The veteran trumpeter revisits old terrain with new tools, crafting a subtly inventive and consistently elegant set.

Now two decades deep into a prolific career, Jeremy Pelt remains a fixture in contemporary US jazz—a post-bop traditionalist with just enough wanderlust to keep things fresh. On Woven, his 25th album as bandleader, Pelt tweaks his palette without betraying the core of his sound: warm, lyrical, and melodically grounded, even when probing at the edges. Gone is the usual piano backing; in its place, the sparkle of vibraphone and the soft flex of electric guitar lend the set a cool, mid-century shimmer. There’s also a synth presence courtesy of Marie-Ann Hedonia—an Instagram discovery—who appears briefly on the cosmic Prologue: Invention #1 and Invention #2 / Black Conscience, both nodding to the electric era of Miles Davis.

Elsewhere, the mood turns more reflective. Rhapsody and Afrofuturism allow guitarist Misha Mendelenko and vibraphonist Jalen Baker room to roam, their interplay graceful and unforced. The group’s cohesion—built over three tours—is palpable throughout, grounding even the most exploratory moments in a sense of shared intuition.

Pelt isn’t reinventing the wheel here, and he’s fine with that. “I’m not interested in ‘new’ for the sake of ‘newness,’” he writes in the liner notes. The result is a record that moves gently but decisively, with just enough subtle reinvention to keep longtime listeners leaning in.