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It's about time we started talking about Thelonius Monk, don't you think? Of course, everyone knows that Monk was one of the greatest revolutionaries, as well as one of the most important composers in the history of jazz, right? And one of the most singular piano stylists of all time, as well. What? Not everybody knows that? Some of you don't have a comprehensive collection of Thelonious Monk recordings? How do you get through the day? This baffles me.
Okay, we really need to start talking about Thelonious Monk, don't we?
All right, to make it easy on ourselves, let's just go ahead and start with the general introduction we can get from Wikipedia. (I know, it's the lazy way to go, but nobody cares about this anyway, so I figure it really doesn't make any difference.)
Note: If you don't want to read all this crap, please scroll down to the music selections below!
Thelonious Sphere Monk (October 10, 1917 - February 17, 1982) was an American jazz pianist and composer. Monk had a unique improvisational style and made numerous contributions to the standard jazz repertoire, including "Round Midnight," "Blue Monk," "Ruby My Dear," "In Walked Bud," and "Well, You Needn’t." Monk is the second-most recorded jazz composer after Duke Ellington, which is particularly remarkable as Ellington composed more than 1,000 pieces, whereas Monk wrote about 70.
His compositions and improvisations feature dissonances and angular melodic twists, and are consistent with Monk’s unorthodox approach to the piano, which combined a highly percussive attack with abrupt, dramatic use of silences and hesitations.
He was renowned for his distinctive style in suits, hats, and sunglasses. He was also noted for an idiosyncratic habit observed at times during performances: while the other musicians in the band continued playing, he would stop, stand up from the keyboard, a dance for a few moments before returning to the piano.
Monk is one of the five jazz musicians to have been featured on the cover of Time, after Louis Armstrong, Dave Brubeck, and Duke Ellington, and before Wynton Marsalis.
Well, that’s the basic lowdown. Of course, it doesn’t begin to tell the story. You have to listen to the music for that. And Monk is one of the most consistently delightful and entertaining of musical artists to listen to. Nobody plays like him, nobody sounds like him. He is the one piano player on earth who I can recognize after just hearing a couple of notes. Nobody approached the instrument like Monk. He approached the piano like a logical problem to be solved. Like a scientist, he would sit down at the keyboard, squint up his eyes and stare at it, then try tentatively to play something, pause, think, and try to decide if it worked. Then he might try something completely different. Every now and then, he would happen onto something that just fit so well, he would get excited and follow that line of thought with abandon, only to seemingly run the idea through and stop, or sometimes just get bored, then try something else.
In short, Monk was a musical experimenter. He wasn’t one of these guys who would master a particular style or approach and then build a career on endlessly flaunting it. Instead, he was constantly twiddling knobs in his head, trying always to get something different out of his performance. And that’s just one of the reasons he remained endlessly fascinating - it was because you could tell that he himself was endlessly fascinated!
Monk always seemed to be genuinely surprised at what he could get to come out of a piano. (It certainly never sounded like what anybody else got out of one.) And not only was it just about always interesting, it was fun. Some people think I’m not serious when I say that he’s my favorite pianist because he was so unconventional. He didn’t even fit in with the bebop approach of pianists like Bud Powell and others, even though he was one of the major forces in bringing that particular style into existence. And I suppose that’s because he never stopped experimenting.
And, yes, I must admit, its also because he was a genuine, for-real, certified oddball. I mean, just look at the guy. He dressed crazy, he played weird, he wouldn’t talk, he danced around on the stage. A lot of people think Thelonious Monk was a genius. A lot of people thought he was a nut. I kind of like to think he was a little bit of both.
But one thing he certainly was was brilliant. His compositions are still popular with jazz musicians everywhere, partially because they are so beautifully constructed, and partially because they are so challenging to play. Monk’s music is hard because it goes in all sorts of directions that music doesn’t normally go, but it always makes perfect sense and ends up precisely where it should.
As a composer, Monk was not formally radical. By far, most of his compositions are in the standard 32-bar AABA format (or in the 12-bar ABC blues), but that doesn’t make them less odd. And a large part of that is Monk’s absolutely unconventional approach to jazz harmony. And melody. And rhythm. But mostly harmony.
Monk would use the strangest chords you could construct to get just the right effect he was going for, and that usually meant that there were a lot of dissonances, probably because Monk just saw the world from a completely different perspective from everybody else. He kind of reminds me of Picasso in that respect. If you look at something from a bunch of different directions at the same time, everything starts to get distorted and strange. I think both of them thought that the artists’ job was trying to make sense out of all that contradictory material that we call life. Of course, I’m not sure about that - they both could have just been screwing around. But then why does their artwork remain so damned fascinating?
Now, of course, in the process of creating these products, the record labels would inadvertently make history of their own. And that’s why when we go back and look at jazz recordings, particularly from this era, we kind of have to use bifocals. To see the way the music originally appeared - which often resulted in some very happy and lucky combinations of oddities, we have to look at the original albums. But to understand how the music was actually created by the musicians, we have to look at the individual recording sessions and appraise what was really going on in time and developmental thinking.
Eventually, record labels would begin working with artists to produce conceptually integrated LPs together that were meant to go together, that worked as a whole, but this would take a while, thanks in large part to artists of strong vision like Miles Davis and Charles Mingus, but this would take a while. (Rock and roll would go through the same thing until the Beatles, Dylan and others began insisting that their albums be seen as one coherent work of art, rather than just a bunch of songs stuck together.)
But for the moment, we’ve got to take a double-tiered view of the situation if we really want to understand what was going on.
So, here are the Monk Prestige sessions - when they were recorded, who played, and what they laid down:
Thelonious Monk (piano) Gerry Mapp (bass) Art Blakey (drums)
Little Rootie Tootie
Sweet and Lovely
Bye-Ya
Monk’s Dream
Thelonious Monk (piano) Gerry Mapp (bass) Max Roach (drums)
Trinkle, Tinkle
These Foolish Things
Bemsha Swing
Reflections
Julius Watkins (French horn) Sonny Rollins (tenor saxophone) Thelonious Monk (piano) Percy Heath (bass) Willie Jones (drums)
Let’s Call This
Think of One (alt. take)
Think of One
Friday the Thirteenth
Ray Copeland (trumpet) Frank Foster (tenor saxophone) Thelonious Monk (piano) Curly Russell (bass) Art Blakey (drums)
Wee See
Smoke Gets in Your Eyes
Locomotive
Hackensack
Thelonious Monk (piano) Percy Heath (bass - 1/3) Art Blakey (drums 1-3)
Work
Nutty
Blue Monk
Just a Gigolo
Sonny Rollins (tenor saxophone) Thelonious Monk (piano) Tommy Potter (bass) Art Taylor (drums)
The Way You Look Tonight
I Want to Be Happy
More Than You Know
It would take a little while for jazz labels (and artists) to get with the new program and put together a group specifically to go in and record an album that would have a consistent feel and a definite structure.
Meanwhile, Prestige records took all of this stuff and somehow came up with three Thelonious Monk albums, all released in 1954. Here was the first one:
Thelonious Monk: Thelonious Monk Trio (1954)
Cool, huh? I don't know about you, but I just absolutely love these way-out-looking mid-'50s album designs. I wouldn't want to be without this, and I really wish I had it on vinyl.
But what's with the title? It's Monk's first album proper, but it's called Thelonious Monk Trio. Now, look at the track listing. I've taken the liberty of providing you with a letter to let you know which session each individual track came from.
Track listing
All compositions by Thelonious Monk, except where noted.1. "Rootie Tootie Tootie" (A)
2. "Sweet and Lovely" (Gus Anheim, Jules LeMare, Harry Tobias) (A)
3. "Bye-Ya" (A)
4. "Monk’s Dream" (A)
5. "Trinkle, Tinkle" (B)
6. "These Foolish Things" (Harry Link, Holt Marvell, Jack Strachey) (B)
7. "Blue Monk" (E)
8. "Just a Gigolo" (Julius Brammer, Irving Caesar, Leonello Casucci) (E)
9. "Bemsha Swing" (B)
10. "Reflections" (B)
Notice that these ten tracks come from three different recording sessions. Well, at least they are all trios. But each recording session features a different trio! Shouldn't it be called Thelonious Monk Trio(s)? In all, we've got five musicians on here. But let's not let that bother us.
What is kind of weird however, is the track listing that I got out of Wikipedia. My copy has the same ten songs, but they're in a completely different order! The Wikipedia article says that it has been "re-released numerous times, occasionally under the title, Monk's Moods and with different track orders." So, I suppose there is no one real and definitive version of the album. I'm assuming the track listing in the article is the original one, but I've got no way of knowing for certain. (This is what happens when art is treated like product - nobody gives a shit.)
Well, we shouldn't let that bother us, then, and just enjoy the music on the album. We'll follow what seems to be the original lineup of the record.
The first four tracks all come from the first session, recorded on 10/15/52. Notice that all of these feature drummer Art Blakey, legendary leader of the Jazz Messengers, who often played on Monk's session dates. As one of the wildest, and hardest-hitting drummers in jazz, he was a perfect foil for Monk's style, giving them a highly visceral, "physical" quality. (The bass player, Gerry Mapp, is unknown to me, and I can find no other information about him.)
"Little Rootie Tootie," with a reference, apparently, to ice cream, is a debut recording. Right away, in the brief into, we notice some typical Monk touches, as we hear some extremely dissonant chords being hit very hard and percussively on the piano. (Notice also, Blakey's hard-beating responses on drums.) This was precisely the sort of thing most musicians sought to avoid, which underline's Monk's attraction to musical heterodoxy, if not downright oddity. Even today, many listeners would find such an extreme entrance to be disturbing, annoying, or just plain "wrong." But Monk got his kicks from going against the grain, and you can be sure that sound musical strategy (as well as a sense of humor) are all perfectly in place.
The theme (a strict 32-bar AABA format) is intentionally designed to make the listener think differently about how music should sound. Its harmonies are highly unusual (and dissonant), but they are perfectly and logically crafted to fit together. Monk literally "hammers home" his point on the A sections every four bars by repeatedly hitting the highly dissonant chord we heard in the intro. It's almost as if he's shouting, "This is music, too. Accept it!"
Any unresolved tension that Monk has built up in the A sections is beautifully resolved in the bridge, which utilizes the precise chords that are needed to balance out this composition. After you hear it, the repeat of the final 8-bar A section makes perfect sense.
Let's be honest. People are going to absolutely love this style and approach to music, while others, who prefer more conventional (and soothing) chord patterns may find Monk unlistenable. (Just think how shocking this music sounded to audiences in 1952!) Personally, I find Monk's approach not only brilliant and clever, but extraordinarily fun as well!
After playing the entire theme, Monk plays two verses of improvisation. As you can hear, he doesn't solo like any other jazz pianist. To me, he reminds me more of a sculptor, carefully crafting exquisite (and odd) figures in time and space.
Several characteristics of Monk's soloing are apparent here in this first piece. First of all, rather that dazzling a listener with fast, impressive runs, Monk tends to lock in on the melody of the composition itself, using it to build up his improvisatory constructions. Since he was just as much as a composer as he was a musician, this made more sense to him. (Monk would ask: "Why do we play a melody and just throw it away?") Here, the melody of the piece is a series of simple rhythmic patterns repeated at different pitches, and Monk keeps that same rhythm going throughout much of his solo.
Another thing Monk loves to use is contrast. Take the bridge of the his first solo, for example. This is an absolutely wild excursion into all sorts of strange and distantly related harmonies - it sounds like it could have come from outer space! But keep listening, and Monk follows this B section with a very straight closing A section that stays straight to the basic chords and could very well be played by any conventional "stride" piano player. The more Monk loves to take things out of the stratosphere, the more aware he is of the need to bring it back down to earth. This, to a large degree, is the true measure of his artistry - his extraordinary sense of balance.
At the beginning of the second solo chorus, we find an example of another of one of Monk's trademarks - repetition. If Monk liked something, he wasn't afraid to play it over and over and into the ground. Listen here, and you'll hear the full eight bars of the first A section to be composed of nothing but two notes (minor seconds at that) being repeated over and over at different rhythms. Why did Monk do this? He wasn't being lazy - the guy could play just about anything. Part of it was his sense of humor, yes, but more importantly, musically, he would use repetition to set up a strong idea psychologically to which he could then respond with a big payoff - and the listener would get it!
Charlie Parker, for example, would construct exquisite phrases of sheer perfection and brilliance. But since it was so lightning fast and danced in such arabesques that it was sometimes hard to follow just what he's playing. (Unless you're a real musical scholar, or you listen to it over and over again.) Monk realized this pitfall of modern jazz and worked hard to make his (often strange) music comprehensible to the listener. Both approaches are valid, and it's interesting that Parker and Monk helped create the music we call bebop together, primarily because their styles were so different. (Ah, but they loved each other's playing!)
Here, Monk follows the repetition in the first A with a very simple (and kind of silly) little phrase jumping back and forth from one note to another, something very much like a child would play. But then he uses that simple pattern as a kind of "launching pad" where he starts on one low note, then builds patterns up slowly on the bridge, building with increasing complexity and harmonic daring.
Instead of continuing to improvise after the climax of the bridge, Monk simply returns to a straight playing of the simple theme for the entire final A section - once again balancing everything out.
Finally, he and Blakey add a coda of a little phrase that has nowhere to go. This is not only quirkily interesting in itself, but it "mirrors" the opening intro that started off the tune in an unusual way. Once again: balance!
So there you go, folks, in just over three minutes, you've got pure Monk. Crazy, kooky insanity combined with clear, logical reason. For me anyway, this guy is one of the most fun, enjoyable musicians I can listen to anywhere!
Now, let's listen to Monk play somebody else's composition. "Sweet and Lovely" is a standard jazz ballad in AABA form. Notice how, in playing the main theme, Monk goes to town, adding all of his idiosyncratic harmonic and rhythmic touches, while still keeping the core melody and harmony of the piece as it was originally written. (When he reaches the bridge, he lets up quite a bit, almost playing it "straight" - once again, for contrast, as well as clarity. Very few musicians could walk this kind of a fine line between a written composition and their own highly interpretive style and keep it in balance. (The great multi-instrumentalist Eric Dolphy would be another one, and Monk was one of his greatest heroes.)
Monk continues on into his solo, playing what are - for him - some elegantly long runs, though they are punctuated by some knotty, percussive chords all of his own making. The result really is "sweet and lovely," even though the composers of this piece might take a minute or two to recognize their own song!
At the end, Monk slows down and plays an absolutely dazzling slow cadenza to finish things off. He throws so many ideas in that it's amazing that they all fit so nicely together. But they do.
The third recording from this first session is another Monk original, entitled "Bye-Ya." It has a strong dance rhythm, sort of like a samba, and Blakey plays along on both his tom-toms and on the wooden top rim of his drums. The whole thing has a kind of Latin flavor and makes you want to get up and dance.
After the basically simple theme has been stated (AABA again), Monk plays two full choruses of solo, while Blakey adds a riding cymbal to give it more uplift. Monk has fun riding the rhythm, adding his own twists and turns (as well as focusing on the pretty sound of the interval of a fourth). On his second chorus, he's virtually dancing on his keyboard, using the rhythm for all it's worth. Where else can you find music that's this smart and this fun?
The last composition recorded in the first session is called "Monk's Dream," and it would become a staple of the pianist's repertoire for the rest of his career. (He would even release a 1964 album entitled Monk's Dream.) It's a very playful piece featuring a repeating rhythmic patterns with harsh dissonances (minor seconds) built right into the voicings. It's in an AABA format, and the bridge is especially challenging, with a climbing first part moving in half-steps. It's designed to be fun, but it will drive anyone crazy who can't stand dissonance - that's what it is made out of!
"Monk's Dream" is simply fabulous modern music, and the pianist really cuts loose on his solo, playfully repeating a trill over and over during the bridge until you'll thing the record's stuck. The second chorus of the solo, especially, displays what a complete mastery Monk has over the keyboard. He is simply a brilliant pianist, no matter how unconventional his approach is, and this is a classic performance.
Up next are the first two selections from the December 18, session, this time featuring the great Max Roach on drums. The results are spectacular, though Roach gives Monk a more straight-ahead bop accompaniment than the flamboyant Blakey does.
The first is the recording debut of "Trinkle, Tinkle," a Monk standard that he would record many more times. This one is even more odd and playful than usual, its theme being a rapid run of notes, followed by a long pause, then answered by a cartoon-like 6-note phrase that is immediately repeated a half-step higher, then finished off quickly, leaving the drummer to complete the full 8-bar A sections. The bridge starts out fast and funny, parodying bebop's penchant for speed by putting too many notes together too quickly. But then in the second half, of course, he brilliantly balances it out.
Monk's solo chorus is pure abstract perfection, as he plays long held notes with his left hand, while smoothly deconstructing the melody with his right. On later recordings, chestnuts such as these would be longer excursions with more soloists stretching them out, and it is real treat here to enjoy them in a prime, unalloyed form clocking in a mere three minutes. This is a pure cubist masterpiece.
Next, from the same session, we get to hear the same ensemble's take on a famous standard. It's a treat to hear something as familiar as "These Foolish Things" given the Monk treatment. It doesn't lose its identity - or even it's sentimental feel - but it does become a radically different sort of animal in the master's hands. Monk's eccentric thinking is really on obvious display here, and his take on this great tune can serve as an excellent starting point for the novice struggling to enter his musical world.
For the next cut, "Blue Monk," we jump all the way forward to a session recorded on September 22, 1954. (Why they split these up so much, I can't say, but at least they kept everything on this album in a trio format.) This is one of Monk's most famous and often-played compositions. As the name implies, it's a 12-bar blues, but the up-and-down crawling of the theme gives it a completely unique character. On this recording, finally, the performers stretch out quite a bit, especially Monk. It's absolutely amazing to hear how many different approaches he takes to the same material - his musical imagination is seemingly endless.
The exquisite bass player, Percy Heath (later of the famous Modern Jazz Quartet) is on hand here to give the performance depth and texture, and Art Blakey is back on drums. Both give a short solo toward the end, and Blakey takes the opportunity to show how he can use the "pitch" of his drums to make use of the melody in his solo. It's a great short taste of what I call his "talking drums" approach. This is classic.
The other take from this session included here is a rendition of the old standard, "Just a Gigolo." I thought it would be interesting and fun to compare Monk's approach to this tune with a more "traditional" reading, so I have included, first, a version by the great Art Tatum. Listening to Monk playing back-to-back with this more "straightforward" approach gives some insight into his idiosyncratic vision. (I know it's not fair to compare anybody with Tatum, but this isn't a contest - merely a demonstration of stylistic differences.)
First of all, note that Monk, like Tatum, performs this piece on solo piano, unaccompanied. Monk takes the tempo a bit slower, but his approach is basically the same stride-style that Tatum employs. Moreover, in his soloing, Monk employs the same sort of rhythmic accentuations and fast runs as does Tatum. But Monk sounds like he's playing on another planet (or at least another piano). Monk has absorbed Tatum's style (along with other pianists) and has applied his own vocabulary of harmonically dissonant relationships to his playing - not only to his own compositions, but to recognized standards. Just as his sources are clearly revealed when we compare him with his predecessors and influences, we can also hear the sharp distinctions that Monk employs with his own, modernistic, advanced style. Note too that Monk's style is highly personal. Unlike other "progressive" bebop jazz pianists, you will never mistake Monk's playing for someone else's.
We now return to the 12/18/52 session with Gerry Mapp and Max Roach. "Bemsha Swing," one of Monk's best-known and most-loved tunes is introduced here, and it incorporates so many of his unique stylistic approaches that it's almost a musical portrait of Monk.
I happened to come across a musical analysis of "Bemsha Swing" in Wikipedia, and I just have to share it:
While Monk may have employed such a complex, seemingly contradictory strategy to produce the effects of this piece, one of the most attractive things about it is its apparently simplicity. There are few tunes you can learn to hum faster than this one - it's almost like a jazzy children's tune, and the harmony gives it funny, quirky quality.
Monk just cuts loose on his improvisations here. He never really leaves the simple melody, but plays countless variations on it, piling one on top of the other, all making perfect sense. Max Roach has fun playing what sounds like random fills that build into big, steady rolls. This is one of the most enjoyable pieces on the album, and it demonstrates the sheer versatility (and joy) of Monk's music.
The album closes with "Reflections," an original Monk ballad recorded at the same session. Once again, it's in a standard form, 32-bar AABA structure, and it's quite easy to follow. It's a lovely theme, with kind happy-go-lucky swing to it, and Monk embellishes his composition with all of the quirky little tricks that he hears in his quite unusual head. It's amazing how such a straightforward tune can be so delightfully odd and satisfying at the same time. After stating the long theme, Monk only plays one chorus of improvisation, but it's so masterful that it's hard to tell where the composition leaves off and the improvisation begins. Monk plays like he writes like he thinks - and that's like nobody else in the world.
Coming soon: Part 2 (really!)
- petey
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