Art Farmer Septet’s “Mau Mau:" From Farmer’s 1953 session in NY, “Mau Mau” marks one of the most profound—and audible—examples of the ways in which the Jazz tradition functions as a Janus head, simultaneously looking to the past and the future. In this case, Farmer’s composition constructs a Latin Jazz track out of what would become the central blues riff used by John Coltrane for “Part I: Acknowledgement,” on his landmark album A Love Supreme. Recorded 12 years prior to Coltrane’s use, Farmer’s recording does not evidence a direct relationship as much as it shows how the Blues pallet acted as the initial voice to which Jazz would not only respond but respond to with endless variety. (The full phrase comes in around 1:43, but it can be heard throughout)
John Coltrane “Part I Acknowledgement:” What is endlessly striking about this song is the way in which Coltrane manages to construct something with all the requisite parts expected of a Jazz song all while constructing something entirely new. The opening fanfare recalls Armstrong’s cadenza on “West End Blues;” Garrison’s 3-note phrasing seems to mouth “A Love Supreme” in the same way that Bill Evan’s piano spoke “sooooooooo what” on the Davis classic “So What;” and the use of the blues riff mentioned in my previous post provides the foundation upon which improvisation could manifest.
And just as the Quartet has seemed to prove Jazz capable of an articulation free of words, just as the song seems to fully realize a speech that can’t be spoken, Coltrane speaks and completely upends arguments that demanded the emerging sound of Jazz be in opposition to spoken language. The simple act of speaking the lines “a love supreme… ” forces the listener to recognize that any expression is a matter of both artifice and technique; thus, to refuse a technique is never a matter of purity; rather, it is always a matter of limiting one’s self the full possibility of expression. To this, Wayne Shorter has said that Coltrane “was going back to square one where the voice is the first announcement of your humanity—your humanity is your instrument.”
Cecil Taylor Quartet “Luyah! The Glorious Step:" There’s really too much going on here to cover anything in full, so I won’t even try. What continues to baffle me, however, is the way in which Taylor’s piano and Earl Griffith’s vibes play in total opposition to each other while somehow forming a whole. Taylor’s attacks have all the threat of the dissonant and classical techniques he would fully unleash in subsequent recordings; and Griffith plays as if charged with corralling the Quartet’s leader, which he does with all the aplomb of a police line. The result is a song in which the two play in counter point, as left hand and right hand, and in much the way we see classical masters like Chopin purposely instigating a conflict between two sounds in total control of their respective voices.
-Lokee
