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I have written for Jazzmatazz before about the Columbia years recordings of Thelonious Monk. In one review I described them as marked by “a reassertion of his links to swing, by his placing notes closer to or on the beat, by his offering up standards alongside his own work. By his tempering his temerity.” In another I explained that “Monk at this point was twenty-plus years into his career, and his composition book was essentially complete—unlike a Miles Davis or John Coltrane, he was not writing new music, but instead re-working, refining, and redefining his signature if limited oeuvre...[One hears] a slight rounding off of the angles, an easing of the edges that made his music shocking and telling. In quartet, the music focuses on the essential of swing first, even as Monk devilishly beguiles us with subtle time games and Charlie Rouse reworks Monk’s themes.”
Having received four Monk reissues (perhaps more properly described as reissues of reissues, with some added material), the conclusions remain largely the same. This was not avant-Monk, but reflective Monk, Monk appreciating stride ever more and dedicated to the swing thing, even as the devil was in the details—the filigree refinements.
So why invest (re-invest)? Good reasons. First, if you don’t have these works you are missing some brilliant tenor play—because if you just go to It's Monk's Time, the title itself a multiple-entendre (it is Monk’s time for recognition, it is Monk’s time signature, it is every sideman defining himself by Monk’s time, and here Monk solos extensively—two cuts exclusively piano, and a piano intro to “Lulu’s Back In Town” of more than 3 minutes), Charlie Rouse plays measure after measure without ever repeating an idea and with the Monk imprint on every lick. Shockingly, Monk is almost secondary to Rouse, who is captivating. And Monk’s melodicism makes one ready to sing along. Like Albert Ayler’s favoring folk-song stylings, Monk turned his songs into beautiful if occasionally invidious melodies.
What will you get?
It’s Monk’s Time — extended performances of lesser-known Monk works (introduced on this LP for the first time) and, on this reissue, two alternate takes and a take of “Epistrophy” made unique by Monk beginning with a boogie-woogie bass line underpinning.
Solo Monk — Old is new. Monk plays solo with so much allegiance to the stride masters and early jazz piano that it feels as if Eubie Blake is critiquing. There is also a pithy beauty to his ballad performances, and the inclusion of 9 bonus tracks virtually doubles the performance time.
Criss-Cross — The 1962 Columbia date has been enhanced with 3 bonus tracks, 2 never before released. An early date for this label, and still with some edge.
Underground — Recorded in 1967, and with the bizarre cover photo of Monk wearing a machine gun and seated near a tied-up Nazi, this LP is tamer than its appearance suggests. Monk sounds relatively conventional in his play, but he graced the LP with 4 new compositions, including “Ugly Beauty” and “Green Chimneys,” and with 3 bonus tracks it fills out the collector’s needs.
What is the upshot? Columbia already issued a boxed set highlighting this era (Thelonious Monk—The Columbia Years (1962-1968), so an introduction to these recordings is readily available and fairly comprehensive. And if you already have these, I can’t say that the bonus tracks are essential. But they are Monk, and it is still Monk’s time. Listen.
Mid-sixties Monk was often wanting—the tunes were familiar, the Monkish cadence readily identifiable, and the piano artistry tempered. These were the years when Monk recorded for the powerhouse label Columbia, and whether the company’s push or Monk’s contentment led to this loss of acuity is debatable.
Perhaps. You see (and hear) that when Monk escaped the confines of the studio the music went ‘out.’ Way ‘out.’ That argues strenuously for the position that Columbia chastened this iconoclastic pianist.
For proof turn to this newly issued recording of 1965 Monk. With his quartet—Charlie Rouse, Larry Gales and Ben Riley—Monk stormed Paris. Jumping off with “Rhythm-A-Ning,” Monk shows how he was indeed a bebop pianist, taking this work at a bop-frenzied tempo and hammering away at the keys. His next turn, a solo (and largely faithful-to-the-melody) “Body and Soul” starts in a poetic sobriety and ends in an impish cake-walk. “I Mean You” has a shoulder-bopping swagger that lends itself to Rouse’s blues-drenched and ever-inventive tenor, with Monk comping behind him on and off (but always in) time before he takes his own finger-waggin’ response with a LOT of notes before he begins to break down the theme, briefly resurrects it and then fragments it anew in ever sparser bursts until the piano is gone and only the bass and drums remain.
Monk in Paris continues with classics—“April in Paris” (played for just over one minute as a piano solo that hews shockingly close to the traditional melody), “Well, You Needn’t” (with Monk and Rouse playing in stark and brilliant counterpoint, with one ascending as the other’s notes head down the scale), “Bright Mississippi” (rooted in “sweet Georgia Brown”) and “Epistrophy”—and is made special by its clarity of sound and the added benefit of a DVD with Monk in a 3-track 1966 Norwegian performance.
This is not wanting, chastened, or otherwise curtailed. Perhaps Columbia should have loosened the reins on the master. Exemplary.
Thelonious Monk:
Criss-Cross (Columbia/Legacy)
— 1963
It's Monk's Time (Columbia/Legacy)
— 1964
Solo Monk (Columbia/Legacy)
— 1965
Underground (Columbia/Legacy)
— 1968
Release Dates:
19 August 2003
Monk in Paris: Live at the Olympia — w/ bonus DVD (Thelonious/Hyena)
Release Date:
23 September 2003
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last update 26 October 2003