Happy Today: Jeff Parker’s Latest Jazz Opus is a Reminder to Hope

I didn’t want to leave the house that night.

The rain battered against the windows. The sky was already pitch black. I tried to muster any practical excuse I could make to miss this concert that I’d talked up for weeks. Work in the morning. A child at home. The weather. But even I knew my excuses were weak. After my wife’s encouragement that I really should go and I’d regret it if I didn’t, I resolved that I’d at least go for a little bit and see how it went.

In truth, I was feeling some kind of funk. I can’t even remember what about anymore. But it was one of those nights where you just feel off. And worse, you don’t want to do anything that’ll fix it. A perfect recipe for falling deeper into the endless blah.

My windshield wipers shrieked the whole way as I drove into the night. I remained unconvinced the whole time that I really wanted to do this. But fate found me a parking spot right up front—there went my last possible excuse.

I walked in and could barely move a step further. The room was packed. I’d never seen The Nectar in Seattle so full. The cold air outside was replaced by the warm radiance of body heat. It was 2022 and I was still trying to get used to that sensation after almost two years locked indoors with the pandemic. Despite being cramped and squished together, the energy was already electric. As uncomfortable as it was, I slowly felt my mood change. Then the band hit the stage.

Makaya McCraven and his band started to play and it was like a wave of awe washed over us all. He was supporting his 2022 jazz masterpiece, In These Times, my favorite record from that year. But they weren’t playing the songs as they were recorded, instead improvising and going to and fro some of the album’s key motifs. It was spellbinding. All my doubt and worry and excuses fled my mind. I was squished against strangers’ bodies and yet outside of my own.

The entire band was masterclass, but I quickly recognized Jeff Parker on guitar. I’d recently become infatuated with his music too after picking up his 2021 solo album, Forfolks, on a whim. I still spin that one often. Despite having a lengthy career playing in the post-rock group Tortoise, various solo projects, and being a key member of so many other jazz groups, I was only beginning to dip my toes into his music.

The way he would casually rip clean riffs alongside McCraven and the dazzling spectacle of the band was mystifying. Hearing him on wax is great. Hearing him live is borderline spiritual.

I think that’s part of what draws me so much to his latest release as the leader of Jeff Parker & the ETA IVtet, Happy Today. The album’s two sprawling tracks were recorded live in front of an audience at the Lodge Room in Los Angeles.

2025 was difficult for many people, but particularly for Parker. He talks about this in the album’s Bandcamp description, reflecting on how he and his family were displaced by the California wildfires for eight months, all while navigating what it means to live under this second Trump administration.

“There was a lot of sadness and despair,” he says. “But feeling the sense of community that we created with our concert, and later hearing the recording, seeing the beautiful footage that had been shot and the photographs of such joy to be back in that space and to be making music again: It was a very happy moment. So I called the record Happy Today. It’s meant to be a statement of joy.”

That idea is incredibly resonant. The toll life and modern times take on us all can be brutal, if not downright debilitating. Especially to be displaced from your home is to lose a crucial foundation. But Parker’s words ring true. Even in our darkest moments making our way through the fog of bad news, happiness can still happen.

I think it’s no coincidence that this live recording evokes so much joy. The idea of being “in community” is often bandied about, but feels rare to accomplish. The digital age pulls us further apart and I don’t think we’ve truly ever recouped what we lost from our collective pandemic isolation. Seeing Parker play with McCraven four years ago reminded me so much of this—of all that we lost, but also all that we can still have. I remember talking to strangers, looking at each other with shock and delight with each new thrilling riff and transcendent moment.

Moments like that exist all over Happy Today. To hear Parker and his band meander through the spiraling jam of the first track, “Like Swimwear,” with the occasional whoop or clap from the crowd feels revelatory. The mental images conjure themselves—the band locked in, the crowd transfixed, the spirit of the moment taking the whole room to another realm.

The title track “Happy Today” eases in softly. For minutes it inches in like a low murmur. The rattle of Anna Butterss’ bass strings, a hum of organ, the gorgeous sprawl of Josh Johnson’s languid saxophone. Even when the tempo starts to rise, it hardly loses this calming center.

It’s halfway through when Parker’s guitar emerges, skittering across the backdrop of instrumentation and the emergence of Jay Bellerose’s steady and stealthily intricate drums. Parker, too, starts slowly, gradually picking up as they get deeper into their musical miasma. The crowd gives a shout. It’s hard to tell who’s enlivening whom, the band or the crowd. In reality, it’s probably both.

As the music continues to crescendo, I can’t help but feel a smile coming on. Both from marveling at the sheer, insane musicality of the performance but also at the clear joy from every person on the recording, musician and crowd alike.

I’ve found myself reaching for Happy Today in those moments where I’m not sure what else to play or do. Sometimes when you get into a “funk,” just making a simple decision of what to put in the queue can be debilitating. For a while, I hadn’t even read Parker’s quote about the album and its relation to happiness. But even without that context, it’s so easily felt. The music always lifts my mood even without being stereotypically “upbeat.”

Dark times beget dark moods. But Parker’s band, the crowd, and the music they create together are a startling reminder that hope is still allowed. It’s okay to cherish the happy moments. It doesn’t take away from the pain and hurt that might be happening elsewhere in the world or in our lives. A great album or a great show isn’t a cure-all. Even still, take the happiness. Today and wherever you can find it.

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