The construction of the Berlin Wall, hopelessness in concrete. The psychotic reprisals against the Freedom Riders in Alabama, somewhat shown on national television. It can make the listener think: What exactly is going on here?Ī lot of eeriness, a lot of confused, threatened, concealed or failed aggression, a lot of what Frantz Fanon (in “The Wretched of the Earth,” published that year in France) called “that violence which is just under the skin.” The American commencement of secret operations against the Viet Cong, and the American Bay of Pigs invasion. It doesn’t know the meaning of “sufficient.” Sometimes it gets unbearably exciting. It ends when it ends and it could conceivably go on much longer. They were the serious and easeful “Spiritual,” which later helped define a sort of music lately called “spiritual jazz” his version of the standard “Softly, as in a Morning Sunrise,” which (via this recording) helped define the straight-ahead jazz mainstream and, for all of side B, the volatile 12-bar blues in F called “Chasin’ the Trane,” which starts abruptly, as if from a tape splice, and flies forward in lunges, defining nothing and beholden to nothing. A culling from those nights was released as a single LP in February 1962, with only three tracks. (Coltrane’s son Ravi led a band there last week.) Four nights in November were recorded by Impulse, Coltrane’s then-new record label.
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5, 1961, John Coltrane’s group - Coltrane on tenor and soprano saxophone, McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass, Elvin Jones on drums - played at the Village Vanguard, a jazz club that still exists in the same spot on Seventh Avenue South in Manhattan.
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Sixty years ago at this time, for two weeks with Mondays off, from Oct. I wouldn’t diminish “A Love Supreme,” and don’t want to, but I have been thinking about a different part of Coltrane’s music: his run of performances at the Village Vanguard in the fall of 1961. Our own time now is a time for doing the same. It doesn’t necessary proclaim authority it sometimes even resists the notion of the “author.” It distrusts ownership and the authority of the givens, because in they end they won’t do much for us.
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It doesn’t stop and bask at its best it is always going somewhere in real time, working through something. Jazz - I am generalizing - is basically crownless, not particularly icon-oriented, uninterested in a monument. Its strength comes from bands and collectives and traditions, from a will to loop backward and jump forward and revise as one goes. It keeps looking beyond the givens of the star, the leader and the copyrightable, promotable, performed-as-written hit. Deep down it resists the great-works model. But the tradition called jazz doesn’t comply with these demands.