Home » Jazz Articles » Live Review » Jeremy Pelt and His Quintet At Chris’ Jazz Cafe
Jeremy Pelt and His Quintet At Chris’ Jazz Cafe
Courtesy Carl Medsker
Pelt had a cool, engaging stage presence and was generous with his bandmates, three of whom he taught at William Paterson University. Bassist Harrell was recruited in Montreal, although from North Carolina. In this era of jazz academia, kudos were due to Pelt for providing essential next-level road experience and a connection to the music’s elders.
Chris' Jazz Cafe
Philadelphia, PA
October 3, 2026
Saturday evening and the siren call of swing, to tap the toes and nod to the beat, was undeniable. So it was off to Chris,' Philadelphia's venerable, COVID-defying house of bop and all its variants. Turning down the glorified alley known as Sansom Street, we spotted the glowing blue "JAZZ" beacon beckoning. Past a phalanx of dumpsters, dodging revelers, we entered to a warm greeting and were guided to a center table, determined not to let the persistent bar chatter harsh our jazz buzz that night. Stay zen. Order a Sazerac. All was good.
The room filled, as did our bellies. Then the Jeremy Pelt quintet arrived, launching directly into Pelt's high-energy, neo-bop "Underdog" from Griot (HighNote Records, 2021). Tight, bright and full-throttled, it was a strong introduction. The title came from an interview with pianist Larry Willis for Pelt's intimate, thought- provoking companion book, inspired in turn by Art Taylor's 1977 Notes and Tones: Musician-to-Musician Interviews, both compelling social histories.
Leighton Harrell kicked off "No AI" from Tomorrow's Another Day (HighNote Records, 2024), with a solid bass intro, and Lasse Corson switched to electric piano for a fusion vibe, elevated by Ukrainian Misha Mendelenko's high-energy guitar work. Pelt churned out long, brassy lines and ended the piece with a clarion blast. For many in Philly, "AI" brought to mind Sixers basketball veteran Allen Iverson. But no worries. Pelt was, of course, simply anticipating the tech debate.
"Re-Invention" from Identity (MAXJAZZ, 2005) followed Pelt's warm, amusing introduction of his bandmates, all in their twenties, all performing with enthusiasm, poise and skill. The mid-tempo number hinted at Freddie Hubbard's work from the 1960s, passed through a contemporary lens. Pelt provided Corson and Mendelenko space to stretch out, and both delivered smart interpretations over a tasty walking bass line and crisp, creative percussion.
Pelt, a stellar balladeer, slowed the pace for two lovely songs. On "Michelle," from Woven (HighNote Records, 2025), he beautifully sang the melody, then turned it over to Harrell and then Corson to wander through gentle variations. The one cover, "Why Did I Choose You," was a splendid example of Pelt's soulful way with a balladtouching, nuanced, and enhanced with soft glissandos and bent notes. Equally important was his use of space, which added emotional depth while letting the performance breathe. Mendelenko complemented Pelt with his own flowing, romantic interpretation.
"Amma Is Here," also from Tomorrow's Another Day, written for his youngest daughter as a melody for her to play on piano, closed the first set. At her insistence, Pelt performed it wherever he went, making for a lyrical, heartwarming conclusion.
Pelt had a cool, engaging stage presence and was generous with his bandmates, three of whom he had taught at William Paterson University. Bassist Harrell had been recruited in Montreal, although from North Carolina. In this era of jazz academia, kudos were due to Pelt for providing essential next-level road experience and a connection to the music's elders. A final shout-out went to drummer Jared Spears, the band's youngest member at 22, who was impressive in his propulsive, rich percussion and also in his connection with his bandmates, watching, listening and artfully accenting their work. This was Pelt's first time headlining at Chris,' with hopefully more to come.
With the enthusiastically received show over, we emerged back to the alleyI mean, streetwith the swing itch scratched, still zen, oblivious to the dumpsters, the last number hanging in the air. Whoops, mind the revelers.
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