| Jazz |
Tyreek McDole’s CHROMA: A Voice Rooted in Jazz, Reaching Toward the Future
Late one afternoon, with the sun casting a champagne-colored glow across the room – without the bubbles, of course – I put on CHROMA, the irresistible new album by vocalist Tyreek McDole. I had no idea where that first listen would take me. The light was slowly fading, the room was quiet, and within moments the music had shifted my attention. A voice, a sense of purpose, a remarkable ability to make silence as expressive as sound. The opening track, which gives the album its title, feels like a wake-up call. Not an instruction to shake off sleep, but an invitation to look at familiar things differently. Something had opened up. I knew I wanted to hear more. It took several listens before I felt ready to write about the album. I have learned to be cautious about instant enthusiasm, particularly when a record produces that rare feeling of immediate connection. A voice can be captivating, an arrangement can catch the ear, an atmosphere can make you want to return. The real test comes later, when the first excitement has passed. With CHROMA, the initial impression only grew stronger. Each return revealed new details, unexpected shades and a deeper sense of purpose. What emerges is more than an accomplished jazz vocal recording. It is a thoughtful statement about musical memory, identity and the place a jazz singer can claim in a musical landscape that never stops changing.
McDole approaches this album as an important turning point in his artistic development. Following Open Up Your Senses, he seems ready to shift his center of gravity, looking inward without giving up the openness that has shaped his work. CHROMA grows out of a personal journey, informed by experience, artistic encounters and a broader consideration of what it means to find one’s voice in jazz today. His work alongside pianist Kenny Barron appears to have played a meaningful role in that process. Spending time with a musician whose career spans several generations of jazz offers a particular kind of education. Barron has an uncommon ability to remain unmistakably himself in every note, to make his personal history part of the music without having to explain it. His connection to tradition is never an exercise in nostalgia. It is a living source of strength, something that accompanies him into the present. McDole seems to have taken that lesson to heart.
His own return to his roots involves confronting the forces that have shaped him: history, culture, political realities, the music that formed his imagination and the sounds that continue to influence him. Identity, on this record, is not an abstract idea. It comes through in the repertoire, in the phrasing, in the arrangements and in the way McDole approaches the musical inheritance he has received. He has no interest in simply reproducing a tradition, much less in confining himself to a comfortable definition of jazz. He wants to understand where that tradition comes from, then find ways to move it forward.
The title CHROMA suggests a spectrum of colors and sensibilities, and the album embraces that diversity without trying to force it into a single formula. References to the great jazz repertoire sit alongside contemporary currents in Black American music, including the sounds and ideas that have reshaped the relationship between jazz, hip-hop and R&B. Nina Simone, Miles Davis, Kendrick Lamar and André 3000 come from different musical worlds, but each has made art that reflects a distinct personal vision. McDole brings those influences into a conversation, one in which he is not merely a listener or admirer but an active participant.
The strength of the project lies in its refusal to impose an artificial hierarchy between musical generations or styles. The past is not treated as sacred territory, and the present is not automatically granted greater importance simply because it is contemporary. The two meet, challenge one another and occasionally arrive at unexpected points of balance. That movement gives the album much of its vitality. It also serves as a reminder that jazz has never developed in isolation. Its history is built on encounters, exchanges and transformations. From the opening title track, McDole establishes an atmosphere that encourages the listener to slow down and pay attention. The arrangement, its shifting colors and the way his voice moves through the different textures give the track a clear dramatic purpose. He does not rush to impress. Instead, he creates a space in which the instruments can breathe and small details can come into focus. The opening sets the tone for an album that values interaction and understands that every element has a role in the larger picture.
McDole’s voice naturally occupies the center of that design. Its range is impressive, but sheer vocal reach is not what makes it compelling. His greatest asset is expressive flexibility. He can move from an almost conversational intimacy to a much more forceful delivery without losing control of the emotional thread. He knows how to build tension without overplaying it, how to give a line weight without making it heavy. Some of his inflections seem to carry the memory of earlier generations of singers; others are firmly rooted in the present, shaped by a rhythmic freedom that moves beyond the familiar conventions of jazz singing. “She’s Alive” was one of the tracks that stayed with me most. It reveals another dimension of his voice. McDole reaches into the upper register, yet the performance never loses its emotional closeness. Technical command is clearly there, but it never becomes the point. He stretches his vocal range, explores tension and subtle shifts in tone, while remaining connected to the human feeling at the heart of the song. That combination of control and vulnerability makes the performance especially moving. There are plenty of singers who can impress an audience. Far fewer can move listeners without seeming to reach for an emotional effect.
His interpretation of “Wild Is the Wind,” a song closely associated with Nina Simone, presents a different challenge. Revisiting a piece with such a powerful history inevitably invites comparison. Simone’s presence looms large, and any singer approaching this repertoire has to contend with the weight of her interpretation. McDole wisely avoids imitation. He does not try to recreate a legendary intensity or position his own reading in the shadow of the original. The arrangement, attentive to the piano’s breathing room, gives him the freedom to find his own perspective. The song’s history remains audible, but its melody takes on a fresh sense of space.
“Blue in Green,” the composition associated with Miles Davis and Bill Evans, belongs to that rare category of works whose beauty seems to leave little room for unnecessary intervention. McDole understands its contemplative character. His voice brings a different density to the melody, at times darker and more introspective, deepening its melancholy. He is not trying to erase the interpretations that came before him. His aim is to inhabit the music through his own sensibility, trusting the strength of the composition and the subtlety of his phrasing.
“Confession” changes the mood considerably. Here, energy takes over, and the musical references move freely from Michael Jackson and Prince to George Benson and Bobby McFerrin. The dance-oriented pulse is not added to a jazz framework as a cosmetic gesture of modernity. It is the driving force of the track. The rhythm section moves with confidence as McDole launches into vocal improvisations and scat passages. The performance is a reminder that jazz can absorb popular forms without surrendering its complexity. Groove is not decoration; it is a way of thinking about music. The decision to include Kendrick Lamar’s “Untitled 05” opens another door. McDole enters a body of work belonging to a generation that has fundamentally reshaped the relationship between jazz, hip-hop and spoken expression. The piece brings with it a different understanding of rhythm and storytelling. The band responds with considerable commitment: the drums and bass propel the music forward, accents tighten, and instrumental lines intersect. McDole finds his place in that momentum without turning the performance into a showcase for vocal technique. He understands that the real point is the collective energy, and the way each musician can extend the original idea.
Theo Croker’s contribution deserves particular attention. The trumpeter, composer and producer helps shape an album in which sound design matters as much as repertoire. His artistic affinity with McDole rests on a shared search for authenticity and a curiosity about texture. Croker does more than arrange instruments around a lead voice. He shapes the spaces between them, works with contrast and brings acoustic sounds into conversation with electronic elements. The production never tries to conceal the musicians behind a glossy finish. Instead, it gives each track its own sonic identity.
Micheal King’s keyboards play an important part in that palette. Acoustic piano, Fender Rhodes and Prophet sounds allow the music to shift in color without losing its continuity. Brandon Rose’s bass provides a firm, sometimes sharply defined foundation, while Akili Bradley’s trumpet and Joe Dyson’s drums sustain the movement between jazz, contemporary Black music and more popular rhythmic forms. Emmanuel Michael’s guitar completes the landscape, adapting its presence to the needs of each composition. No one seems confined to a single role. Every musician contributes to the character of the music.
That sense of interaction helps explain why CHROMA avoids some of the familiar habits of jazz vocal recordings. The voice is not constantly pushed to the foreground, as though every instrumental decision must revolve around it. It enters into dialogue, steps back, then returns in a different form. It belongs to an ensemble that breathes and moves together. McDole’s contribution to the percussion also reminds us that his relationship with music extends well beyond singing. He thinks rhythmically from the inside, and that awareness informs his phrasing. He is not simply a vocalist accompanied by a band; he is a musician attentive to the ways different elements can respond to one another. Croker’s production gives that freedom room to develop. Sampling, studio elements and unusual instrumental combinations are not used as easy signals of modernity. They serve the musical narrative. An album with so many references could easily have become a loose collection of influences, a succession of knowing nods designed to display the breadth of its creator’s musical tastes. CHROMA avoids that trap because it has a clear direction. The voice, memory and the desire to bring different musical histories into conversation remain its guiding forces.
I recognize in this approach a sensibility already evident in Croker’s work, particularly on Duo Play, released by ACT. He has consistently shown an interest in unexpected combinations and in the kind of open musical spaces where ideas can emerge without being forced. With McDole, that instinct takes on a particular significance. Croker seems to understand that the singer’s strength lies as much in what he chooses to hold back as in what he delivers. He gives him an open framework without imposing a uniform production signature.
The original compositions are essential to the album’s identity. They are not simply counterweights to the covers; they give McDole room to establish his own musical language. “Wonderchild,” “Sunday,” “Think of You” and “Go Home” extend the different ideas running through the record. The closing track, in particular, brings the listener back to the notion of home that runs throughout the project. The journey does not lead toward some abstract elsewhere. It suggests a return to balance, to one’s origins and to the things we too often overlook.
That ending casts the opening track in a different light. “CHROMA” calls for a break from the noise of everyday life; “Go Home” revisits that need in a more peaceful register. In between, the album moves across generations, musical languages and different ways of telling stories about the world. McDole’s return to his roots is not a retreat into the past. It is a way of recovering his footing before moving forward. The question of artistic inheritance is especially important for younger jazz singers. The weight of history can be considerable when the great voices of the past occupy so much space in the listener’s imagination. It is tempting to establish one’s legitimacy through proximity to those predecessors, adopting their phrasing, their repertoire or their stylistic signatures. McDole knows that inheritance, respects it and draws from it, but he never seems trapped by it. He listens to his own time, with its rhythms, contradictions and emerging forms. His work reminds us that jazz has never been a static art. Its vitality comes from its ability to absorb the changes taking place around it.
One of CHROMA’s greatest achievements is its balance of ambition and simplicity. The album is richly detailed, sometimes expansive, but it never feels as though it is trying to show everything at once. It makes room for restraint, allows a melody to settle and trusts the power of a small inflection. McDole’s virtuosity never becomes an end in itself. It serves an expressive purpose, and that discipline gives his singing a sense of maturity. He knows when to reach higher, when to hold back and when to let the music speak for itself.
Still, it would be a mistake to consider the album only in terms of its ideas about identity or the breadth of its influences. CHROMA works first and foremost as music, with melodies, rhythms, surprises and the simple pleasure of listening. There is plenty to return to: a particular vocal phrase, the fluidity of an arrangement, the way the bass drives a track or the piano suddenly changes the color of a passage. The listener can also surrender to the freedom with which jazz and popular music coexist here, without one being asked to justify the presence of the other. The intelligence of the project never gets in the way of enjoyment. That matters. After several listens, what remains with me is the feeling of having encountered an unusually generous album. It does not claim to offer a definitive answer about jazz, nor does it attempt to redefine Black American music. It moves forward with its questions, its admiration and its convictions, leaving listeners room to make their own discoveries. That generosity can be heard in McDole’s singing, in Croker’s production and in the musicians’ collective playing. It gives the album a coherence that goes well beyond the quality of its arrangements. Tyreek McDole has one of the most compelling voices of his generation. I would go further and place him among the most remarkable singers working on the American scene today. That judgment rests on more than vocal ability, impressive as it is. It reflects his curiosity, his musical intelligence and his capacity to bring inherited traditions into dialogue with contemporary forms without losing sight of the essential task: telling a story that is unmistakably his own.
There are albums I finish listening to with the sense that I have heard something beautifully executed, only to find that the emotion fades fairly quickly. CHROMA left me with a different feeling. It continues to work on the listener after the music has stopped. Certain passages return unexpectedly: a vocal inflection, the color of a keyboard, a rhythmic turn. The record maintains a presence that goes beyond the excitement of a first encounter. Its meaning unfolds gradually, and it keeps drawing me back.
I consider it one of the most humanistic albums I have heard in a long time. Not because it delivers some uplifting message, but because it reminds us that music is ultimately about connections: between generations, cultures and individuals, and between what we have inherited and what we choose to pass on. In a world that constantly urges us to move faster, react and consume, McDole asks us to take the time to listen. He invites us to recognize the voices that came before us, hear the ones around us and find our own.
When I think back to that first listen, in the champagne-colored light of late afternoon, I remember the feeling that made me want to stay with the album: something had opened up. The subsequent listens did not diminish that impression. They gave it depth. CHROMA is an album about encounters and returns, but it is also firmly directed toward the future. Tyreek McDole establishes a distinctive artistic identity here, with the freedom of someone who knows where he comes from but feels no need to remain confined by it. His voice deserves our attention. His album deserves to be heard more than once.
Thierry De Clemensat
Member at Jazz Journalists Association
USA correspondent for Paris-Move and ABS magazine
Editor in chief – Bayou Blue Radio, Bayou Blue News
PARIS-MOVE, November 4th, 2026
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Musicians :
Tyreek McDole: vocals, percussion
Akili Bradley: trumpet
Michael King: keyboards
Emmanuel Michael: guitar
Brandon Rose: bass
Joe Dyson: drums
Theo Croker – producer
Track Listing:
Chroma
Wild Is the Wind
She’s Alive
Confession
Blue in Green
Wonderchild
Untitled 05
Sunday
Think of You
Go Home
2026 Tour Dates:
November 5, 2026: New Morning, Paris, France
November 6, 2026: Théâtre de Caen, Caen, France
November 7, 2026: Théâtre de Poissy, Poissy, France
November 10, 2026: La Coopérative de Mai, Clermont-Ferrand, France
November 12, 2026: Espace Culturel Alain-Poher, Ablon-sur-Seine, France
November 13, 2026: La Coursive, La Rochelle, France
November 14, 2026: Auditorium de Bordeaux, Bordeaux, France
November 16, 2026: The Lower Third, London, England
November 17, 2026: Centre d’Art et de Culture, Meudon, France
November 19, 2026: Le Scarron, Le Mans, France
November 21, 2026: Éclats d’Email Jazz Festival, Limoges, France
November 25, 2026: Monte-Carlo Jazz Festival, Monte Carlo, Monaco
November 26, 2026: L’Archipel, Fouesnant, France
November 28, 2026: Municipal Theater of Fontainebleau, Fontainebleau, France