Thelonious Monk



Put it this way: if jazz is dead, it does a great job resuscitating. The deluge of releases by a groundbreaking cast of emerging and accomplished talents is so astounding it makes records reviewing feel like a Sisyphean task. Everywhere you turn, a new gem sprouts. Yours truly has learned it the hard way. Whenever I get around to reviewing a new favorite of mine, I realize it has already been extensively reviewed, blogged about and shared on social media on a massive scale. And a month ago…Fair enough. At least the music does get talked about. But it is really the place where it’s happening? At its core, jazz is live music. At the risk of sounding sanctimonious, this is an important no-brainer to keep in mind when evaluating the quality of this music.

My point is this. No matter what label you want to put on it – and there is no shortage of post-bopisms out there – there is something about the essence and evolution of jazz that transcends its documentation on record. And that is the element of surprise that’s anchored in the art form and that appears so blatantly when you go hear musicians perform live. You can hear that on albums of course, especially the live ones. But at best they’re only a one-night snapshot of a much more eventful process, a process of mutability that doesn’t have anything to do with studio production but instead with the varying levels of inspiration and interaction happening during a collective performance. How does the drummer choose to drive the music, are they playing behind, on or ahead of the beat? How fast does the band react if one member stumbles? Is the piano comping during the sax player’s solo? Does that interfere with the solo? In a good or bad way? Is everyone improvising collectively in the moment or taking solos in turn? How effective is the drum and bass connection? Etc. On records, whether or not the wrong notes, the skipped beats, the fluffed starts, the misunderstandings in the form, the solo overlaps, and the whole range of unpredictable twists and turns will be left in the final mix is a matter of production discussion. Oftentimes, producers choose the polished sound over the rough edges of human imperfection. Pick an old classic from the 60s and enjoy all the kinks. It’s really fun and educational to hear the masters fumble their way through their art and get away with it. It humanizes their artistry. Has Miles Davis’ enormous contribution to jazz ever been questioned because he played wrong notes? Put on any record by Miles from any period and there is at least one big glitch, often intentional in his case as the man was reportedly temperamental.

I’m no nostalgist for a bygone era I wasn’t even born to experience. I didn’t go hear Coltrane and co stretch out for 35 minutes on “My Favorite Things” in a smoke-infested club or Monk breaking into dance during bass solos. In a sense, yes, that era of jazz is gone. That nighttime club culture is dead. Replaced by a lounge-oriented culture that too often misrepresents the art form as background mush it never was and never will be. So there’s solace in having this music available on tape as it provides a time capsule of a bygone era, in all its glorious and occasionally embellished mythology. I also acknowledge the invaluable sonic and graphic contributions that definitely helped sell jazz to the general public. The bulky catalogues of original and reissued Blue Notes and Impulses are the treasure trove of the art form. Thank you Rudy Van Gelder for acknowledging Elvin Jones’ genius with that beautifully crisp ride cymbal.

Like most aficionados, I love Kind of Blue, A Love Supreme or Money Jungle and consider them sublime works of art in their own right. I cherish my copies like the collector’s items that they are. But at the end of the day, they are only the tip of the iceberg. Compare those records with their recorded live renditions when they exist and it’s not even the same music. Consider this: how many nights have the masters played amazingly well to utterly inattentive audiences and produced music that makes their resulting albums look like tepid rehearsals? Records have a way of taming down the music sometimes. At any rate, they will never convey the full picture of the precarious art of live improvisation. Don’t get me wrong, they need to exist and be heard – and the Internet has helped tremendously to make them more widely and easily accessible – but if there is still such a thing as “jazz”, it’s happening on the bandstand, not in the museum.

Enough ranting. You got the point.

For your interest, let me give you two examples to illustrate what I’ve been rambling on about. It occurred to me on a train ride recently. On “Evidence” off the live album Monk At the It Club, drummer Ben Riley finishes his solo after which time Monk is supposed to restate the theme (the melody if you prefer). That’s how classic jazz is done. Head-chorus-head. Well, what Monk plays at this critical moment (the song please!) is the melody of another Monk tune, “Straight No Chaser”. When I heard this I almost jumped off my seat with laughter. I could just imagine the band exchanging puzzled looks and wondering how in the world they are going to take the tune out. Luckily they segue back into “Evidence” pretty seamlessly. Phew! Now, put on the blues “Sid’s Ahead” from Miles Davis’ Milestones. And pity the poor Paul Chambers, who, along with Philly Joe Jones’ indestructible hit-hat shuffle, has been bravely chopping down thumping quarter notes like a diligent lumberjack through Miles, Coltrane and Cannonball’s solos respectively, wondering when the hell he will be able to take his spot. He tries repeatedly, and sure enough 12 more bars follow. Listen to how he almost makes it, at the 8:10 mark, and shoot!, it’s not now yet, Paul! Jazz can be merciless.

These examples may sound esoteric, anecdotal and not even funny at all to the uninitiated, but they’re at the core of what makes this music so engaging and unpredictable.

So yes, today’s major jazz artists release well though-out, nicely produced records by the ton but the sad truth is they are not selling! Sure, we have to keep those albums coming and people need to keep buying them. But if today’s jazz performers have any chance to survive in an increasingly competitive market, with young kids coming out of schools with kick-ass chops, there needs to me more venues to hear them perform. The masters of the past had a tough time living off their art, for different reasons. It’s always been hard. Today is a different kind of hard. Ideally, we should check out the music live and buy the records afterward. What a peculiar irony that jazz seems to be everywhere, except where it should be. On a bandstand. We only need to look a little harder to find them (the bandstands!).


Thelonious Monk, Live at the It Club (Columbia), “Evidence”

Miles Davis, Milestones (Columbia), “Sid’s Ahead”

For contradiction’s sake, here is a short list of albums you and I should be checking out now:

Matana Roberts, Coin Coin Chapter Three, River Run Thee (Constellation). Jazz is clearly a reductive term for the multi-talented artist. Matana Roberts keeps weaving her “panoramic soundquilt” on her third installment. A fascinating agenda.

Vijay Iyer Trio (with Stephen Crump and Marcus Gilmore), Break Stuff. No drawn-out soloing here. But a potent rhythmic machine that keeps pushing ahead.

Mark Turner quartet (with Avishai Cohen, Joe Martin and Marcus Gimore) Lathe of Heaven (ECM): Same drummer, very different music. Cohen’s trumpet is the perfect lyrical match for Turner’s approach.

Matthew Shipp Trio (with Michael Bisio and Whit Dickey) To Duke (Rogue Art)Haven’t listened to this yet. But looking forward to hearing the trio’s deconstruction on the jazz master.

Steve Lehman (with Mark Shim, Drew Gress, Tyshawn Sorey, Jonathan Finlayson, Jose Davila, Tim Albright, Chris Dingman), Mise en Abîme (Pi Recordings). Don’t ask me what spectral harmony is. I’m clueless. But I’m curious to hear their take on Bud Powell.

Thelonious Sphere Monk: modern genius


Because you make every wrong note sound right

Because your jagged melodies have a rock-solid consistency

Because there is a playfulness to your serious art

Because you outhipped hipness before the term got hip

Because you never played the same thing twice and played it all the time

Because you once took a cigarette out of and back into Miles’ shirt pocket during his solo, and it would have hurt his pride to stop playing

Because you wrote a tune with all the accents in the least evident places and called it Evidence

Because the beauty of your music is in what you don’t play, in the silences

Because yours is a dance of hard-won joy, a song of inherited freedom

Because to the statement “it appears you’re famous, Thelonious”, your response is “famous, huh, ain’t that a bitch?”

Because with a name like that, you had to be an original

Because you poke and nudge us: the music is everywhere, you seem to say.

In steady rotation

2013-12-15 12.11.16

As 2013 draws to a close, wellyouneedit celebrates its one-year anniversary. How did that happen? It’s been a bumpy road and I’m still not sure why I bother to put these thoughts out there. Oh well, for writing’s sake, I guess, which is a pretty good reason, isn’t it? Here, I want to thank my handful of faithful readers scattered around France and the globe. You know who you are.

The year-end lists are flooding the Internet. With a jazz-heavy listening and playing schedule to handle, I simply don’t have the time to check out the plethora of good “non-jazz” music released in this day and age. As a music fan, though, I like to think that this thing called jazz is not as insular and monolithic as the naysayers would have you believe. Today’s prominent improvisers tap into all kinds of music and extramusical sources to shape their path in the continuum. The result of that blending process doesn’t always work but it is integral to this art. As the aggressive debates raging on the Internet and the blogosphere show, the term jazz is very restrictive and contentious in many ways. Specifically, it doesn’t acknowledge the shape-shifting qualities at work in spontaneous collective improvisation, and it doesn’t do justice to the musicians who have continuously pushed the envelope to move the music forward. But for lack of a better and all-embracing term, we’re just going to have to stick with it for a while! If there’s anything to change about the presentation of jazz to the neophyte, it might involve defining it not so much as a music style per se as an approach to addressing and appropriating musical content – Duke Ellington or Bjork, it doesn’t matter.  The purists will take issue with that view, but the purists are wrong. Get real, purists! Trying to dictate what an art is and what it is not is a pointless struggle. The following list is a random and unrated selection of albums that played on a regular basis or caught my ear, here at wellyouneedit, in 2013. Inevitably, a lot of it is jazz, but in my book good music transcends category. Enjoy.

Dave King, I’ll Be Ringing you (2012)

With fellow Minnesotans Bill Carrothers and Billy Preston, the drummer revisits the standards with haunting introspection.  A well-tended fire smolders through this quiet record.  Huddle up, make some tea and kill the lights. And swing by the wynit archive for the short album review.

Brad Mehldau Trio, House on Hill (2006)

I finally decided which of Brad Mehldau’s albums I would take on a desert island. Right down to the enlightening liner notes (on Bach, Brahms and Monk), this one is a stellar document of the early trio (with bassist Larry Grenadier and drummer Jorge Rossy). Strong compositions and high-caliber playing for all involved.

Orrin Evans, Flip the script (2012); Blessed ones (2001)

The ability of these tight trios (bassists Eric Revis and Ben Wolfe and drummers Nasheet Waits and Donald Edwards) to bend the swing tradition and honor it at the same time keeps astounding me. The demotion job on Autumn Leaves will have you scratching your head first time around but sound magically obvious after a few listens.

Matana Roberts,  Mississippi Moonchile (2013)

A powerful artistic statement from the great alto saxophonist and multidisciplinary artist. This beautiful suite is Roberts’ personal take on Black American history, specifically through her female lineage. The music is a seamless collage/conflation of the various strands of African-American music. The fascinating story continues.

The Bad Plus, Made Possible (2012)

Epic melancholia, joyful abandon, frantic energy and telepathic cohesion. The trio does make anything possible. In the words of drummer Dave King « this band contains some of the most punk energy I’ve ever seen or heard as a musician ». But make no mistake, this is unquestionably as tight and honest a modern jazz trio as it gets. Watch the EPK for their 2012 record and check out the amazing discography.

Vijay Iver Trio, Accelerando (2012)

The award-winning pianist has the critics divided. Undaunted, I listen to the staccato rhythms of bassist Stephen Crump and Marcus Gilmore and nod to the vibe.

Glenn Gould,  Bach English Suites , Inventions & Sinfonias (1982)

To think that all of Bach’s keyboard music was conceived for the harpsichord is confounding, especially when played by Glenn Gould on piano. Timeless.

Mark Turner, Yam Yam (1994), Dharma Days (2001)

Whether the album cover of Yam Yam was a wise marketing decision is a matter of personal aesthetics but the music shows off Turner’s tasteful lyricism and hugely influential voice on tenor. Dharma Days is the one to get. Features Kurt Rosenwinkel (guitar), Reid Anderson (bass), Nasheet Waits (drums).

Eric Revis, Parallax (2012)

The potent bassist delivers a fine inside/outside jazz offering. Serious chops and burning grooves across the board. Features Nasheet Waits (drums), Jason Moran (piano) and Ken Vandermark (tenor sax and clarinet)

J Dilla, Donuts (2006)

The legendary hip hop producer probably owned a sizable record collection. This album splices together a nice selection of soul and rap cuts from the 60s onward. I usually play the first song and find myself listening through the album.

Geri Allen, The Life of a Song (2004)

In the company of such heavyweights as Dave Holland and Jack de Johnette, Geri Allen found sympathetic support to deliver her groove-packed set of originals and rearranged standards. There isn’t a weak moment in this program. Highly recommended.

Darius Jones & Matthew Shipp, Cosmic Lieder (2010)

Smooth-flowing dialogue between two singular voices of free forms. Shipp’s dark low-end tones take on a welcome brightness against Jones’ honking enthusiasm.

Melanie De Biasio, No Deal (2013).

With the pared-down instrumentation of flute, drums and keyboard, Melanie De Biasio’s enveloping vocals push through the ether with grace and a sense of subdued drama.

Drew Gress, Black Butterflies  (2005)

Lush writing, infectious grooves and free blowing make up this alluring album.For Craig Taborn’s solo on the song Bright Idea alone, this one is worth a good listen. Features Tim Berne (alto sax), Ralph Alessi (Trumpet), Craig Taborn (piano), Tom Rainey (drums).

John Coltrane  The Classic Quartet – the complete Impulse studio recordings (1961-1965)

Immortal. What would jazz have sounded like if that quartet hadn’t existed? Eternally inspiring.

Thelonious Monk

Do I really have to drum the point home? You have to get with Monk. Period.

Craig Taborn Light Made Lighter (2001)

Taborn’s debut album amply demonstrates his versatility in the classic piano trio format. A good place to start.

Butcher Brown – A sides B sides

On their self-released and generously free (cop it on their website) debut, Butcher Brown make instrumental groove music that sounds oddly new despite the overt references to 70s funk. An ideal moodsetter that doesn’t sacrifice musicianship for chilling’s sake. Check it out.

Elmo Hope, Complete Studio Recordings

What a tragic life his was. It’s time to restore Hope’s profound contribution to modern jazz piano music. No less than Monk’s best friend and favorite player.

Julia Holter  Loud City Song (2013)

Wow. This one almost didn’t make my list. There is definitely more than ambient and pop to this music. But for now I’ll settle for uncategorizable.

And countless more to satisfy the music junkie’s appetite but that I’m too lazy to write a single word about.

In memory of Butch Warren

Butch Warren

I am still reeling from the news. With every passing of jazz veterans, the art form seems to recede a little further into history. Their legacy, though, remains immortal.  Butch Warren is not my main influence on bass but somehow I feel I had a special connection with him. At the risk of sounding self-indulgent, I’d like to relate an anecdote as a tribute of sorts.

Three years ago, I went to hear Butch Warren perform with a French quintet in Paris. As I recall, the musicians had caught up with him in NY and wanted to bring him over to France where he hadn’t performed in 30 years. I squirmed in my seat in eager anticipation. The concert began, and sure enough, Butch’s firm tone immediately brought to mind scores of blue note records that he played on – he was Blue Note’s house pianist back in the 60s– and importantly for me, his fruitful association with Monk during the 1963 Japan tour. As Robin D.G. Kelley remarks about Monk’s hiring of Warren before the tour (Thelonious Monk, The Life and Times of an American Original, “Monk liked the big sound Warren got from the lower register and his inventive choice of notes – characteristics he appreciated in Wilbur Ware’s playing”. That sound was definitely present that late afternoon, preserved from a long spell of personal hardship and serious health problems. I could hear Butch huffing and puffing as his long fingers stumbled across the fingerboard, assuming unorthodox positions. After each song, he sat down and seemed to wait for the next tune call, as if to say “man, I can hold it down, okay, but don’t I deserve a little rest?” And yes, despite the awkward fingering and obvious signs of physical strain, he could sure hold it down and make his notes sing. I will never forget the sight of this giant laying down some heavy bluesy lines as if driven by a rekindled flame. At one point between two songs, I overheard the drummer winking at the saxophonist and mouthing the words “they don’t make them like him anymore”. He was enjoying that deep-soul vibe. So was I. Impeccably dressed and wearing a black Stetson hat, Butch cut an impressive figure despite his apparent fragile health.

The concert ended to thundering applause. I walked out the concert hall and lit up a cigarette to regain my senses. I was about to head home when I saw Butch come out and sit on some steps, rolling his cigarette. Petrified, I mustered my courage and walked up to him. That was now or never. I was only one handshake away from Thelonious Monk, for god’s sake! Like any nervous fan, I congratulated him a little dramatically. But that gave me a lead to ask him a couple of questions. He obliged me very nicely. Our brief conversation revolved around all things bass, strings, projection, cutting through the drums, his desire to mount some gut strings on his new bass and how unaffordable they were. When I asked the one question I should have asked from the start: “do you have any advice to give me as an aspiring bass player trying to develop his chops?”  I loved the laconic answer: “Try to get a good sound”. Those words burned into my mind like a haunting mantra. A young woman who seemed to be his manager nicely offered to take a picture of Butch and me with my cell phone. However heavily pixelized and impossible to enlarge, that miniature photo exists. On it, you can still recognize Butch, towering over me (he was about 6, 20 feet). I’m so glad and grateful I shook hands with that beautiful giant. RIP Edward Rudolph ‘Butch’ Warren.

Read the Washington Post obit for a glimpse of his life here

Watch Butches’ Blues, a short documentary that traces his rocky path, here

Selected album recommendations featuring Butch Warren on bass

Herbie Hancock, Takin’ off, Blue Note

Thelonious Monk, It’s Monk’s time, Blue Note

Thelonious Monk, Monk in Tokyo, Prestige (ideally, try to get the LP on Epic)

Jackie McLean, A Fickle Sonance, Blue Note

Sonny Clark, Leapin’ and Lopin’, Blue Note

Joe Henderson, Page one, Blue Note

Elmo Hope, Complete Studio Recordings, CD 3, Gambit Records (only 2 tracks but it’s all in there)

Butch Warren, Butch’s Blues, Butch Warren

Princes of Angularity

Andrew Hill photographed by Jimmy Katz

Andrew Hill photographed by Jimmy Katz

Comparisons seem to be our best ally when reflecting on the arts. Excessively so. When it comes to appreciating the work of musicians, we tend to overindulge our natural impulse to compare and, more annoyingly, to categorize. “Oh yeah, this sounds like (…) minus the vocals (…)”.  Undaunted, I go ahead and draw some arguable parallels with three pianists I have been obsessing over for years: Thelonious Monk, Andrew Hill and Herbie Nichols.

I am listening to Andrew Hill’s Black Fire right now. It’s a masterpiece. For a composer who was hastily locked into the avant-garde category in the 60s, every song here has a surprisingly hummable quality (i’m not kidding…try it when showering, you might get to the bridge if you’re really good!), which is not the usual critical description of Hill’s music. Black Fire, released on Blue Note and recorded on November 8th 1963, is Hill’s debut as a leader, hardly two months after contributing fabulously to Joe Henderson’s Our Thing. All musicians on this date play with jaw-dropping inventiveness and though Andrew’s compositions keep to fairly standard forms at this stage, the music pushes hard at the edges of the hard bop zeitgeist. Henderson rips through every song with a searing tone that sets off Hill’s off-kilter runs beautifully. This is possibly Henderson’s best recorded music.  Andrew held on to Joe on Point of Departure and Pax (respectively released in 1964 and 1965), and I wish this cohesive association had gone on into the 70s. For what it’s worth, I think a modern-day equivalent of that sonic chemistry can be found in the work of guitarist Kurt Rosenwinkel and saxophonist Mark Turner. Anyway…

Hill’s and Monk’s careers went down very different musical roads. By 1950, Monk had the bulk of his songbook written out and played a rotating set of favorite songs throughout his performing career, unlocking new areas of sound on each performance without any real interest in renewing his repertoire. What’s the point of seeking out newness for newness’ sake when your music always feels new? The harmonic and rhythmic language Monk developed in the 40s became his signature and despite the singularity of his quirky melodies, the tunes rarely deviated from the 32 bar form usually played at a plodding medium tempo, with a rhythm section expected to swing hard or get off the bandstand. Yet Monk had to wait a solid 15 years for critics to admit they’d mislabeled him as an “eccentric” bebopper and acknowledge his original genius. Both Hill and Monk have a unique and deep sense of form that may have been underappreciated to this day. Producer Michael Cuscuna (Blue Note RVG reissue series) encapsulates parallel misconceptions about Monk and Hill: “although (Hill’s) music had melody, harmony, and rhythm, his conception of each was so unique that he was categorized with the avant-garde. This music was avant-garde in the strictest sense, but it was anything but free form. As Monk was lumped into the bebop movement because he was there, so was Andrew put into the freedom bag. His music was free of cliché, but that was about the extent of it?” (quoted from Black Fire liners).

It’s not clear how much Monk influenced Hill’s early music but songs like “Work” and “Trinkle Tinkle” could not have been unfamiliar to Hill’s ears. However, Hill’s use of dissonance seems to spring from a different place than Monk’s and you won’t find many traces of the whole-tone harmony Monk delighted in. I might be wrong.  Listen to Hill’s “Pain” on the Change album, for example.

The start of this song, along with its stop-time rhythm, is impossible, it is so quirky in a “I just accidentally fell over the piano kind of way”, a very Monkish feature for sure (Now play Monk’s “Work”… can’t seem to put it up, sorry, but look for it!). But while Monk never strays too far from the melody, instead restating it obsessively in various permutations in his improvising, Hill bends and molds it into different shapes, interjecting a host of rhythmic accents.  ‘Subterfuge’ is a case in point, a dark theme stuttering along over an insistent syncopated beat. Roy Haynes does a great job of keeping things steady while Hill gathers momentum and gradually layers in more cryptic density.

Throughout his life, Hill pursued a wide variety of esthetic directions, using various Latin beats, odd meters, voices, open-ended forms, and leading big bands. Undoubtedly, Hill’s music is a more “difficult” listen than Monk’s but it offers equally thrilling rewards for whoever will listen to its angular beauty.  Full of sharp turns and red herrings, what Hill’s music may lack in humor – unlike Monk’s – it more than makes up for in sophistication and mystery. The music often feels like it might fly off into pure abstraction any second but never quite does. Even at his most Monkish, Hill’s piano has an unrelenting inner logic that is complex, mesmerizing and positively unclassifiable.  Obviously, this has to do with Hill’s jagged writing, a synthesis of myriad ‘inside’ and ‘outside” forms that gives the music its arcane lyricism and shine. Intriguingly, there’s always a ragged edge to Andrew’s romanticism and even on a beautiful ballad like “Erato” (On the album Pax), there is a sense that a storm is gathering nearby.

Right up to the end of his life, Hill produced daring and engaging music, as his last public concert in 2007 with bassist John Hebert and drummer Eric Mc Pherson makes abundantly clear. Note the doubly spiritual dimension of the event held in Trinity Church.

Concert at Trinity Church, 2007

Another favorite pianist of mine is Herbie Nichols. In many ways, Nichols prefigures the eerie darkness of Monk and Hill. He was also a freelance writer. Ironically, he wrote the first critical review of Monk and championed his music long before anyone cared to notice: “This particular fellow is the author of the weirdest rhythmical melodies I’ve ever heard”, Nichols wrote of Monk in 1944 in the black magazine Music Dial.  Later the two pianists struck up a lasting friendship. As Robin D.G. Kelley recounts in his impressive biography (Thelonious Monk The Life and Times of an American Original), Monk and Nichols had common personal and musical roots, having been born in the San Juan Hill neighborhood in New York, home to the largest black community in the early 20th century.  Two years younger than Monk, Nichols grew up absorbing the sounds of the West Indies his father’s generation had brought over to San Juan Hill. When asked by producer Alfred Lion to write the liner notes for a Blue Note album, Nichols reminisced about his Caribbean background: “Perhaps that is why I’ve always particularly enjoyed the exotic styles of Denzil Best and Thelonious Monk, in whose music I can trace this influence of my youthful years.” Like Monk, Nichols looked back to the various styles of early jazz and dance music – New Orleans, fox trot, stride, swing, shuffle – to forge a deeply personal voice out of them.  Unsurprisingly, Nichols’ music has a powerful dance element to it, a buoyancy particularly reinforced by his interaction with the drums. On “Chit-chatting”, Nichols transposes a heated conversation in a crowded bar or “similar gathering” (he writes) using a repeated noirish melody punctuated by a descending chromatic line.

On the 3-CD boxset that bundles together his entire trio recordings on the blue note label, there isn’t a single weak song. Each has a distinctive character, an unusual blend of joyfulness and brooding moods. Disheartened by the seedy atmosphere of Harlem’s after-hours music scene, Nichols struggled to get his innovative music noticed.  “House party starting” is a telling example of his bittersweet feelings. After the drums break, the melody almost mimics a man fumbling his way into the “wrong” party. But soon Nichols decides he might just stay and have a drink, and the song lights up. About his own tune, he writes: “House Party Starting […] speaks of grave and silent doubts as to whether there is really going to be a party, whether there is going to be lots of fun.”

That Nichols died prematurely at 44 in obscurity is a major oddity of music history. Aside from ‘Lady Sings the Blues’, which Billie Holiday famously made her own by writing lyrics to it, almost no composition has made it into the standard repertoire. With the notable exceptions of Vijay Iyer, Geri Allen and Jason Moran, few musicians have recorded or acknowledged their debt to Herbie’s unique music. If any of you out there has heard a Herbie Nichols tune before at a jam session, please let me know and be sure to give me the address.

Though Monk, Hill and Nichols followed different personal and musical paths, their music has a common dark and complex undertow that contrasts with their humor and joyfulness. I still have a lifetime’s worth of mazes ahead of me to get lost in.On a last note, I’d like to thank Joanne Robinson Hill for answering my email and giving me permission to use this nice picture of Andrew.

Selected recommendations:

Andrew Hill: Black Fire, Smoke Stack, Change, Point of Departure, Pax, Time lines.

Joe Henderson: Our Thing (with Hill on piano)

Thelonious Monk: Thelonious Monk trio with Gary Mapp and Art Blakey, Genius of Modern Music (vol 1 and 2), with Coltrane, etc.

Herbie Nichols: The Complete Blue Note Recordings