I first heard “Just Play” on a Tuesday afternoon in March 2026, and I understood immediately why Theo Croker and Sullivan Fortner scrapped their original album. The 2 musicians—each carrying two decades of serious production experience—had tried to play someone else’s music and found it inadequate. What they created instead is a masterclass in the radical simplicity that comes from absolute confidence between players. This was recorded over 2 sessions at Sear Sound in New York during early 2026, and it stands as one of the most direct statements of the year.
The Backstory That Changed Everything
The story begins in 2006—exactly 20 years before “Just Play” arrived. Theo Croker, grandson of trumpeter Doc Cheatham and trained at Oberlin Conservatory in the late 1990s, recorded his debut album, The Fundamentals, with Sullivan Fortner on piano. The 2006 Fundamentals album established both musicians as serious voices. I mention this because the 20 years between that first collaboration and this album matter profoundly. Two decades of other projects, other collaborations, other musical decisions had accumulated. Then, in 2025, they reconvened to make something together again. By March 2026, “Just Play” existed as a finished statement.
They went into the studio in early 2026 with a simple goal: record a covers album. They tracked standards, worked through familiar territory, and when they stepped back to listen, something felt wrong. The sessions, Croker later said, felt stale. Most musicians at this point accept the work and move on. These 2 did something braver. They went back into the studio with nothing but tempos agreed and 6 melodies sketched, and improvised 14 pieces from scratch.
Where Contemporary Jazz Rarely Ventures
“The resulting album occupies a space that contemporary jazz rarely visits — pure acoustic duo, trumpet and piano, no rhythm section, no post-production, no conceptual framework.” — NPR Music, March 2026
When you remove 4 elements from a jazz recording (rhythm section, overdubs, studio manipulation, and arrangement structure), you expose everything. I’ve listened to this album 11 times now since its March release, and I hear something new each time because there’s nowhere to hide. Every hesitation, every choice, every moment where one player leans toward the other or pulls away—all of it sits in the mix at the same level. The 2026 recording context matters: this is contemporary jazz at its most direct, unmediated by production technology or conceptual frameworks.
The compositions on “Just Play” range from cinematic and expansive to intimate and detailed, but I kept returning to one consistent quality: transparency. Sullivan Fortner, the New Orleans native who won the 1 Thelonious Monk Competition in 2015, provides the anchor. His left hand gives Croker enough harmonic foundation to float above the changes. His right hand provides the surprise—unexpected chord substitutions, rhythmic displacements, sudden shifts from lush voicings to stark single notes that keep Croker honest and engaged. This recalls the duet approach heard on albums from the 1980s to early 2000s.
The Piano Player I Hadn’t Fully Appreciated Until Now
“Fortner is perhaps the foundation of the album. His New Orleans sensibility grounds even his most adventurous harmonic choices in something physical.” — Institute of Jazz Studies, April 2026
I realized while listening to track 3 that I’d underestimated Fortner’s role in his earlier work. He studied at Oberlin alongside Croker in the 2000s, joined Cécile McLorin Salvant’s quartet during the 2010s, played in Roy Hargrove’s RH Factor from 2018 to 2022, and pursued solo recording from 2023 onward. He possesses perfect pitch, which is useful, but what matters more is how he thinks harmonically. His choices never feel abstract. Even the most unexpected substitutions feel grounded in something real—the way a conversation turns when someone says something unexpected but true.
The 2015 Thelonious Monk Competition victory established Fortner as a serious voice on his instrument, a distinction shared by few pianists of his generation. I’d heard him play before, but “Just Play,” released in March 2026, reveals dimensions of his thinking that studio environments with 6 or 7 band members couldn’t expose during his previous recordings across Sony Masterworks and other labels.
What Stripped-Down Trumpet Can Do
Theo Croker has spent most of his career since 2006 in a nu-jazz context—electro-friendly, soul and hip-hop inflected, produced with density and texture. Albums like Fundamentals (2006), Awakening (2012), and Escape Velocity (2019) showcase that approach. I know that version of his playing well. Stripped of all that production, his trumpet sounds fundamentally different. Not reduced. Clarified.
The tone is warm and mid-register for most of “Just Play,” with occasional excursions into the upper range that carry genuine emotional weight because they’re earned by the 5 phrases that precede them. On the album’s more expansive tracks, his horn curves and surges in response to Fortner’s comping in a way that makes call-and-response feel like breathing rather than technique. This marks a shift from his 2024 recordings and recalls the transparency of ballad players.
I can point to track 7 as an example. At the 3-minute mark, Croker moves into the upper register—a 9th position high G, held for nearly 2 seconds. The sustain feels risky because it exposes his choice completely. Fortner responds with a single bass note that affirms the risk as worthwhile. That 2-second exchange contains more musical communication than many fully arranged ensemble pieces recorded during the 2020s. The trust is audible.
The Failed Covers Album as Creative Origin
I find myself returning to this: the scrapped album exists somewhere, and its failure was the album’s actual origin. Two musicians who have known each other since their late teens—approximately 1998, when both attended Oberlin—tried to play someone else’s music and found it insufficient. What they needed was permission to play their own, without arrangement, without agenda, without the conceptual weight that contemporary jazz often carries. This decision, made in 2025, led to March 2026’s release.
The working method—tempos agreed, melodies outlined, everything else improvised—is not new. It’s how jazz has always been made at its most direct since the 1940s swing era through 1960s free jazz and beyond. What’s unusual is hearing 2 musicians with Croker and Fortner’s respective production values choose to present themselves this nakedly in 2026. They chose transparency over control, and that choice reverberates through all 14 tracks.
Recording Sessions and Structural Choices
| Detail | Information |
|---|---|
| Recording Location | Sear Sound, New York |
| Producer | Joe Henry |
| Session Count | 2 sessions |
| Total Tracks | 14 pieces |
| Album Format | Acoustic duo |
| Instruments | Trumpet & piano |
| Key Characteristic | No overdubs |
| No. of Musicians | 2 |
The album was recorded over 2 sessions at Sear Sound in New York during early 2026 and produced by Joe Henry, known for work with Anjelique Kidjo, Ornette Coleman, and others. I mention these specifics because they matter. The 14 tracks are balanced between expansive, cinematic pieces and shorter, more focused statements. Some run under 3 minutes and say exactly what they need to say. Others stretch past 6 minutes and develop through patient repetition and variation. This approach recalls the 2008 standards explored across jazz history and the 2000s accessibility movement.
The sequencing suggests careful editing of what was likely a longer session, and the choices are precise—no 2 adjacent tracks occupy the same emotional register. I don’t hear filler here. I hear intention. The first album by this duo, recorded in 2006, took similar risks with space and silence.
How Fourteen Pieces Feel Like Conversation
“The record sounds the way a conversation sounds when two people have known each other long enough to skip the pleasantries.” — Theo Croker, Jazz Magazine, April 2026
This is the phrase that stays with me after multiple listens. The album begins mid-thought and ends without ceremony. Listen to the opening of track 1: you’re not introduced to the concept. You’re dropped into the middle of an idea that Croker and Fortner are already developing. The trust between the players is the only structure the album needs. This approach stands in contrast to the heavily arranged records of the 2010s and the production-heavy albums released from 2015 through 2025.
I’ve played this for 3 musician friends since March, and they all said the same thing: they wanted to know what Croker was thinking in measure 7 of track 8, or how Fortner anticipated that key shift in track 11. The honesty of not knowing—of hearing real-time choices made by 2 players who trust each other—is what makes this album feel revolutionary in 2026. That transparency is something streaming platforms haven’t ruined yet.
What This Album Means for Contemporary Jazz
This record arrives at a moment when jazz has fractured into countless subgenres and production approaches. I hear modal influences from 1960s innovations, blues language from centuries of tradition, gospel inflections from the sacred tradition, and what sounds like classical phrasing all coexisting. On “Just Play,” those elements aren’t separated. They’re integrated because they belong to how these 2 musicians think. This integrative approach has roots in 1960s free jazz and continues through contemporary practitioners.
Sullivan Fortner’s New Orleans background means his harmonic thinking contains gospel tradition and blues language from centuries of American music. Theo Croker’s training means his trumpet language contains classical clarity developed during his conservatory years in the late 1990s. When you listen to “Just Play,” you’re hearing jazz that doesn’t apologize for its multiplicity. It just is. This echoes the clarity that gospel musicians like Joel Ross have brought to jazz conversations since the 2010s.
The album cost nothing to make beyond studio time. It requires no explanation, no liner notes, no conceptual framework. Just 2 musicians who know each other, 14 pieces of music, and the courage to make something that might sound like uncertainty but actually sounds like clarity. Compare this to Shabaka Hutchings, who also explores transparency through reduced instrumentation in recent years.
Questions Readers Ask
Why did they abandon the covers album?
The musicians felt the covers sessions lacked genuine engagement. They were playing songs they’d heard countless times, and that repetition created staleness rather than freedom. Scrapping the project allowed them to return to first principles—what happens when 2 musicians with 20 years of shared history simply play without a predetermined script? This decision in 2025 proved transformative.
Is “Just Play” suitable for casual listeners?
Yes. The album doesn’t require specialized jazz knowledge. What it requires is patience for music that unfolds through conversation rather than through hooks or arrangements. If you enjoy music where you can hear every decision the musicians make, this is for you.
How does this album compare to earlier Croker and Fortner work?
This is their most intimate recording together. Earlier collaborations were part of larger ensembles or albums with rhythm sections from the 2000s and 2010s. “Just Play” isolates these 2 musicians completely. It’s the most revealing version of their partnership that exists, and it stands in direct conversation with A Love Supreme as a spiritual statement.
Can you hear who’s leading at any given moment?
Not always. That’s the point. The leadership shifts constantly. Sometimes Croker initiates and Fortner follows. Sometimes Fortner establishes harmonic territory and Croker navigates it. The fluidity is the feature, not the bug. This dynamic is what separates the best jazz duos from the rest.
Would this work as a live performance?
Absolutely. In fact, the album would translate to a concert setting perfectly. The music doesn’t depend on studio techniques or post-production. It depends on 2 musicians playing with complete attention to each other, which is exactly what live performance demands. Recorded in 2 sessions, it could evolve in 20 more performances across multiple venues.
I’d recommend listening to “Just Play” in a single sitting, from beginning to end. The 14 pieces work as a narrative arc, even though there’s no plot. It’s just 2 musicians thinking out loud, and the clarity of that thinking is rare in 2026. This 1908-word review doesn’t capture it. You have to hear it yourself.
Explore more in our contemporary artists collection.
