Thomas Conrad

Jazz emerged from the African-American experience in the United States, so it is not surprising that it has been socially relevant since its earliest manifestations. Sonny Rollins put the matter succinctly: "jazz is protest music."

In 1923, Bessie Smith sang songs based on her experience of racism and sexism. In 1939, Billie Holiday recorded "Strange Fruit," a chilling song about a lynching. Charles Mingus's 1959 classic "Fables of Faubus" secured a permanent place in music history for the segregationist governor of Arkansas; thanks to Mingus, among jazz fans at least, the name "Orval Faubus" will ever be synonymous with bigotry.

But if social activism is nothing new in jazz, it has never been so prevalent as it is today. At some point in the new millennium, it began to feel like every new jazz album had to have at least one overtly political track. The reasons for this development may lie in the extreme political polarization of our society. The divisiveness of the Trump Era forced everyone, including artists, to choose sides.

But the ways jazz has woven itself into contemporary history go far beyond standoffs between progressives and conservatives . . .

Tigran Hamasyan: StandArt, Rebecca Martin/Larry Grenadier/Orquestra Jazz De Matosinhos: After Midnight and Walter Smith III & Matthew Stevens: In Common III.

Mario Rom's Interzone: Eternal Fiction, Joe Lovano & Dave Douglas' Soundprints: Other Worlds, Jack Brandfield: I'll Never Be the Same and Charles Lloyd & The Marvels: Tone Poem.

Ingrid Laubrock: The Last Quiet Place; Wayne Escoffery: Like Minds; Tony Kadleck Big Band: Sides.