of Real to Reel“: Stevie Nicks croons in her classic adenoidal purr on the Rumours-worthy, “You Can’t Fix This”; Rick Springfield (!) mightily fronts the Foos on the wonderfully nerve-rattling revenge ode, “The Man That Never Was”; Fear’s Lee Ving goes into a spazzy vocal riot on the punk-blues of “Your Wife Is Calling”; Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme, Alain Johannes and producer Chris Goss join Grohl for the acoustic psychedelia of “Centipede” (equally psychedelic is Commerford, Goss, Grohl and Wilk’s “Time Slowing Down”). Grohl sings a love-scarred semi-acoustic plea on the resonant “If I Were Me,” another highpoint.

Then there’s the B-sides. Homme, Johannes and Grohl rock a forgettable popcorn intermission on “A Trick with No Sleeve,” opener “Heaven & All” with Black Rebel Motorcycle Club cheaply recalls Guns ‘N Roses, closer “Mantra,” with Homme and Trent Reznor, comes off like a dry heave from Them Crooked Vultures, 7:45 of repetitive bass guitar and vocals. But Real to Reel‘s weakest song is Paul McCartney’s lackluster blues rocker “Cut Me Some Slack,” the former Beatle wheezing like he’s fronting a raucous Wings cover band (“Helen Wheels” in reverse?). That Kirst Novoselic and Pat Smear share performance duties make the song all the sadder.

Bad notes aside, Real to Reel is another notch in Dave Grohl’s platinum belt, its hits ultimately outweighing its misses. Perhaps more important than the songs is the album and the film’s message, documenting an era when recording rock music meant performing together as a band in an analog environment — Pro Tools gridding, digital “autotuning” and the mercenary commercial effects of the computer age be damned. Sound City – Real to Reel is about a reality that once was, a golden oldie that is nevermore.

Mixing swinging, funky jazz with provocative political commentary

Fifty years ago, United Artists released Duke Ellington’s Money Jungle, featuring bassist Charles Mingus and drummer Max Roach alongside the legendary pianist, composer, band leader and American icon. Money Jungle was an unusual album then and now, practically a concept album, with Ellington breaking away from his standard trio to record with the irascible, innovative Mingus and the steady-as-a-clock Roach. The album’s title hinted at what mattered most in mid-’60s America, as Grammy winner Teri Lynne Carrington’s interpretation of Money Jungle shows, it’s just as relevant today.

Carrington revisits some of the album’s original material while delving further into the nature of a buck in modern America. Peppered with dollar-centric speech sampled from Barack Obama, Bill Clinton, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., George W. Bush, Herbie Hancock and others, Money Jungle: Provocative in Blue spikes swinging and occasionally funky jazz with provocative political commentary. Carrington’s deep groove is pushed and prodded by the outsized personality of bassist Christian McBride, and the group is rounded out by pianist Gerald Clayton, vocalists Lizz Wright and Shea Rose, saxophonists Antonio Hart and Tia Fuller, guitarist Nil Felder, and trumpeter (and longtime Carrington mentor) Clark Terry.

Carrington opens the title track with a buoyant mallet solo and a spoken-word sample from the film Zeitgeist: “People are basically vehicles to just create money, which must create more money to keep the whole thing from falling apart, which is what’s happening.” Carrington’s Vince Guaraldi-ish “Grass Roots” adds a note of upbeat sanguinity, her drumming spreading and shaping the music with effortless but exciting rhythmic flow. “A Little Max,” which appeared on the 1987 reissue of Money Jungle, is a beautiful samba tribute to the great drummer; “Switch Blade” allows McBride to reference the master Mingus in a beaming intro solo and the song’s rock steady pulse; “Rem Blues/Music” closes the album with lengthy verbiage about the power of women/music, and more pertinent samples of Herbie Hancock intoning excerpts from an Ellington poem, including “When you get into popularity you’re talking about money, not music.” One wishes there were more hints of Ellington’s free-spirited swing cadences and melodic directness. But as a contemporary jazz album, Money Jungle: Provocative in Blue is a pleasing follow-up to Carrington’s Grammy winning The Mosaic Project. While you’d never mistake it for Public Enemy, it is food (and music) for thought.

Consistently challenging herself to explore genres beyond jazz

One gets the impression that Chicago vocalist/piano player/poet Patricia Barber doesn’t suffer fools gladly. Inscrutable, quixotic, yet as clear-headed as the ’50s-era Beats she resembles, Barber is also demanding of herself, her trio and her audience. On her Concord debut, Barber consistently challenges herself and her listeners. Smash, perhaps to an even greater degree that some of her Premonition or Blue Note recordings, mines the realms of the unexpected, while Barber continues to explore genres beyond jazz. Throughout Smash, electric guitars burr, funk drums swing driving beats, and Barber coos her familiar sharp-edged poetry, but then suddenly goes silent — and seemingly off a cliff — practically at a whim.

Smash traces the moments that accompany a love affair turned sour, but as the title implies, it doesn’t do so quietly — it bucks and brays, asks “why?” From the opening, rolling rhythms of “Code Cool,” Barber’s music is deliberate, transparent, pointed and always close to flashpoint. “I’m like Michelangelo’s David, tested and worn,” she sings. After the calming piano interlude, “Romanesque,” Barber sings, “This is the sound of blood on the road” in the title track, her vocal segueing into a dramatic, sky-strafing Hendrix-worthy solo from guitarist John Kregor. But even as Smash runs the gamut of emotions, Barber retains her trademark vocal cool, letting the music — and a fantastic new band — express her catharsis. Barber sings “Scream when Sunday finally comes” as a kind of hymnal of release in “Scream,” then recalls the motionlessness of Joni Mitchell’s Blue in “The Swim.” Smash closes with the relative tranquility of “Missing,” Barber hoping for a lover to reappear, but ultimately accepting fate in any guise that comes her way.

Intimate and quirkily entertaining

Recorded at tiny home studios throughout New York City, Donald Fagen’s Sunken Condos is his most intimate and quirkily entertaining album since 1982′s The Nightfly. At times recalling Steely Dan’s classic Gaucho and The Royal Scam albums, Sunken Condos glows with comfy R&B grooves, lovely, ear-wrapping melodies and Fagen’s sharply droll lyrics. Populated with an amusing cast of characters, including a bowling alley “queen” (“Miss Marlene”), Runyonesque gangsters (“Good Stuff”), an interloping IT repairman (“The New Breed”), and Fagen’s usual entourage of young women (“Slinky Thing”) and ghost lovers (“I’m Not The Same Without You”), Sunken Condos also features what Fagen dubs “an Ashkenazi recasting” of Isaac Hayes’s “Out of the Ghetto,” the original’s blaxploitation strut transplanted, via wailing folk horns, to Warsaw, not Harlem.

Lacking the corporate budget of such mid-’00s Steely Dan albums as Two Against Nature and Everything Must Go, Fagen instead focused on getting the most bang for his studio buck on Sunken Condos. Produced by longtime SD multi-instrumentalist Michael Leonhart, Sunken Condos radiates warmth through relaxed vocals and an overall softer production style, built on lush Rhodes piano, organ and synthesizers; glowing vibraphone; female background vocals, and Leonhart’s delicate, Herbie Lovelle-styled drumming. As always, popping brass arrangements and wry guitar solos frame Fagen’s songs like twin Borscht Belt comedians trading barbs on a Catskills weekend.

Opener “Slinky Thing” puts Fagen’s aging mojo to the test, the 64-year-old fielding harangues from homeless men and hipsters alike admonishing him to “hold on to that slinky thing,” an updated “Hey Nineteen”-styled girlfriend he describes as “a lithe young beauty.” “I’m Not The Same Without You” blasts Fagen out of his funk, a disco-driven burner promoting the joys of being single, but coming from this grizzled curmudgeon you don’t believe the feel-good sentiments for a second. Sunken Condos is so colorful and quirky, with its eccentric characters and catchy songs, it could make for a fantastic series of one-act plays. Donald Fagen continues to work below the radar, an exceptional observer/craftsman in true Brill Building style.

Cerebral and solemn, yet oddly invigorating

It’s hard to imagine any musician holding a listener’s attention with an album comprised exclusively of acoustic bass solos, but veteran producer, remixologist and bassist Bill Laswell pulls off the trick nicely on Means of Deliverance. Laswell’s career has been a journey of bold steps, from his innovative ’80s dub/noise band Material to left-stream production duties with Iggy Pop, Laurie Anderson, Brian Eno, Bootsy Collins and Motorhead, to collaborations with William S. Burroughs and remixes of Miles Davis (Panthalassa), and Bob Marley (Dreams of Freedom). Laswell has followed a singular approach to fulfillment, his own music often cerebral and solemn, yet oddly invigorating.

Such is the nature of Means of Deliverance, with Laswell filling the album’s 10 bass solos with rhythmic, rolling melodies that recall Chinese folk songs, Native American chants, North African spirituals, the rambling rhythms of the Deep South, and all manner of blues, jazz, and even a touch of Jaco Pastorious. But at the center of Laswell’s music – from the harmonics bellowing “In Failing Light,” to the Sun Records pulse of “Lightning in the South” (which recalls Canned Heat’s “On The Road Again”) to the voodoo-calling closer, “Low Country” – is an undeniable sense of stillness that is both calming and eerily sad.

His most distinctive project to date

Over the course of 20 albums as a leader, trumpeter Dave Douglas has reconfigured the role of his instrument within jazz while broadening the music’s ever flexible palette as a composer and arranger. Whether performing the music of Kurt Weill and Stravinsky backed by a string trio, fusing Eastern European folk and American improvisation, composing with ’20s silent film star “Fatty” Arbuckle as inspiration, or simply blasting away with his brass-centric Brass Ecstasy band, Douglas is seemingly never at a loss for creative outlets or ideas.

Be Still may be Douglas’s most distinctive project to date. Performed by a new quintet and joined by vocalist Aoife O’Donovan of progressive bluegrass band Crooked Still, Be Still is a plaintive collection of hymns and folk songs altered by detailed, jewel-like improvisations and O’Donovan’s delicate vocals, which often recall Alison Krauss.

Each song receives a unique treatment: Opener “Be Still” evokes a lush, expansive Americana somewhere between Union Station and Bruce Hornsby, with the band erupting in flashes of cresting improvisations. “High on a Mountain” introduces a bit of yee-haw! hokum, its jig-like rhythm and hillbilly vocal melody sounding rather stilted coming from these New York City jazz musicians, save Matt Mitchell’s bright piano interlude. “This is My Mother’s World” recalls a New Orleans funeral march, the groove swinging from upbeat to sedate. “Going Somewhere with You” is the least hymnal of the set, its queasy melody and practically rubato rhythm creating a sense of unease perhaps meant to imply the proverbial “crossing over.”

Be Still‘s repertoire was performed at the memorial service for Douglas mother, and as such, may be too close to be more than a dark rumination. As an experiment, Be Still is thoughtful, sometimes compelling. But strangely, it is never comforting or sympathetic, which is ultimately the goal behind any hymn or folk song. Be Still seems to focus on the finality of loss, not the ecstasy of release.

Longtime collaborators mix jazz standards and pop songs

After 30 years of shared recordings – seven duet albums, four of them Grammy Award winners – Chick Corea and Gary Burton’s partnership is one of jazz’s most established. Hot House, their latest effort, continues their familiar, still-brilliant approach, mixing jazz standards and pop songs. But with such inventive jazz upstarts as vibraphonists Chris Dingman and Jason Adasiewicz, and pianists Guillermo Klein, Jason Lindner, and John Clayton, nipping at this aging duo’s heels, Hot House occasionally sounds like it was intended for the concert hall, not the titular jazz hothouse.

Corea and Burton perform superbly throughout, beginning with “Can’t We Be Friends,” a jaunty gallop through a familiar Frank Sinatra swinger. The pair covers two Jobim songs, “Chega de Saudade” and “Once I Loved,” the Brazilian composer’s lusciously rhythmic material suiting the duo’s perfect alignment of chordal sophistication and dazzling delivery. Corea and Burton truly play as one, trading harmony and solo roles with simpatico mastery. Bill Evans’s “Time Remembered” unfurls gently, thoughtfully, Burton’s solo particularly iridescent. But when the title track finally hits, you realize what the bulk of Hot House is missing: heat! The only up-tempo bebop song on an album named for a Tadd Dameron standard, “Hot House” is gritty and rollicking, waking you from the beautiful stupor of slow to mid tempo songs that, while expertly performed, lack the stomp, energy and fire that would have invigorated Hot House. Let’s hope Corea and Burton revisit the Hot House theme, and include more of the bebop that inspired the song’s composer, next time around.

Taking a bold leap

New Orleans native Christian Scott has often shown a penchant for pushing the envelope. Though reliably anchored by his warm, typically muted trumpet work, his previous albums have incorporated influences from fusion to funk to world music. But with Christian aTunde Adjuah, the 29-year old takes a bold leap: A two-CD release comprised of 23 tracks, Christian aTunde Adjuah draws on New Orleans second-line rhythms, the African Diaspora and the electronic loop programming of Squarepusher and Aphex Twin. These influences aren’t always literal, but they dance around the edges of Scott’s charged compositions like ghosts haunting a dream.

Scott and his explosive, adventurous band — guitarist Matthew Stevens, drummer Jamire Williams, bassist Kris Funn, pianist Lawrence Fields, tenor saxophonist Kenneth Whalum III, alto saxophonist Louis Fouche IIII and trombonist Corey King — tackle some pretty serious themes, including, as the liner notes mention, “ethnic cleansing, kidnapping and…the rape of 400 indigenous African Sudanese.” And that’s only in the first track, “Fatima Aisha Rokero 400.” Instrumentally, the group’s common language, beyond their serious improvisation skills, is based on manually cycled loops, with each musician performing repetitive figures that recall electronic dance music, or, some might say, Live Evil-era Miles Davis. Scott’s band imbues the music with a playful and fragmented nature, and his muted, Miles-inspired trumpet lends the music an eerie, forlorn quality.

Disc two takes a similar approach, though with backbeats suggesting a contemporary, if still dark, pop-funk approach. “Jihad Joe” spirals and dances over a trancelike 7/4 pulse, Scott spewing trumpet scrawl, drummer Jamire Williams soloing like a spongy Tony Williams roving over the kit. “Liar Liar” could be Miles Davis’s “Decoy” sampled and spliced for contemporary ears. The album closes with “Cara,” a surprisingly gentle, piano based ballad that has the feel of sunrise to it, not the catharsis that came before.

Though his band’s cyclical rhythms sometimes sound static instead of propulsive and Scott’s trumpet has a sameness in tonality and mood, there’s no denying that Christian aTunde Adjuah is one hell of a growth spurt. The only moment in the set’s two-disc sprawl where Scott acknowledges straight-ahead jazz bears a telling, sardonic title: “Who They Wish I Was,” The message is clear: Scott will not be categorized.

Featuring tenor saxophonist Chris Potter, bassist Ben Williams, and perennial Metheny drummer Antonio Sanchez, Pat Metheny’s Unity Band is a culmination of the guitarist’s brilliant career, yet also pushes his art forward. The album touches on almost every aspect of Metheny’s music, performed by a stellar new band of blazing jazz guns. There are Metheny moments unique to Unity Band, flashes of instrumental brilliance and textural sophistication that have never quite come together in this way on previous recordings. Everything Metheny’s global fan base has come to love — engrossing improvisations, high-flying acoustic reveries, Ornette Coleman-inspired guitar synths, and the Orchestrion — a computer- and guitar-controlled orchestra — is present and accounted for on Unity Band.

Arguably the best-selling jazz artist in the world, Pet Metheny has ceaselessly extended and advanced his music. Unity Band brings it all together now.

Throughout your career you’ve constantly found novel and new ways to express yourself. To what do you attribute your growth?

It’s really all just following my interests in music as a fan. I am playing from that perspective almost all the time; that’s a compass I follow. When it’s time to do something, I go deep into that thing, not only in execution, but philosophically. In the case of Unity Band, the question was: What does it mean for me to be doing only the second record in 40 years in the most conventional context, which is [a tenor] with a rhythm section? 80/81, my first, has a very resonant place for me. It’s probably become an iconic record of that time. And in some ways it’s daunting to do another record along those lines. Maybe that’s why I waited 30 years!

Chris Potter is so strong on the record, but on tenor he really sounds like Michael Brecker. That almost gives some of your melodies a Brecker-ish quality.

If you’re a tenor player, you have a choice. It’s like a fork in the road. Either you’re going to deal with John Coltrane or you’re not. The vast majority never make it out the other side. And you’re talking about a Mike Brecker way of playing; I know what you mean. Chris had Trane but he also had Brecker. And he has a significant Sonny Rollins thing too. Chris is probably one of those most complete musicians I’ve ever seen. His most daunting task was this achievement of coming out the other side of the Coltrane thing, [and Brecker], with something very distinctive.

With the unique combination of musicians present in Unity Band, I hear moments which are texturally new to any Pat Metheny record.

Definitely. This is the first record where I’ve really drawn from the entire palette that I’ve developed with the different acoustic guitars, guitar synth and even the Orchestrion, all coexisting within this classic environment.

There are [guitarists] out there that sound a little bit like me and little bit like [Bill] Frisell or [John] Scofield all mixed together, and they all say they only listen to Grant Green! [Laughs] In a way, I’m thinking, “What do I miss on [their] records?” There’s a kind of one dimensional-ness to some of that stuff, but Unity Band is really 3-D. When I think of a whole program with electric guitar I want a range of color. I’ve spent 40 years developing these various angles on what my thing can be sonically and that all comes together in this record. Beyond that, there is this specific thing of the guitar synth and the soprano on “Roofdogs.” When we listened to the playback of “Roofdogs” it was almost impossible to tell the guitar synth from the soprano. “New Year” [begins] with nylon string guitar, something I would normally only play on ballads or “Beyond the Missouri Sky.” And most notably the elephant in the room is the Orchestrion.

That’s the band playing with the Orchestrion in “Signals (Orchestrion Sketch)”?

It’s an improvised piece. It’s called “Orchestrion Sketch” but there was a loose plan for the track, though it could have been anything. It’s the quartet, but it’s really a different kind of quartet. The word “Unity” is a word is a good word for me. I’ve suffered through fusion and all these words, words that no musician uses. I’ve always thought of music in a unified way. It can be loud, soft, complicated, simple; it can be improvised, written, and in this case it can be human or non-human. [Laughs] And so Unity Band fits on many levels.

A couple of the new songs remind me of older Pat Metheny songs. The intro to “Leaving Town” reminds me of “James”; “Then and Now,” particularly when Ben takes his solo, recalls Weather Report’s “A Remark You Made.”

Good ears. That kind of groove on “LeavingTown” or “James” is a groove that I trace back to “Omaha Celebration” and Bright Size Life. That’s my default zone. “Leaving Town” is a particularly good one, it does a few odd things in terms of phrase lengths and odd metered groupings. The thing with Jaco [Pastorius] and “A Remark You Made,” I know what you’re referring to. Ben is really coming from Jaco. But what he understands is that Jaco was primarily a melodic player. And when you actually gave Jaco a melody, like I did with Bright Size Life or what [Joe] Zawinul did on “A Remark You Made,” he played the shit out of it.

Your track, “Unity Village,” appeared on Works II. Is that part of the same “unity” theme?

Well, that and I played in the Unity Village Unity Band. Where I grew up in Missouri, there’s a corner called Unity Village, the world headquarters of an unusual church, the Unity School of Christianity. It was founded in the early 1900s by a guy named Charles Fillmore. It’s wacky in that 1920s way. Our families go way back, though we don’t have a religious affiliation with them. My grandfather put electricity in at Unity. There were people there from all around the world. That was first time I saw people in dashikis. Every Sunday night there would be a Unity Band concert and my dad played in it and my brother played in it and I did too. So summer nights outdoors with music brings up these Unity Band memories. Yet another reason to call this Unity Band. We will be doing a lot of outdoor summer gigs. It all fits together.

Both familiar and fresh

Freedom from stylistic constraints has never been an easy thing for Pat Metheny. As one of jazz’s greatest composers, guitarists and texturalists, he’s compiled on a stockpile of characteristic compositional devices. Any Metheny fan can identify his white-noise-spewing guitar synths and Ornette-style “out” constructions from 40 paces. But Metheny’s tools never become clichés; they’re just steps from which he keeps climbing.

Unity Band is yet another example of Metheny’s perpetual growth spurt. Metheny’s first record to feature a tenor saxophonist since the mighty 80/81 (with Dewey Redman and Michael Brecker), it sounds both familiar and fresh. Metheny sandblasts new creative paths through well-worn terrain, joined by tenor player Chris Potter, perennial Pat Metheny Group drummer Antonio Sanchez and inspired young bassist Ben Williams. Potter is a muscular foil for Metheny, inspiring him to comp and solo with abandon. The guitarist, though typically brilliant, can sometimes sound hamstrung by his dense PMG studio arrangements. But revamping his afore-mentioned compositional tools through new band mates, Metheny sounds truly inspired on Unity Band.

Metheny’s bittersweet acoustic guitar (is there a better acoustic jazz guitarist?) opens “New Year” with a bossa nova lilt, quickly drawing you in. Metheny is soon subsumed by Potter’s astringent tenor, followed by group solos over a Metheny-trademarked, high-flying vamp section. Fret-encompassing swoops (“vroom vroom”) and guitar synth caterwaul infuse the funky Latin sashay of “Roofdogs,” the band firing smoke and sparks as Potter’s soprano sax solo winds through solar flare like explosions. Here on soprano, and elsewhere on bass clarinet, Potter shakes clean his hefty Brecker influences to improvise with originality. Sanchez storms Unity Band as well, constantly stoking the intensity level as Williams responds with graceful solos and empathetic support. His solo bass introduction (another Metheny device) to “Come and See” leads to heated solos all around over a feverish pulse. An acoustic guitar-driven ballad, “This Belongs to You,” follows, then “Leaving Town,” which touches on old PMG favorite “James” in its melody and overall shape. The bell-like chord structure of “Interval Waltz” recalls master guitarist Jim Hall, creating a lovely arc of an arrangement, leading to a beautiful guitar solo over a floating swing pulse. “Signals (Orchestrion Sketch)” is like nothing on any Metheny record, its clattering, Frank Zappa styled (Varese? Stravinksy?) orchestral bed emoting like humorous robots beating street percussion. “Then and Now” sounds a bit like Weather Report’s “A Remark You Made” in spirit, followed by closer, “Breakdealer,” which with its clunky race to the finish, is Unity Band’s only deal-breaker.

Should Pat Metheny replace his main group with the freshly minted Unity Band? The guitarist is re-inspired by material that hints at years of development to come, and this is one killer band. But probably not. Metheny’s vision is too broad to be contained by one band and one band alone.

The digital duo delves deeper into Brazil, Jamaica and the Middle East

Thievery Corporation's Eric Hilton and Rob Garza began their career spinning dance 12-inches around their native Washington, DC, but they've since spanned the globe in search of sultry samples to exploit and exotic cultures to explore. Following 1997's Sounds from the Thievery Hi-Fi and 2000's The Mirror Conspiracy, TC delve deeper into the sounds of Brazil, Jamaica and the Middle East, creating computer dreamscapes of smoky melodies, deep dub bass and downtempo rhythms permeated by an air of mystery. As renowned for their remixes as their original music, TC show off mastery of a myriad of styles in the simmering lounge fuzak of "Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes" (with dreamy Italian vocalist Emiliana Torrini), the Fela-like "Liberation Front," and the bossa nova breeze of "My Destiny." The rest of …Babylon concentrates on reggae/dub romanticism, but the spice is what makes it nice.

Moving to New York in the late 1950s, Walton's articulate, sublimely melodic piano playing and intellectually stimulating compositions found their way onto the bandstands and recordings of the top hard boppers of that fevered age. Walton worked with Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers (cutting his “Mosaic” and “Ugetsu”), John Coltrane (on his landmark Giant Steps), Joe Henderson (recording Cedar's “Mode for Joe” and “Black”), Freddie Hubbard (“Plexus”), Lee Morgan, Hank Mobley and Dexter Gordon — his work as a session pianist is equally important and voluminous. Walton recorded his Prestige debut, Cedar!, in 1967, followed by a handful of gems (50-plus solo albums in all) including his personal favorites, Composer, Roots, and Piano Solos.

Walton co-led the collective group Eastern Rebellion with drummer Billy Higgins, bassist Sam Jones and tenor saxophonist Clifford Jordan, operating a revolving line-up until their last album, 2003's Eastern Rebellion 2. Most recently, Walton recorded Seasoned Wood, documenting his elegant style for the High Note label. Walton's artistry continues to inspire a younger generation of jazz musicians, including The Blue Note 7 on Mosaic: A Celebration, and trumpeter Roy Hargrove, who recorded Walton's “I'm Not So Sure” as the opening track of his 2008 release, EarFood.

Walton recorded a new album this past May for High Note, tentatively titled Voices Deep Within. eMusic took the opportunity to play him music by some of his peers and various collaborators.

Red Garland “Little Girl Blue”

I know Red. He's the only one who would attempt something that damn slow! You've got to have nerve to do that. I had a friend who saw Red once on the first night of a week-long gig playing his style — those block chords, they sounded dissonant. After two or three nights, they came together. Red was that fearless. He would just go into some shit. It was always a work in progress. But of course, if Red was working like they were with Miles Davis, playing every night, he'd get it together. With Red, his is not a studied, conservatory approach. It's just from him. Only he can even figure out those block chords because he doesn't even know what they are! He doesn't have to know. It reminds you of theatre improvisation. Red's just making up the script. His sound is so distinctive and so personal. Many people were surprised when Miles picked him [to play in his classic 1950s quintet] for Cookin', Relaxin,'Workin' and Milestones — which is a considerable credit to Miles'ability to choose people who fit with him.

Bud Powell “Be Bop”

Bud Powell worked at a high level of improvisation. His concept was strictly bebop compared to the swing era, which was represented by the likes of Teddy Wilson or Earl Fatha Hines. By the time I came to New York and met Bud in the late '50s he'd had shock treatments, but he could still play his repertoire. That movie, Round Midnight, was based on Bud's life, but the movie people changed it to saxophone [and Dexter Gordon]. Bud, Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie all played bebop, but they didn't develop in the same place. Charlie Parker was brought up in blues bands, but he was ahead of his time. Walter Davis told me that Bud could always play, that he never ran out of ideas, even compared to Charlie Parker.

Benny Green “The Fruit”

That is a Bud Powell composition. That could be Barry Harris but I've never heard him play up that high. No, it's gotta be Kenny Barron. Couldn't be Benny Green? Oh, it is! You can't help but like that material, Bud Powell and Benny Green. I like the music ’cause that is the music of my generation, the music that I grew up listening to and enjoying. It's just natural, how can you not like that if you're me? The composition is extraordinary, the bass player sounds extraordinary too. Benny is very skillful. I didn't know that era or recording of his. He just plays so well. He will be joining me for a trip to Japan for a yearly thing we do as part of 100 Golden Fingers. Kenny Barron, Junior Mance, Benny Green, me, it's all pianists.

Eastern Rebellion was a cooperative band, no leader. Just the like Modern Jazz Quartet. We recorded five albums, but when Bob Berg died, we couldn't find anyone to replace him until Ralph Moore came along. Then he went to LA to play in The Tonight Show Band and we couldn't find anyone who fit in, that is the best way I can describe it, non-musically. But we kept playing trio with Billy Higgins and David Williams.

Though his drumming as heard on his seminal albums, Jealousy, Progress and Lagos No Shaking, is surprisingly light of touch, his groove is massive.

“If I have to play the way I am playing for a whole concert, I cannot use all my physical energy,” Allen says from his home in Paris. “I need to use my mental energy. That is what I am doing every time. I detest completely to beat up the drums. I prefer to caress them. By caressing them, it makes me get what I want from them. By bashing them they are not going to give me the right answer.”

Possibly returning to the studio with TGTBTQ in July for a follow-up to their debut album (“maybe, maybe, let’s see how this one goes” Allen says), with more definite plans for his next record with his Parisian-based band, Tony Allen speaks eloquently about the past and the present.

eMusic: Were you consciously mixing styles when you began drumming at 18?

Tony Allen: I was playing the music that was popular in Nigeria, like our local music, highlife. I played strictly highlife and if it came to playing the western music, like jazz, we had to play them separately.

eMusic: Did you incorporate the Yoruban religious rhythms you heard in your house as a child?

TA: We grew up with rhythms, like every African youngster. We are rhythmically inclined. Perhaps those rhythms did have something to do with my creation. I was born in Nigeria and I witnessed two sides, the religious and the commercial, every time, playing music. Those rhythms might have influenced me and my own creation.

eMusic: Your drumming is such a huge part of Fela Kuti’s sound, how did you collaborate with him?

TA: When we met I had already done my homework. That was my way of playing drums. But I wasn’t sure how other drummers played the drums. Something was missing, which was the hi-hat. I discovered the hi-hat from Max Roach through one of his lessons in Downbeat magazine. I wanted to fuse that way of playing hi-hat with the rest of my drumming. I began to love playing the drums properly, since it became clear to me. So I was already doing my job before I met Fela.

eMusic: It has been reported that after visiting the US in 1970 that you brought the sound of James Brown‘s music to Fela Kuti’s band.

TA: No, not me. I was playing like myself from the beginning. There was an arranger in Lagos who tried to write down all my patterns that I was playing then. I didn’t give a shit about that. My drumming has nothing to do with James Brown at all. I have a different way of creating my patterns.

eMusic: Early Fela records were not political, they became political. How did it feel to be involved in that change?

TA: It was good, we were talking about current events. Music is the only weapon we have. It is the weapon that doesn’t shed no blood. It works against the authorities, you know?

eMusic: Were you as politically minded as Fela?

TA: Not as much, I don’t want to be a politician. But that doesn’t stop me from addressing what I see as wrong. Playing with Fela did not cost me, or hurt my career. Once, after a raid, I was in the police cell for three days, but that was nothing, didn’t matter to me at all. But my cup was full up, to the brim.

eMusic: Is Afrobeat radical music in Nigeria?

TA: Afrobeat is considered to be radical because of Fela and his reputation. Afrobeat sent a message to the world about militancy. No one had ever done anything like that before until Fela. So it is immense.

eMusic: Did you enjoy collaborating with Ginger Baker on Fela’s Live!?

TA: Yes, he is my good friend. I have been writing him to come and play with me in London. I want to do a drum battle with him. But he is refusing to come. He doesn’t want to do it, he says he is tired.

eMusic: Did you leave Fela over payment issues?

TA: That is just one part of it. Like I said the cup was full to the brim. When the cup is overfull, it overflows. Fela and I were very, very close even when not working. And when I left his band he was still my friend to the last day.

eMusic: When you recorded Jealousy and Progress, were you continuing Fela’s sound or doing something different?

TA: I would have loved to do something different, still preaching the same gospel but with my message. But I wasn’t able to do it then. Fela produced those albums. And I used his band, Africa 70.

eMusic: What are the differences between those early records and more recent recordings, like Lagos No Shaking and Home Cooking?

TA: Nothing really, they all have the Lagos ambience. It’s just that I try to update to the current music that is happening today. Be it r&b or soul, whatever. I bring a modern approach to the same rhythms.

eMusic: Why did you veer off into electronica, dub and hip-hop for some records?

TA: I was experimenting. These days I am into everything. I have music of the world on my iPod. I have music from Africa, Mali, Ghana, Senegal, Togo, and music from Damon Albarn, Gorillaz, Blur, Beatles, James Brown, and pure jazz like Art Blakey. You will find only a little of my music on my iPod. I don’t listen to that too much.

eMusic: What are the most interesting rhythms happening today?

TA: The only rhythm today that is creating something is Afrobeat. I wouldn’t be a drummer if I had to play something else. I don’t want to be a rock drummer, or strictly a jazz drummer.

eMusic: Are you free to play what you like in the Good, the Bad, and the Queen?

TA: I play according to the music. [Producer] Danger Mouse found it difficult at first to deal with my patterns. Then he did his job by choosing the right tracks. But live is different from the record, man.

eMusic: What is the difference in playing with an Afrobeat band in the ’70s, and playing in an Anglo-centric rock band today?

TA: Damon Albarn is a character I really love to be around. He is a genius. This was supposed to be a rock band, but I don’t look at it that way. We have been working together for five years and Damon is so nice. What we do can be simple, but getting something simple to happen is not so easy. Simplicity is so fucking difficult.

eMusic: Was Fela a genius as well?

TA: Of course he was. I would like to extend my knowledge, make it broader than today. The only way to not get locked up in my own box is to broaden my mind and move, move, move. That is when I discovered Damon. He sang on the first track (“Every Season”) from my Home Cooking album. For him to be able to deal with that pattern as a white boy made me open my heart for him. Both he and Fela love the music.