Illegal Foreign Object

I was 18 years old when I began dipping my toe into jazz. I suppose this isn’t entirely unlike many music fans — 18 is traditionally the first year you’re “on your own” to a degree. You’re in college or working (or both), paying bills, making rent, and figuring out how to feed yourself on a day-to-day basis. You’re being told to “grow up” and jazz felt grown-up.

I wormed my way into jazz largely through hip-hop. A Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, and Public Enemy were all sampling from jazz greats. My introduction to Grant Green, Donald Byrd, Ronnie Foster, and so many others came via these all-important samples that were being reworked into the hip-hop genre. I didn’t know it at the time, but thanks to Gang Starr, I first heard Charlie Parker and Miles Davis in ’89, courtesy of the song “Manifest” off the No More Mr. Nice Guy album. Hip-hop was tuning my ear to jazz years before I actively chose to dig into the whole vibe of it all.

When I wasn’t in class or working at the school as part of the Pell Grant that I needed to even afford college in the first place, I was working another part-time gig at a CD store. A year later, I bought a 50% ownership stake in that store, but in ’95 I was just a dude getting paid minimum wage to turn people on to music I thought was cool. This was where my jazz education began (with John Coltrane’s classic Giant Steps). From there, I tried Kind Of Blue and Bitches Brew on for size. I took to Kind Of Blue immediately. Bitches Brew was overwhelming — my ears weren’t yet ready for that onslaught and it took a few years to wrap my arms around that one. Now, I know it’s the product of some of the greatest recording sessions in the history of music.

Coltrane, Miles, Sonny, Duke, Dizzy, and Herbie — I sampled them all. The jazz section of our store wasn’t anything special at first, but it had all the “beginner” albums from many of the greats. I loved what I loved, liked what I liked, and kept listening to the things that were difficult to process.

One such album that took hold of me early on and after almost 30 years, still refuses to let go, is Thelonious Monk’s Brilliant Corners. For the majority of the three sessions that it took to record, Monk was joined by Sonny Rollins, bassist Oscar Pettiford, former Charlie Parker drummer Max Roach, and alto saxophonist Ernie Henry. Bassist Paul Chambers and trumpeter Clark Terry slid in for Henry and Pettiford on “Bemsha Swing”, a song Monk had previously recorded on the Prestige Label (which dealt Monk’s contract to Riverside Records after it couldn’t figure out how to market his music).

The Brilliant Corners sessions were plenty stressful. The album’s title track proved to be an adventure all its own, taking up the entirety of the four-hour 2nd session. It’s feel is not entirely unlike sitting in the backseat while someone tackles a manual car for the first time. It lurches, leaps, sputters, soars, and slides, sometimes all within the span of a few seconds. So overwhelming was the song that after the 25th take, Ernie Henry came close to a complete mental breakdown. Then Pettiford and Monk got into an argument about the arrangement. During one of the takes, Pettiford was so angry that he mimed his playing — his fingers never touched a string on his bass. Monk hadn’t bothered to share the tune with the band before the session — he, much like Duke Ellington, believed the best way to get into a song was to learn it by ear. For this particular composition, a 22-bar structure with divebombing tempo changes and odd phrasing, however, only Sonny Rollins seemed to get control of things (while still saying it’s one of the hardest pieces he’s ever learned). After the sessions, producer Orrin Keepnews sat in Reeves Sound Studio and spliced together takes to complete the track. The results are outstanding, but the song tore the quintet apart.

When the band reconvened for the 3rd and final recording session, it did so without Henry or Pettiford. Henry had quit to join Dizzy Gillespie’s band; Pettiford flat refused to return. After three albums with Monk, the bassist reached his limit. This is what led to Terry and Chambers being included on the album. Because the title track had taken up so much time during the 2nd session, the band was left with just 20 minutes of studio time after completing “Bemsha Swing”. Needing another 5 minutes worth of music for the label to consider the album complete, Monk cranked out a beautiful 5-and-a-half-minute solo run through “I Surrender, Dear”. It’s one of my favorite pieces — no matter how many times I hear it, it plunges itself deep into my heart.

And that’s all I really have to go on when I write these reviews. I took a music theory course — barely remember any of it. I don’t understand most of the technical intricacies of a song, only the way it all makes me feel. With Brilliant Corners, Thelonious Monk made me feel many of the same feelings that those playing the music must’ve wrestled with during those sessions. There are moments of exhilaration, confusion, sexiness, and sadness — it’s a record for all seasons and all reasons.

Brilliant Corners is a landmark jazz album, one last quiet moment before John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman kicked wide the doors of perception and introduced the listening world to their more experimental, improvisational brand of free jazz. It is also the album that finally gave Monk the fame he so rightly deserved.

Track List:

1. Brilliant Corners 10/10
2. Ba-Lue Bolivar Ba-Lues-Are 10/10
3. Pannonica 8/10
4. I Surrender, Dear 10/10
5. Bemsha Swing 9/10

Grade: 94