Chicagoan Ted Sirota drums like he's got absolutely nothing to prove. He drums as though he's never heard any of the incessant yang about Jazz dying. He celebrates his art by refusing to treat it as something precious, and he shows his love for Jazz by disrespecting its supposed boundaries. How refreshing is that? On (1) each of his Jazz Rebels group contributes an original (Sirota himself gets two, if you count the improvised solo drum tribute to Max Roach), but of the other six tracks only Mingus' "Free Cell Block F" can be said to be Jazz-based in origin. On this record there are no standards, but there are five songs well known to contemporary listeners. These songs come from different parts of the world but they are united by a commitment to political observation and even activism: "The Clampdown" is by Britain's The Clash; "13 De Maio" is by Brazilian musician and activist Caetano Veloso; there are two takes of South African Miriam Makeba's "Polo Mze"; and finally there is Stephen Foster's ante-bellum chestnut, "Hard Times"-a song possibly more relevant today than at any other moment this last half century. These songs are political, but since the words are absent on this record that political message remains implicit: a sign that Sirota's commitments extend beyond his music, but a mute sign all the same.

As for the music itself, the points of origin are quite audible indeed, and part of what keeps this record so fresh is the way in which these origins are promiscuously mixed together. In this way, "The Clampdown" carries none of the stamping menace of the original, but sounds rather more like a Foster composition. The pace is taken off the front line and harmonies only implicit in the original are brought forward. Underneath the melancholy but sweet horns Sirota rather quietly maintains a doubletime counterpoint. The tension there feels good, but also affords occasion for reflection. On "Hard Times" itself Ward and Bradfield complicate Foster's melancholic tone without disrupting it: this is the one track where Sirota is least audible, serving to deliver dynamic accents more than accenting time. His presence is heavier on the Dub-inspired "Killa Dilla." Dub often leaves me wanting to tell the producer to put down that spliff and step away from the console; "Killa Dilla" is, however, music that doesn't dissolve into trance; the Rebel Souls import many characteristic features of this distinctly Jamaican sound but keep the music vibrant. No narco haze here. Similarly, "Polo Mze Pt. 1" includes numerous musical allusions to South African music, with Sirota working his toms and cowbell more than his snare. "Polo Mze Pt. 2" is entirely different. On this second version the horns wail over a repeated Funk bass line, with Sirota snapping that snare drum. In these differences is the reason for the two takes: version one summons Makeba's Africa, version two the analogous scene in early 1970 Chicago, or Detroit, or . . . Jazz tradition has known other drummers who are thinkers, not least in Max Roach himself. But Sirota is a musician for our time. Rebel Souls, yes, but souls. This is not music in service of politics. This is music that embodies a politics simply by being so full of life and so plugged into the world. Just as Sirota carries the torch for Max, pianist René Urtreger shows lots of love for Bud Powell. On (2) that connection to Jazz tradition is shared by the entire band. In particular, Nicolas Folmer's trumpet-especially when muted-sends billet-doux of its own to Miles. Urtreger is a generation older than Sirota and his music is rooted in the language of Bop. There are few signs here of harmonic advance. But (2), recorded live, conveys the high spirits audible in the appreciative audience.