COULEURS JAZZ MONTH – THE SEPTEMBER BEST OF 2026

Album Hit Couleurs Jazz
Stochelo Rosenberg • guitar · Mozes Rosenberg • guitar · Matheus Nicolaiewsky • double bass · Label • Label Ouest · Release • September 18, 2026

We know Charlie Chaplin as a filmmaker, actor and one of the greatest figures of silent cinema. What is sometimes forgotten is that he was also a composer, responsible for some of the most memorable melodies heard in his films. With The Chaplin Project, Stochelo Rosenberg and Mozes Rosenberg revisit this musical world and bring it naturally into the language of gypsy jazz.

The two guitarists wisely avoid the trap of an overly reverential tribute. Chaplin’s themes become a genuine playground: the melodies remain instantly recognizable, but they are extended through swing, improvisation and, above all, the almost instinctive understanding between the two musicians.

The virtuosity is certainly there, but it never takes precedence over the music. Stochelo Rosenberg and Mozes Rosenberg favour fluidity, elegance and dialogue, responding to one another with remarkable ease without ever weighing the music down.

A warm and luminous tribute that reminds us just how naturally Charlie Chaplin’s melodies can continue to live far beyond the images for which they were originally written.

Three instruments, nowhere to hide, and an obvious desire to play. The meeting between Angelo Debarre, Adrien Moignard and double bassist William Brunard has the immediacy of a great jam session: each musician knows the language inside out, yet no one seems interested in simply reciting the lesson. Two generations of guitarists respond to each other, gently challenge one another and, above all, clearly enjoy pushing the music forward.

William Brunard’s writing shows that celebrating Django Reinhardt does not mean remaining confined to his repertoire. The trio ventures into more bop-oriented lines while preserving the drive, swing and acoustic character of gypsy jazz.

Virtuosity is obviously part of the equation, but it never becomes an end in itself. What matters here is the conversation: an idea introduced by one musician, picked up or redirected by another, while William Brunard’s double bass plays a full part in the exchange.

Swing, dialogue and, above all, the exhilarating feeling of listening to three musicians who have absolutely nothing left to prove.

There is also a bit of history between BenArt Ensemble and Couleurs Jazz. We first discovered an early incarnation of the project at the Couleurs Jazz Club during Musicora, featuring Ben Art, Amina Mezaache and Baptiste Herbin. A few years later, that same collective energy can be found on a debut album that has grown in scope without losing its sense of fun.

From Barsoom, the tone is set: a driving rhythm section, flowing horns, flute, Fender Rhodes and, above all, plenty of groove. The album then moves effortlessly between funk, jazz, bossa, samba and Afro-Cuban rhythms. On paper, such a mixture could easily go in every direction; in practice, it is the group’s strong personality that gives the whole project its coherence.

Eight musicians are involved, yet the album never feels like a succession of individual demonstrations. The arrangements distribute the roles, bring out different colours and leave enough space for everyone to express themselves. Above all, we find that same collective spirit that first caught our attention when we discovered the project.

A generous debut album, carefully written without ever feeling rigid, reminding us that ambitious music can also simply want to groove and give pleasure.

For Asaf Yuria, everything begins with sound: that of the tenor saxophone, full-bodied and warm, but also the sound of a quartet whose members clearly share the same language. Alongside George Cables on piano, Omer Avital on double bass and Billy Hart on drums, the Israeli saxophonist surrounds himself with musicians whose experience never weighs the music down. Quite the opposite: it gives it remarkable freedom.

The album draws deeply from the jazz tradition without ever sounding like an exercise in style. Yuria writes melodies that leave room for conversation, while the rhythm section constantly shifts the balance between swing, lyricism and more open passages. George Cables brings his unmistakable elegance, while Billy Hart seems able to change the direction of a piece with a single cymbal stroke.

The presence of Joe Magnarelli on trumpet on two tracks adds another colour without disturbing the quartet’s natural balance. Everything here is about listening, interaction and the pleasure of musicians who know exactly when to speak and when to leave space.

A mature, deeply musical album that looks toward the history of jazz without ever remaining trapped in it.

Alone at the piano at Dizzy’s Club in New York, Benny Green never really sounds as though he is playing alone. His left hand lays down the bass, the rhythm becomes almost physical, and his entire past alongside Ray Brown, Art Blakey and Freddie Hubbard seems to surface naturally, without the music ever looking backwards.

For Duke Pearson is a magnificent demonstration of this. His touch is precise, the swing is constant, and Green has this ability to bring several voices to life simultaneously within the piano. From Hi-Fly to This Here, he accelerates, suspends a phrase, leaves a few silences and then sets off again, without ever overloading his playing.

That is undoubtedly what makes Renovation feel so alive: behind an impressive technical command, Benny Green never loses sight of what matters most. Virtuosity is not a destination, but simply a means of moving the music forward and telling a story.

A generous and deeply inhabited solo piano performance, where technique ultimately fades behind what really matters: swing.

👉 Read the full review by Jean-Michel Schlosser:
https://couleursjazz.fr/fr/benny-green-renovation/

There is something particularly endearing about Rachel Spencer’s debut album: this music moves forward without ever trying to do too much. The trumpeter has a clear, singing tone and a writing style that retains the fundamentals of hard bop while allowing much more contemporary grooves to enter. The influence of Blue Mitchell, Roy Hargrove and Kenny Garrett can be heard, but Spencer is already beginning to carve out her own territory.

The seven original compositions also tell the story of five years of doubts, choices and artistic development. The Next Right Thing perfectly sums up that journey: the piece begins almost restrained before gradually opening up and finding its true momentum. Steamrollin’ reveals another side, more direct and energetic, strengthened by the presence of Michael Dease on trombone.

What is most appealing is her ability to remain melodic without taking the easy route. Rachel Spencer is not trying to reinvent hard bop, but rather to use it as a starting point from which to build her own music.

A sincere, vibrant and highly melodic debut album that, above all, makes you want to follow the next chapter in Rachel Spencer’s journey.

After fifteen years spent accompanying others, Jamie Safir clearly had things to say under his own name. For this first album as a leader, the British pianist is joined by Conor Chaplin on double bass, Luke Tomlinson on drums and, on several tracks, saxophonist Iain Ballamy. The result has the elegance of British jazz, but above all a genuine gift for melody.

Clocker gives a fine sense of this approach: the trio moves with precision but never stiffness, driven by a piano style that always favours movement and clarity. Safir also openly embraces influences that reach far beyond jazz, from Joni Mitchell to Steely Dan, and this can be heard in his sense of songcraft and the way he shapes melodies.

The music remains sophisticated without constantly trying to prove it. The arrangements breathe, the trio leaves room for silence, and Jamie Safir prefers to create an atmosphere rather than pile up technical demonstrations.

A personal, elegant and accessible debut without ever taking the easy route, where emotion and melody ultimately matter more than virtuosity.

A big band does not need to play loud all the time to create a sense of power. Mike Dana understands this perfectly. His orchestra breathes, allows the lines to circulate between sections and leaves enough space for the soloists to truly exist. Eric Marienthal, Bob Mintzer, Tim Ries, Ingrid Jensen and Wayne Bergeron each bring their own colours without turning the album into a catalogue of prestigious guests.

On The Truth Is, as throughout the album, it is above all Mike Dana’s writing that catches the ear: precise, rich, but never unnecessarily demonstrative. He knows how to build up the orchestra and then lighten it at exactly the right moment, bringing one voice to the foreground before setting the whole ensemble back in motion. This use of contrast gives the music its remarkable sense of space.

The big band retains all its power without constantly operating at full force. In fact, the more restrained passages give even greater impact to the moments when the orchestra fully opens up.

Elegant, generous and accessible orchestral jazz that respects the entire history of the big band without ever sounding as though it belongs to the past.

After playing this music together for so long, Joe Block and his musicians have given it something no score can truly anticipate: a shared history. Some of the compositions matured for nearly six years before reaching the studio, and you can hear it in the way the group reacts, leaves space and changes direction without ever breaking the flow.

The Opening immediately establishes this world: ambitious writing, powerful saxophones and trumpet, but always with a genuine attention to melody. Around the pianist, Noah Halpern, Chris Lewis, Morgan Guerin, Dylan Band, Abdias Armenteros, Samuel Harris and Christian McGhee form much more than a group assembled for a recording session.

Later, Kurt Rosenwinkel joins the project on Ungrounded, but his presence never distracts from what truly gives the record its strength: Joe Block’s writing and personality.

A dense and highly personal debut as a leader, carried by a group that has had time to live with this music and by a composer who already possesses a genuine voice of his own.

Léon Phal belongs to a generation for whom making jazz dance is anything but a sacrilege. His quintet — Zacharie Ksyk, Gauthier Toux, Rémi Bouyssière and Arthur Alard — works as a genuine band, preserving the language and freedom of jazz while naturally drawing on soul, hip-hop and electronic music. With his fourth album, Phal takes this idea even further.

Gimme a Smile perfectly captures this balance: a melody that immediately grabs the ear, a groove that makes you want to move, and always enough space for the musicians to interact. Nothing feels artificially added or designed simply to make the music sound more modern. Elsewhere, Fabiana Martone brings her voice to Murmulea, while Jungle Jack appears on Pleine Forêt, further expanding the record’s palette.

That is ultimately what the album is all about: the body and ideas, with no need to choose between the two. Léon Phal manages to preserve the ambition and freedom of jazz while fully embracing his taste for groove.

A bright, generous and tremendously alive record, made as much for the ears as for the legs.

Sometimes, slowing down allows you to go much further. Here, Émile Parisien steps away from tension and head-on virtuosity to create music that feels more airy, almost suspended. Around his soprano saxophone, Yaron Herman on piano, Linda May Han Oh on double bass and Prabhu Edouard on tablas and percussion form an unusual quartet whose strength lies as much in what is played as in the spaces left between the notes.

Badhra, composed by Anouar Brahem, reveals this chemistry particularly well. The tablas subtly shift the pulse while piano, double bass and soprano saxophone seem to float around the melody. The absence of a traditional drum kit also gives the ensemble a distinctive sense of space, allowing the rhythm to circulate differently.

The album’s eleven pieces maintain this same attention to sound, silence and collective listening. Each musician seems to wait for exactly the right moment to step in, without ever trying to fill the space unnecessarily.

A delicate record without being fragile, peaceful without ever becoming tame, allowing plenty of air into the music and revealing a particularly sensitive side of Émile Parisien.