Jeremy Green, In Motion Review

By Jeff Becker

Many fusion records create momentum by piling on activity. Tempos press forward, harmony keeps turning, and soloists continually introduce new ideas. In Motion feels different from its opening measures. Jeremy Green often lets the harmony settle while the music keeps moving through changing riffs, shifting textures, evolving grooves, and melodies that continually transform without losing their identity. After experiencing the musical journey of the album, the title no longer describes movement alone, it reveals Green’s compositional philosophy.

Green’s first collection of original fusion compositions in five years is an independent eight-track release built around an ensemble whose changing musical personalities continually energize the music. Drummer Keith Carlock provides the rhythmic center from beginning to end, while a rotating cast of bassists—including Will Lee, Tim Lefebvre, Rich Brown, Jimmy Haslip, and Moto Fukushima—subtly changes the weight and feel of each composition. Guitarists Mark Lettieri, Mike Stern, Allen Hinds, Jared James Nichols, and Oz Noy each bring their own vocabulary without pulling the music away from Green’s voice, while Chase Baird’s saxophone and Mark Levron’s horn writing deepen the melodic orchestration. The personnel never become the story. Green writes music that gives every collaborator a role in keeping the compositions alive and in motion.

That philosophy is already audible on the title track. “In Motion” opens with a thick bass sound, a confident backbeat, and a blues-inflected guitar riff that immediately settles into a gritty dominant color. The opening idea keeps returning, but never in quite the same form. It climbs by a major sixth, slips through diminished colors, widens rhythmically, then snaps back into its original shape while the horns answer with bright, tightly voiced stabs. Every return feels familiar, yet slightly altered. Green’s writing keeps one idea in view while quietly changing the ground beneath it.

His solo follows the same path. Rather than racing through harmonic information, Green begins with blues-inflected phrases, stretches them through Mixolydian and diminished colors, then folds them naturally back into the melody before the solo ever feels detached from the composition. Emotional bends, fluid legato passages, and crisp pick attacks continually redirect the line without interrupting its flow. Behind him, the horn writing never settles into the background. Short punctuations, sustained voicings, and rhythmic figures keep pushing the music forward until the melody returns with even greater energy.

“The 55” brings in history to the conversation. A memorable modal groove opens into broader harmonic movement that recalls the melodic sweep of classic electric fusion, yet the piece never feels interested in nostalgia for its own sake. Green and Chase Baird lock together so closely in the opening melody that guitar and saxophone begin to sound like a single melodic instrument, giving the theme both warmth and weight before the improvising begins.

Mike Stern’s appearance could easily have turned the piece into a showcase, but Green’s writing keeps the focus on the composition itself. Stern’s rock bop moves with the musical narrative; he picks up Green’s ideas and bends them in his own direction. Repeated intervallic figures, fluid legato lines, emotional bends, and blues language all grow from motives already heard in the melody. When Green follows, the contrast is one of personality rather than purpose. His rhythmic pick attack lands squarely inside the groove while his melodic development continues the same conversation through blues vocabulary, diminished colors, and carefully shaped scalar lines.

The rhythm section makes that conversation possible. Tim Lefebvre and Keith Carlock never stop nudging the music forward. Lefebvre’s bass feature grows from compact rhythmic cells into broader melodic statements while Carlock answers with cymbal color, snare accents, and subtle changes in intensity without ever letting the groove loosen. Even when the drums become more active, the pulse remains steady enough for the music to return naturally to the head. The improvisation feels less like departure than continuation.

“Queen West” proves that Green can create forward motion through rhythm just as convincingly as through melody. The track opens with a guitar passage separated by silence, making every entrance feel distinguished from the last. Green lets the harmony sit while the rhythm keeps changing underneath it. Percussive guitar scratches, accented band hits, and shifting rhythmic figures continually reshape the groove without disturbing its momentum. Static harmony becomes an invitation for rhythmic invention.

Green’s guitar solo balances fluid legato lines with sharply articulated accents that pull against the beat before settling back into the pocket. When Jared James Nichols enters, the vocabulary changes immediately. His brighter tone, expressive bends, repeated blues figures, and rock-inflected phrasing add another layer of energy without changing the composition’s direction. The contrast feels collaborative rather than competitive.

The arrangement keeps unfolding. Moto Fukushima builds his bass feature from small melodic cells that gradually expand across the instrument before handing the spotlight to Carlock. Supported by recurring rhythmic figures from guitar and bass, Carlock develops his solo melodically, answering the ensemble as often as he leads it. The groove stretches, contracts, and opens again, but it never loses its identity.

Continuing the movement through groove and motivic development, “Sir Robin” reveals Green’s larger sense of form. Written in memory of a lifelong friend, the composition immediately opens a different emotional space without abandoning the album’s musical language. Guitar and saxophone begin as one voice before the bass quietly inherits the melody. New harmonic colors appear, the arrangement widens, and the music slowly gathers emotional weight instead of rushing toward its destination.

Each sections has its appeal. The bass sings lyrically before giving way to expressive saxophone lines that climb through wide intervals, blues gestures, and quick bursts of melodic activity. Green responds by letting repeated notes, vocal-like bends, and climbing phrases gather tension until the band naturally reaches its emotional peak. Even the release never feels final. The music simply breathes before continuing forward. By the time the opening melody returns, it carries the emotional weight of everything that has happened in between.

Keith Carlock becomes the album’s center of gravity. His playing rarely asks for attention, yet almost every transition depends on it. He widens the groove when Green opens the harmony, catches rhythmic ideas from the soloists, answers them with cymbal color or snare accents, then settles the ensemble back into the composition before the next section arrives. That steady sense of direction allows Green to change bassists, guitar voices, and ensemble textures without ever losing momentum. Each collaborator leaves a personal imprint, but the music always speaks with one voice.

In Motion reveals that Green never leaves a musical idea behind. He lets it change shape. A riff becomes another groove. A groove becomes an arrangement. A motive becomes an improvisation. A solo folds naturally back into the composition instead of standing apart from it. That constant transformation gives the album its sense of unity despite its changing personnel and emotional range.  Allowing every musical idea the opportunity to grow, transform, and keep the listener leaning forward. That philosophy makes In Motion a rewarding contemporary fusion releases.