Hard to believe, but writer, producer, and label head Orrin Keepnews has been actively involved in nearly every aspect of the development of American jazz for over 50 years now. Last year the Concord Music Group began a series of reissues to commemorate his legacy as producer, from his early beginnings as co-founder of Riverside Records with Bill Grauer through his own Milestone imprint in the late ‘60s and ‘70s. The label is releasing this “collector series” not only with a 24-bit mastering job on each, but new liners from Keepnews himself, which contain jewels of session recollections, random anecdotes about the players, and clarifications on dates and musicians.

For my money, there is no finer piano trio record than Bill Evans’ Portrait in Jazz (1959), although I’d agree wholeheartedly that the following Waltz for Debby (1961) is just as sublime. Few of the selections in this collection benefit more from the remastering than Portrait, the rich pastels of Evans’ voicings taking on a new life as the brittleness of the original recording is remedied, and bassist Scott LaFaro’s invaluable presence in the mix is increased tenfold. If you’re not completely swooned by “Spring Is Here” or the group’s interpretation of “Autumn Leaves,” you’re missing a lot more than just a pulse. Absolutely timeless and unequivocally essential. Wes Montgomery’s breakthrough The Incredible Jazz Guitar (1960) is another welcome rediscovery, arguably his finest hour and a far cry from his late-career schmaltz-with-strings sessions with producer Creed Taylor. The raw intensity between the quartet on opener “Airegin” is still incendiary and fresh, and Montgomery’s touch on the ballads like “In Your Own Sweet Way” is exquisite. Everything about what made the leader such a sensation and “the best thing to happen to the guitar since Charlie Christian” is here in spades: blocky piano-like chords, thumb-picked flights of 16th notes, his signature octave runs that sound almost inhuman. This is one of those “if you could only own one by such-and-such artist” records whose rewards must surpass a hundred listens.

“Mr. Walker” – Wes Montgomery 4:32 (The Incredible Jazz Guitar, Riverside 1960)

Montgomery’s meeting with vibraphonist Milt Jackson on Bags Meets Wes! (1961) has been repackaged enough times to the point of absurdity, but it remains a solid set and one of the highlights of the latter’s discography (his work with the Modern Jazz Quartet excluded, of course); Sam Jones’ bass is captured beautifully in the left channel on this edition. Montgomery also appears in fine form on Nat Adderley’s Work Song (1960), a record that has been on my wish list for years, and despite my generally tepid response to blues-based blowing sessions these days, it’s a pretty infectious listen. Not a ‘classic’ by any means, but certainly a worthy addition (though the analog distortion on “Pretty Memory” is curiously unnerving). Coleman Hawkins’ career-reviving The Hawk Flies High (1957) is also a first encounter for me, an immensely satisfying listen that offers further insight into Hawk’s ingenious adaptation to practically any setting, even one as odd as one that includes the presence of trumpeter Idrees Suliemann and trombonist J. J. Johnson.

“Laura” – Coleman Hawkins 4:34 (The Hawk Flies High, Riverside (1957)

Thelonious Monk was Riverside’s first major signing, so it’s hardly surprising that the pianist is represented in the Keepnews Collection again for a third time (proceeded by At Town Hall [1959] and Plays Duke Ellington [1955]). The stories behind the recording of Brilliant Corners (1956) are almost hilariously over-the-top – how the title track was virtually cursed from the start and meticulously assembled from 24 (!) takes, to a pissed-off Oscar Pettiford miming his bass playing to spite the leader, sending the engineer into a near-mental breakdown – and yet despite all of its flaws, it remains both fascinating and entertaining as ever. Keepnews’ liner notes in this new edition are indispensable and almost worth the purchase price of the disc alone. Also present during the Brilliant Corners fiasco was tenor giant Sonny Rollins, whose underrated Freedom Suite (1958) deserves more than its current footnote status in trajectory of his career. The twenty-minute tour-de-force of the title track tends to overshadow the brief afterthoughts of standards on side two, making for a rather lopsided listening experience, but if nothing else the record is important in the development of Rollins’ compositional talents, which tend to get overlooked in discussions of his oeuvre.

“Brilliant Corners” – Thelonius Monk 7:47 (Brilliant Corners, Riverside 1956)

I can think of a dozen records from pianist McCoy Tyner’s catalogue that deserve the 24-bit reissue treatment more than his bloated Fly with the Wind (1976) project (namely Sahara [1972] and Trident [1975]), but the remastering job here removes some of the original CD transfer’s chalkiness, helping to spotlight the impeccable air-tightness of a rhythm section like Ron Carter and Billy Cobham. Still, I’ve never been sold on the pairing of Tyner’s muscular, full-bodied playing with the dense sonorities of a string section, and the record mostly sinks under its own weight. Cannonball Adderley’s In New York (1962) is another head-scratcher, one of the lesser outings in a long series of platters for Capitol and OJC in the early ‘60s. Recorded with his working sextet at the time – which included brother Nat and Yusef Lateef on horns, plus a young Joe Zawinul – the session rarely rises above mere competency; this is the era when Adderley seemed stuck in an endless recycling of his own jollied-up licks and phrases, churning out album after album of good-time nightclub jazz in an assembly line fashion. Trumpeter Blue Mitchell’s Blue Soul (1959) fares better in the R&B-jazz category, a slick and soulful date with a band that can’t be faulted, and the electricity between the leader and Jimmy Heath’s tenor sax makes up for the rather run-of-the-mill material.

“Park Avenue Petite” – Blue Mitchell 3:58 (Blue Soul, Original Jazz Classics 1959)

Jazz tribute albums have always been notoriously riddled with subtexts: contract filler, creative slump, unabashed eye on the Grammys. So it was with a deep sigh of relief when I neared the end of pianist John Beasley’s latest Letter to Herbie (2008) and concluded that it was none of the above. Beasley’s résumé is far too extensive to detail here, but notables include film and television work, tours with everyone from Miles Davis to Queen Latifah, and recent musical director for American Idol. A set devoted to nothing but Herbie Hancock tunes would appear to have “bored in the studio one afternoon” written across it in capital letters, but what emerges here are ten exciting interpretations of an artist’s music whose influence is so far-reaching it simply cannot be measured. Wisely, Beasley eschews obvious run-throughs of “Chameleon” and “Cantaloupe Island” for overlooked gems like “The Naked Camera” (from Hancock’s underrated score for Blow Up [1967]) and “Vein Melter,” transformed here into a hazy, blunted-out dub. The one standard, “Maiden Voyage” is given a fresh and intriguing makeover through a clever reharmonization. Hardly essential, and docked a mark or two for its overproduced, digital atmosphere, but a fun listen regardless.

“The Naked Camera” – John Beasley 5:20 (Letter to Herbie, Resonance 2008)

Quick – name your top five favorite jazz bass clarinetists. If you’re struggling to come up with more than Eric Dolphy, Bennie Maupin, and maybe John Surman, you’re not alone. The raw, gutteral bass clarinet has always been something of an acquired taste among jazz aficionados, generally relegated to the third- or fourth-string lineup in the arsenal of your average horn player. Detroit-born Maupin was one of the instrument’s early pioneers, blending its dark colors into Miles’ Bitches Brew (1970) and Herbie Hancock’s Mwandishi and Headhunters collectives. While his solo output over the years has been sporadic at best, his recent association with the forward-looking Cryptogramophone label has spawned Penumbra (2006) and Early Reflections (2008), scheduled for release next month. Recorded in Warsaw, here Maupin finds himself in a quartet setting with some of Poland’s most talented up-and-coming improvisers, augmented by the wordless vocals of Hania Chowaniec-Rybka on two cuts. The undercurrent of intense spirituality that has characterized Maupin’s writing remains strong, as the bulk of the material was inspired by the folk musics of the Tatra mountain region on the southern border of Poland. The band also tackles the title track from his ECM debut The Jewel in the Lotus (1974) and displays some remarkable group interplay on “Prophet’s Motifs” and the slinky, Latin-flavored “Escondido.” While a desire to hear Maupin leading a larger ensemble is understandable, Early Reflections will suffice quite nicely, and signals a welcome resurgence in his long-dormant career.

“Escondido” – The Bennie Maupin Quartet 7:46 (Early Reflections, Cryptogramophone 2008)

Initially, it may be hard to believe that pianist Marian McPartland will be turning 90 in a few weeks until one steps back and inhales the sheer scope of her career. As the host of NPR’s Piano Jazz, McPartland is perhaps most famously known for her participation in the media organization’s longest-running cultural program (since 1978), yet since the days of her residency at New York’s famed Hickory House nightclub in the early ’50s, she has walked multiple paths as a pianist, songwriter, and broadcaster, all with high degrees of success. Twilight World (2008) drops tomorrow on Concord and it’s a pleasant if unchallenging set of cocktail jazz, the kind of stuff McPartland has been issuing effortlessly over the past decade or so. One couldn’t ask for a more sympathetic foil in the rhythm section of bassist Gary Mazzaroppi and drummer Glenn Davis, and the pianist’s touch remains as unfettered and elegant as ever. Twilight World mostly finds the trio running through a gamut of covers, from Ornette Coleman’s “Lonely Woman” to Bacharach’s “Alfie,” peppered with a few McPartland originals. The pianist will be observing her birthday later this month with an engagement at The Lincoln Center in New York, with a who’s who from the jazz elite expected to sit in.

“Stranger in a Dream” – Marian McPartland 4:33 (Twilight World, Concord 2008)

Gonzalo Rubalcaba is arguably the most famous of contemporary Cuban-born jazz pianists, and has helped to put a modern face on Blue Note and salvage it from near-irrelevancy during his nearly two-decade stint with the label. When I first heard his Discovery: Live at Montreux (1990) disc with Paul Motion and Charlie Haden I thought dude was a revelation, and though the novelty of his unsubtle, occasionally jarring approach has worn off, the electricity in his playing remains a nice change of pace. The much-anticipated Avatar (2008) continues his string of typically unpredictable settings, this time with saxophonist Yosvany Terry, Mike Rodriguez on trumpet, Matt Brewer on bass, and Marcus Gilmore on drums. Terry contributes almost half of the material, and there is a restless, on-the-edge vigor to his writing that must have had the pianist chomping at the bit; Gilmore, in particular, sounds like a kid in a candy store on tracks like “Hip Side” and “This Is It.” Rubalcaba’s occasional overbearing presence remains his Achilles heel, and like much of his output, he can come across as merely expending excess energy (not entirely dissimilar to McCoy Tyner’s bloated mid-’70s catalogue on OJC). Still, there are plenty of sparks to be found, and longtime fans of Rubalcaba will find much to devour here.

“Hip Side” – Gonzalo Rubalcaba 8:34 (Avatar, Blue Note 2008)

These days it seems like one can’t truly be considered a jazz artist without releasing the requisite “personal growth” album, which happens to be the category which Awake (2008), Miguel Zenón’s latest entry on Branford Marsalis‘ label, falls into. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I can’t help but miss the days when a musician would leave the thematic interpretation to the listener without some sort of programmatic baggage to accompany every release. The majority of Awake finds Zenón leading a quartet through all-original material, which is supplemented by a string quartet on two selections and a brass trio on another; these happen to be some of the highlights of the disc, in fact. The tone of Zenón’s alto has always been a little too vanilla for my tastes and at times the rhythm section sounds like they’re sneaking glances at the studio clock, but the spicy “Penta” and the lovely tone poem of “Lamamilla” keep the record afloat, and “Cameron” sounds like it would slay in a club setting. Awake doesn’t quite achieve the heights of Zenón’s previous full-length Jibaro (2005), but it marks a significant step forward in his compositional talents.

“Penta” – Miguel Zenón 7:32 (Awake, Marsalis Music 2008)

Depending on my mood, were someone to ask me what’s wrong with the state of popular music today (and if I may be so bold, the world in general), my response would probably be, “Folks don’t listen to enough John Coltrane.” Sure, you’re likely to discover at least one ‘Trane platter or disc in the average healthy music collection – a Giant Steps (1959) here, a Blue Train (1957) there, and possibly A Love Supreme (1965) somewhere – but it takes a pretty hefty amount of gumption and courage to venture into the turbulent waters of Coltrane’s later-era work (roughly ’65 until his death in July ’67), where run-of-the-mill blowing themes have mutated into noisy, hostile sound-worlds. This is the territory where Coltrane transcends corporeal terms like “jazz musician” or “great saxophonist” for more applicable designations like “immortal” or “saint.” It also sends unprepared dilettantes running for the hills in terror, palms over their ears.

Few discographies are more intimidating for a musician with such a brief window of studio recordings – roughly a mere decade (’57-’67) in Coltrane’s case. His catalogue can be divided into three distinct eras based on label association: his early “sheets of sound” phase on Prestige and Blue Note, the middle Atlantic Records years, and his Classic Quartet recordings and experimental works on Impulse!. It is this last period that has been the most discussed, dividing both critics and fans, and perplexing jazz scholars looking for an easy explanation behind Coltrane’s restless musical pursuits. The quartet that the saxophonist assembled in 1962 – comprised of pianist McCoy Tyner, bassist Jimmy Garrison, and drummer Elvin Jones – is considered today one of the most revered in the jazz canon, a breakthrough unit of minds and talent that breached beyond the confines of hard bop and helped established the parameters for the avant-garde, guided by the leader’s deeply spiritual sonic explorations.

Pity the poor soul thumbing through the “Jazz” racks at Barnes & Noble, innocently seeking some light evening dinner music and arriving home with their very own copy of Kulu Se Mama (1965). As with most of the great jazz legends whose output, official or unofficial, stretches into the triple digits, some guidance is necessary. The following ten records are what I believe to be the most essential of Coltrane’s Impulse! work, albeit under the unlikely presumption that the eager neophyte has $150 in disposable income to drop on an artist they know very little about. The rest can pick and choose based on their level of comfort and/or taste for adventure.

The Complete Africa/Brass Sessions Impulse! 1995 Originally recorded May-June 1961

Coltrane’s first outing for Creed Taylor’s label was a larger-scale project utilizing a sizable horn ensemble to supplement the quartet (although technically Garrison had not yet joined at this stage), resulting in a rich, expansive palette for which he could apply his broad strokes of tenor. The Africa/Brass (1995) charts were penned by Eric Dolphy, pianist Tyner, and the leader, and foreshadow to an extent the larger orchestrations that Coltrane would experiment with on Ascension (1965) (see below). The playing is top-notch all around, and Coltrane even unleashes the fluttering of his soprano on the waltz-inflected “Greensleeves,” which by now had become something of a custom for him wherever a 6/8 pulse appeared. Jones, in particular, seems absolutely enthralled by the surroundings, creating swells of shuffling polyrhythms to accent the soloists. This double-disc set tends to be on the pricier side, but every moment is worth it, and yes, you do need to hear all three takes of the majestic “Africa.”

“Song of the Underground Railroad” – John Coltrane 6:44 (The Complete Africa/Brass Sessions, Impulse 1995)

Live at The Village Vanguard: The Master Takes Impulse! 1998 Originally recorded November 1961

The released documentation of Coltrane’s residency at The Village Vanguard in November of ‘61 suffered from inaccuracies for years – from who played on what to what was recorded when – but with the release of the four-disc The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings (1997), the confusion appears to have been clarified. Meanwhile, the inquisitive novice should begin with The Master Takes (1998) before meticulously comparing takes within the box set, as the essentials from this historic session are all here: Dolphy’s gutteral bass clarinet on the opener “Spiritual,” the leader’s brilliant theme deconstruction on “Impressions” (one of his most analyzed solos to date), the hypnotic twin-bass drone of “India,” and the riveting quarter-hour of the John Gilmore-inspired “Chasin’ the Train,” which almost holds the same shock value as it did when it first appeared nearly 50 (!) years ago. Obsessives can and should splurge on the four-disc package, which is thoroughly and exquisitely annotated, but this five-song collection will suffice quite nicely for most listeners.

“Impressions” – John Coltrane 14:52 (Live at the Village Vanguard: The Master Takes, Impulse! 1998)

Ballads Impulse! 1962 Originally recorded September-November 1962

Normally I’d never recommend a record comprised entirely of ballads from any artist, but Coltrane was so phenomenal at handling slower tempos that it would be almost criminal to overlook Ballads (1962). The leader was suffering from dental problems at the time and was having difficulty with his embouchure, so in effect, Ballads was released as a sort of concession until his mouth healed and he regained his articulation. All of the standards here, from “Too Young to Go Steady” to “Nancy (With the Laughing Face)” are handled with class and dignity, never sinking to the level of tepid cocktail-piano pleasantry. Ballads will warmly cloak you with its dark intimacy, and few records of the era are as conducive to a lonely evening with your bottle of choice.

“You Don’t Know What Love Is” – John Coltrane 5:14 (Ballads, Impulse! 1962)

Crescent Impulse! 1964 Originally recorded April-June 1964

I’ve covered Crescent (1964) on the site before, including it on my list of Ten Non-Essential Jazz Platters last summer, and I still feel it’s the best overall representation of what this quartet could accomplish, despite its slightly grab-bag presentation. The record’s price is justified alone by the inclusion of two of Coltrane’s most jaw-dropping ballads, Tyner’s piano feature “Wise One” and “Lonnie’s Lament,” which features a haunting extended bass solo from Garrison. Other than his commanding tenor on the title track and the brief mid-album break-in-mood “Bessie’s Blues,” Coltrane cedes the majority of the playing to his band, only resurfacing during the second half of the record to engage in some sax/drum interplay on Jones’ showcase “The Drum Thing,” which closes the album. Crescent has always been popularly referred to as ‘Trane’s “darkest” record, and indeed, compared to the halo-like radiance emitted by its nearest sibling, it is certainly much more introspective and contemplative. It’s a fine place to start, with something here to satisfy everyone.

“Wise One” – John Coltrane 9:01 (Crescent, Impulse! 1964)

A Love Supreme Impulse! 1965 Originally recorded December 1964

Rarely has the word ‘timeless’ been better suited to a jazz record. I can’t in good conscience recommend another item on this list over A Love Supreme, so if you can only acquire one, make it this one. For those who’ve never heard a note of it, I’ll try my best to disguise my envy at the enlightenment you’re about to experience. A Love Supreme marvelously achieved everything Coltrane was working to accomplish up until then, his own personal poem to God that remains unparalleled in jazz to this day; even the staunchest atheist would be moved by its awesome power. In an alternate universe, a copy of A Love Supreme can be found in every hotel nightstand across the country. I couldn’t possibly elaborate upon this record without recycling what has been written before. It’s perfection, and you should own it. I’ll leave it at that.

“Resolution” – John Coltrane 7:25 (A Love Supreme, Impulse! 1965)

The John Coltrane Quartet Plays Impulse! 1965 Originally recorded February-May 1965

The John Coltrane Quartet Plays (1965) is an odd curve in the Coltrane trajectory. After the spiritual catharsis of A Love Supreme, the leader seemed to be in a kind of limbo during the following months, not wanting turn his back entirely on form and structure yet hesitant to dive headfirst into the unexplored realms of free jazz (or The New Thing, as the kids were calling it back then). On the surface, these sessions appear to be pieced together to tide over fans while the leader was immersed in the planning stages of Ascension, but as a four-song package it holds together surprisingly well. Art Davis steps in to play arco second bass on the popular Nat King Cole vehicle “Nature Boy,” while the group rips through the modal waltz “Chim Chim Cheree,” one of the last instances of Coltrane’s soprano playing. The two Coltrane originals, “Brasilia” and “Song of Praise,” are much more introspective but no less potent. It’s convenient to think of Plays as a minor stepping stone between the towers of A Love Supreme and Ascension, but it’s far more deserving of a critical re-evaluation as its own unique entity.

“Song of Praise” – John Coltrane 9:51 (The John Coltrane Quartet Plays, Impulse! 1965)

The Major Works of John Coltrane Impulse! 1992 Originally recorded June-October 1965

Unequivocally essential. The monolithic The Major Works of John Coltrane (1992) gathers both 40-minute editions of the free-jazz collective improv “Ascension,” the surreal Kalahari journey “Kulu Se Mama,” and arguably the strangest item in the Coltrane discography, “Om,” an experiment reportedly committed to tape while the leader was in the midst of an intense acid trip. “Ascension” is often compared to Ornette Coleman’s Free Jazz (1960) in scope and length, yet where Coleman took advantage of a double-quartet ensemble, Coltrane employed an eleven-piece band for a studied examination of unrestrained group improvisation. The lineup is of an all-star caliber: Freddie Hubbard, John Tchicai, Archie Shepp, Pharoah Sanders, Art Davis; the list goes on. Chord changes could be ignored or adhered to, solo structures followed a loose guideline of dynamics, modes were indicated by hand signals, and all the while the three-man rhythm section crashed and tumbled underneath. “Ascension” signaled Coltrane’s increasingly-apparent desires to move beyond the confines of the standard quartet, whose restrictions prevented his need to explore the impenetrable slabs of sound and volume he heard in his head. The other pieces included here aren’t quite as significant, but are no less fascinating and are most certainly worth having. The Major Works isn’t something you’d play while getting ready for a Saturday night at the club, but given some patience and the right frame of mind, one can get lost inside this set for months.

“Acension (Edition II) (Excerpt)” – John Coltrane 7:56 (The Major Works of John Coltrane, Impulse! 1992)

Sun Ship Impulse! 1971 Originally recorded August 1965

Even regular Coltrane devotees like myself tend to overlook Sun Ship (1971), recorded shortly after Ascension. Besides the misleading cover image (Coltrane doesn’t play soprano anywhere on the record), the record’s chief distinguishing trait from its peers is the fidelity, as it was one of the rare studio sessions not engineered by Rudy Van Gelder; the result is a rougher, murkier mix that suits the music surprisingly well. Coltrane’s solos here veer toward the raucous kinetic energy characteristic of Pharoah Sanders and Archie Shepp, and Tyner, whose unease and reservations were reflected in his playing by this point, demonstrates remarkable fluidity and what can best be described as a compelling tangentiality in his solos. Jones, on the other hand, sounds downright angry, firing shotgun-like bursts from his kit at the leader, while Garrison again almost steals the show with a bass solo that encompasses over half of the ten-minute “Ascent” (no, Coltrane didn’t exactly have a Mingus-like flair for distinctive song titles). Coltrane’s post-Love Supreme sessions tend to have a reputation as documents of group discomposure, the quartet’s once-telekinetic interplay threatening to implode from the gravity of Coltrane’s vision; Sun Ship proves that this wasn’t always the case.

“Amen” – John Coltrane 8:14 (Sun Ship, Impulse! 1971)

Meditations Impulse! 1965 Originally recorded November 1965

Meditations qualifies as my personal favorite of Coltrane’s Impulse! catalogue, a 40-minute colossus of raw, noisy power interrupted only by glistening moments of serenity. Essentially two lengthy suites that originally occupied one side of the record each, the leader actually recorded the same material ten months earlier with just the quartet, subsequently released as First Meditations (1965). For this later session, Coltrane augmented the group with a percussionist who specialized in the kind of pulse-less white noise he was searching for, a young Philadelphian named Rashied Ali, as well as the wild tenor sax of Pharoah Sanders (who had participated in “Ascension,” above). Jones was decidedly nonplussed by the addition of a second drummer and at times appears to be competing with Ali, struggling to establish himself over the cacophony. Indeed, it is this very conflict which only serves to amplify the intensity of the record. Coltrane seems enthralled by his new surroundings, scaling hitherto-unreachable heights with his playing, and while Sanders only contributes to two tracks (the blistering opener “The Father and The Son and The Holy Ghost” and “Consequences”), at times he sounds as if he’s a wild boar being skinned alive, such is the furious determination in his squealing altissimo. Tyner puts his best foot forward, but it’s pretty obvious he has no idea what the hell is going on; it would be his last recorded session with the group. This is not an easy album to sit through and is undoubtedly one of the more challenging listens in the Coltrane canon, but Meditations is absolutely gripping from start to finish.

“Love” – John Coltrane 8:10 (Meditations, Impulse! 1965)

Interstellar Space Impulse! 1974 Originally recorded February 1967

Coltrane’s last studio project, recorded just a few months before his death at age 40, was a series of duets with drummer Rashied Ali and posthumously titled Interstellar Space (1974), released seven years later. By this point, Coltrane was working to establish a pure-sound environment free of song structure, tempo, and the confines of tonal harmony, and the unorthodox Ali was the perfect foil for his muse. Considering its title as well as the selections named after planets in the solar system, comparisons to the cosmos and beyond are inevitable, but I’ve always heard this record as inherently terrestrial, Coltrane’s channel of tenor burrowing, splitting, and colliding against Ali’s shifting geologic architecture. Sonically, this is as bare-bones as Coltrane got, and with the absence of a pulse or harmonic counterpart, Interstellar Space can’t be approached like the earlier Impulse! selections. Yet there is a peaceful solace underlining the cacophony here, as if Coltrane knew he was clearly onto something, his spiritual nirvana through music nearing its full awakening. Sadly, he would leave this world before reaping the fruits of his discovery, but the path he cleared for the rest of us has yielded enough rewards to last a lifetime.

“Venus” – John Coltrane 8:36 (Interstellar Space, Impulse! 1974)

BUT WHAT ABOUT…?

Impressions (Impulse! 1961)
A fine supplement to any Coltrane collection, but with its two best cuts (”India” and the title track) found on Live at The Village Vanguard: The Master Takes (above), Impressions (1961) doesn’t qualify as required listening, although many will seek this out on the inclusion of one of Coltrane’s most breathtaking ballads, “After the Rain.”

John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman (Impulse! 1963)
The John Coltrane and Johnny Hartman (1963) project was suggested to ‘Trane by his producer Bob Thiele and was recorded in March of ‘63, following Ballads (above). Some lovely tunes, to be sure, but hardly mandatory.

Duke Ellington and John Coltrane (Impulse! 1962)
This somewhat frustrating curiosity would seem to have “classic” plastered all over it, but on Duke Ellington and John Coltrane (1962) it’s the latter player whose enthusiasm called in sick that day. Another date at the suggestion of Thiele, but Coltrane’s heart just wasn’t in this.

Stellar Regions (Impulse! 1995)
A collection of recordings made just before Coltrane’s death and curated by wife Alice Coltrane, Stellar Regions (1995) is more of an assortment of unpolished studio outtakes than the requisite companion piece to Interstellar Space (above) that it’s often made out to be.

Coltrane for Lovers (Impulse! 2001)
Are you kidding? Go buy a Chet Baker compilation or something – the point of this post has flown completely over your head.

Back in June I posted a list of “Ten Non-Essential Jazz Platters” and the wave of enthusiasm in response to it was both shocking and exciting. One word dominated the general feedback to the post: more. So here are ten additional non-essentials that would benefit a newcomer’s jazz collection, aka it’s the remix, son!

Albert Ayler New Grass Impulse! 1968

Free jazz luminary Albert Ayler lost so many fans and critics at the time of the release of New Grass (1968) that I’m slightly nervous about introducing it here, but I’ve had little success in the past with pointing curious novices in the direction of Spiritual Unity (1964) (a record famously likened to hearing someone scream the word ‘fuck’ in St. Patrick’s Cathedral). New Grass was considered such an abomination that it lingered in obscurity for nearly forty years, but time has revealed a wealth of treasures in a record that signaled such a drastic stylistic shift for Ayler. I’ve found the most challenging obstacle between Ayler and a new listener is the tone of his sax, an unharnessed, primal roar that takes some degree of preparation in order to assimilate. The strong blues influences, gospel inflections, and Motown grooves of New Grass tend to cushion the saxophonist’s wildest outbursts, although a first-timer could hardly be faulted at particular moments for thinking a dog was being slowly tortured over a Temptations backing track. An open mind is absolutely mandatory in approaching this record, a bold statement on the face of the late-’60s jazz avant-garde and one that I strangely continue returning to, perhaps more than any of Ayler’s other albums.

“Sun Watcher” – Albert Ayler 7:30 (New Grass, Impulse! 1968)

Miles Davis Ascenseur pour l’échafaud - Original Soundtrack Fontana 1958

Undoubtedly one of the most talked-about items in the Miles Davis canon, this soundtrack to an obscure French film noir flick is as fascinating as the story behind its recording. While Miles was visiting Paris in December of 1957, he was approached by director Louis Malle to compose the music for his latest psychological thriller. In typical Miles fashion, he entered the studio with a group of four local musicians and a few skeletons of harmonic changes and completed the score in an afternoon, all by watching looped scenes from the film that were projected in front of the band. Beyond the initial “It was late on a rainy night when this dame struts into my office…” vibe, this record is a remarkable study in opposing extremes: it’s immediately approachable yet distant, cold yet radiating with mysterious sexuality. Miles’ trumpet has rarely ever been so chilling, and the hefty dose of the most gorgeous reverb applied to it doesn’t hurt matters in the least. This is a record to accompany those last lonely moments before sleep, when consciousness finally succumbs to the aching warmth of the liquor and the stale taste of unfiltered cigarettes.

“Générique” – Miles Davis 2:50 (Ascenseur pour l’échafaud, Fontana 1958)

Jack DeJohnette Oneness ECM 1997

For reasons I can’t quite put my finger on, I don’t purchase much modern jazz; the bulk of my collection ends around the mid-’70s. I can also bring to mind twenty drummers I’d rather listen to than Jack DeJohnette, despite his participation in some of the most phenomenal jazz records of the past forty years. Exceptions can always be made, however, and I fell in love with Oneness (1997) immediately upon first listen about ten years go. Essentially a collection of improvised mood pieces, the atmosphere here is spacious and surreal, like wandering through a dense fog on a beach during a December morning. Percussionist Don Alias is a lively foil to DeJohnette’s white-noise textures, though the real focus here is on pianist Michael Cain, who commands each of these sound-worlds with rich colors and subtle accents. Detectable here is the stark aural environment familiar to most ECM releases which tends to dull me to weariness, but I could get lost in this record for days.

“Free Above Sea” – Jack DeJohnette 5:54 (Oneness, ECM 1997)

Duke Ellington Far East Suite Bluebird 1966

Ellington is another jazz giant that newcomers have no idea where to start with. Instead of reciting a list of a dozen Ellington essentials, I’ll simply recommend my personal favorite from his massive catalog, a record whose elegance and beauty is something I still can’t fully grasp. Far East Suite (1966) has always been one of the more acclaimed Ellington/Strayhorn vehicles in part because the duo incorporated the music of non-Western cultures without the slightest hint of pretension or patronage. Taken at face value it’s one of the most instantly likeable and listenable jazz platters in the history of the genre, with something for everyone, whether it’s the bold strokes of Paul Gonsalves‘ tenor, the exotic harmonies that color “Agra” and “Depk,” or the animated horn arrangements that punctuate the proceedings. Really, it’s impossible to be bored by this record; I’ve easily listened to it over a hundred times and still can’t get enough of it. If you’re not completely swooned by “Isfahan,” one of the most stunning four minutes of the past half-century, then you’re sadly probably not going to like anything else on this list, if not jazz in general.

“Isfahan” – Duke Ellington 4:10 (Far East Suite, Bluebird 1966)

Joe Henderson Page One Blue Note 1963

Like the Prestiges of the ’50s, much of Blue Note’s catalog from the early ’60s consists of simple blowing-themes dates, sessions-by-numbers in which the musicians showed up, ran through a handful of standards, and left the studio a few hours later with enough cash for the month’s rent. Saxophonist Joe Henderson’s debut, Page One (1963), would appear to fall into this category were it not for the remarkable quality of the compositions and the level of playing here. Henderson is one of those jazz giants who rarely puts a foot wrong, whose solos are more like nebulous concepts that yield incredible rewards upon dissection, and he has an endless stock of irresistible licks that young sax players crib from to this day. There are six tunes here, all composed by Henderson and trumpeter Kenny Dorham, and all are undeniably memorable, even the requisite blues number “Homestretch.” Pianist McCoy Tyner refrains from his usual knotty and cerebral voicings and delivers a straightforward and classy performance. Page One has long been considered a second-string jazz classic and is deserving of its own place in the upper echelon of must-haves.

“Recorda Me” – Joe Henderson 6:01 (Page One, Blue Note 1963)

Freddie Hubbard Straight Life CTI 1970

Straight Life (1970) has a skimpy running time of 36 minutes and there are only three tracks – and one of them is a polite little throwaway. So why would I recommend this? Simply because the other two selections, the title track and “Mr. Clean,” are some of the most exciting electric jazz committed to analog, executed by a band that most musicians would only dream of: Hubbard at the helm with the aforementioned Joe Henderson at his side, with a pre-”This Masquerade” George Benson on guitar, Herbie Hancock on keys, and a rhythm combo comprised of the legendary Ron Carter and Jack DeJohnette, supplemented by percussionists Richie Landrum and Weldon Irvine. Sparks are bound to fly in a musical setting like this, a more streamlined variation of the no-frills funk that Miles was experimenting with at the time. Benson and Hancock rip into the laid-back pimp groove of “Mr. Clean” with a bold impulsiveness rarely seen by either, though the highlight reel for every player here is extensive. Straight Life has always been overshadowed by its older sibling Red Clay (1970), but I’ve always felt it was the pinnacle of Hubbard’s stint at Creed Taylor’s CTI Records during the early ’70s.

“Mr. Clean” – Freddie Hubbard 13:37 (Straight Life, CTI 1970)

Bobby Hutcherson Montara Blue Note 1975

The lovely Montara (1975) is a no-brainer for those looking to get their feet wet in the waters of Latin jazz. I featured this record in a post for EarFuzz a while ago and found that many already knew of it through its appropriation on Madlib’s Shades of Blue (2003). Surprisingly, Blue Note waited nearly thirty years to reissue this album, an odd move since it helped keep the label afloat during the ’70s. It’s one of the most approachable records that I know of, Latin jazz or otherwise, consisting of seven beautiful little gems that demand nothing and offer an abundance in return. Hutcherson switches between vibraphone and marimba for his idiophone of choice, backed by an amazing band who interprets the material flawlessly, from Blue Mitchell’s rounded trumpet lines to Ernie Watts‘ delicate flute. So many albums from this era sound painfully dated, but Montara has held up well, with percolating congas sizzling under a well-balanced mix of Fender Rhodes and Harvey Mason’s tastefully restrained drumming. For me, this record is rendered meaningless by cold temperatures and faint daylight; Montara holds the just as much potency on that first warm day of spring as soundtracking a late-afternoon barbecue in the park as summer comes to an end.

“Montara” – Bobby Hutcherson 4:58 (Montara, Blue Note 1975)

Brother Jack McDuff Moon Rappin’ Blue Note 1969

Moon Rappin’ (1969) is another worthy Blue Note that took too long to reissue. Though far from Brother Jack McDuff’s finest hour – check out any number of his ’60s dates for Prestige to hear what made him a legend – it’s a delightful curiosity in his catalog, with plenty of flighty grooves and greasy funk. The term ’soul-jazz’ tends to trigger my gag reflex, but McDuff’s lively Hammond B3 licks are impossible to dislike here, with some particularly fine breakbeats from drummer Joe Dukes and lively guitar work from Jerry Byrd. “Oblighetto” is a definite highlight and compresses the essentials of the record into a compact six-and-a-half minutes: a bluesy vamp, wordless ’spaced-out’ vocals from Jean DuShon, a bouncy, jubilating rhythm for McDuff to solo over (and yes, we all know who sampled those two bars). Moon Rappin’ was one of Blue Note’s “limited edition reissues” (still trying to decipher the logic behind that), so unless one discovers an original on vinyl, it would be best to acquire a copy sooner rather than later.

“Oblighetto” – Brother Jack McDuff 6:36 (Moon Rappin’, Blue Note 1970)

Archie Shepp The Way Ahead Impulse! 1968

As long as Archie Shepp’s Fire Music (1965) inexplicably remains out of print, I’ll enthusiastically continue to push the next best thing, The Way Ahead (1968) from a few years later. Shepp’s tenor had an urgency that could create seismic shifts in the Earth’s crust and its power is rampant on this record, capturing a turning point as the saxophonist was attempting to find a new harmonic language for himself. There are only four cuts on the original release, but all are pure fire: Shepp’s atonal honking on the standard blues opener, the blistering romp through “Frankenstein,” drummer Roy Haynes‘ vigorous workout on “Fiesta,” and the dark, stealthy exploration of Duke’s “Sophisticated Lady.” (The CD is rounded out by two additional tracks from a session that would yield Kwanza [1969] a year later.) The touch of reverb that enhances Shepp’s tone is spine-chilling, and the overall atmosphere of the recording is spacious and dark. Perhaps not the best place to begin investigating Shepp’s brand of challenging, modern jazz, but absolutely riveting nonetheless.

“Frankenstein” – Archie Shepp 13:53 (The Way Ahead, Impulse! 1968)

Wayne Shorter Night Dreamer Blue Note 1964

It’s tough to pick a favorite of Wayne Shorter’s Blue Notes from the ’60s, but I’ve always had a soft spot for Night Dreamer (1964), his first outing for the label. After the mandatory Speak No Evil (1964) (and arguably Adam’s Apple [1966]), this unassuming and frequently overlooked release is a worthy second step. Shorter’s unique compositional talents aren’t as developed here as they would be during his tenure with Miles’ second great quintet a few years later, but this is a solid collection of tunes regardless, from the autumnal title track, his charming arrangement of “Oriental Folk Song,” or the intoxicating themes of “Black Nile” and the sweet ballad “Virgo.” Pianist McCoy Tyner, especially, seems exhilarated by the material, though trumpeter Lee Morgan contributes some thoughtful discursions as well. Like Joe Henderson’s Page One (above), Night Dreamer seems to fall into the dime-a-dozen blowing-themes department, except that we’re talking about Wayne Shorter here, so if anything the writing is guaranteed to be stellar.

“Night Dreamer” – Wayne Shorter 7:18 (Night Dreamer, Blue Note 1964)

It’s almost impossible to imagine when guitarist Nels Cline finds the time to rest his head. In between fulfilling his full-time duties as second guitarist in Wilco, intertwining strings with Thurston Moore and Mike Watt, and recording his own rendition of Coltrane’s enigmatic Interstellar Space (1967), he is somehow able to pencil in sessions with his trio The Nels Cline Singers. Their most recent outing on Cryptogramphone, titled Draw Breath (2007), will hardly surprise anyone who has been following his sundry explorations lately, but still, the man seems incapable of producing a dull record some twenty years into his recorded career. Here his cohorts are bassist Devin Hoff and percussionist Scott Amendola, and each ensures that Draw Breath has something to satisfy all: pastoral Appalachian folk (”The Angel of Angels”), high-octane guitar rock (”Confection”), delicate acoustic idylls (the two-part “Recognize”), and extended improvisational slabs of noise (”An Evening at Pops’”). It’s the last category that occasionally feels forced, but Cline is nothing if not a master of the element of surprise, like his sudden channeling of the late Sonny Sharrock on “Mixed Message” or a welcome appearance by Wilco drummer Glen Kotche on closer “Squirrel of God.” The cost of the album is entirely justified during its first seven minutes on opener “Caved-In Heart Blues,” a dreary lament that’s like witnessing an electrical storm move across a stone-gray prairie in slow motion. I’d love to see the guitarist continue in this sort of cinematic vein, yet his restless nature is what I enjoy most about him.

“Caved-In Heart Blues” – The Nels Cline Singers 6:52 (Draw Breath, Cryptogramophone 2007)

Young trumpeter Avishai Cohen – not to be confused with the bassist who shares his namesake – dropped his second solo release last month on Anzic titled After the Big Rain (2007), supposedly the final installment of some kind of trilogy that I’m not entirely familiar with. Cohen’s debut was pretty run-of-the-mill, suffering from the typical post-Berklee College of Music homogeneity, but here he’s found a unique synthesis of North African and Latin idioms that coalesce nicely with his sharp, linear playing. His nearest stylistic relative would probably be Thrill Jockey/Delmark mainstay Rob Mazurek (especially where effects are involved), but Cohen keeps an almost obsessive focus on tonal color, not dissimilar to the earlier work of Norwegian Nils Petter Molvaer. While Cohen has found an excellent foil in keyboardist Jason Lindner, it’s the contributions of West African guitarist and vocalist Lionel Loueke that generate the most excitement. The jittery, bristling funk “Parte Forte” is a standout, as is Lindner’s sublime 9/8 tone poem “Meditation on Two Chords.” Cohen’s adventurous approach rarely gets the best of him, and After the Big Rain offers risks and rewards in equal measure. As a whole, it’s absolutely lovely.

“Meditation on Two Chords” – Avishai Cohen 8:16 (After the Big Rain, Anzic 2007)

It’s great to see old-schoolers like Kenny Burrell still igniting sparks some fifty years into his career, nearly six decades after cutting his teeth with Dizzy Gillespie. The guitarist’s latest Blue Note offering is a live disc recorded on two separate summer evenings last year, and while pushing the boundaries of jazz was never a part of Burrell’s M.O., 75th Birthday Bash Live! (2007) nevertheless demonstrates that he remains one of the masters of elegance and restraint on his instrument. The arrangements by Gerald Wilson are tamed almost to the point of somnolence, but when Burrell really gets going, as on opener “Viva Tirado” and “A Night in Tunisia,” one becomes entranced under the same spell of magic that makes Midnight Blue (1963) and Guitar Forms (1965) such a pleasure to hear. Unsurprisingly, the two tracks featuring Burrell’s vocals – one a stale blues number and the other a tepid execution of Strayhorn’s “Take the A Train” – are hammy and can be skipped easily. Guests include legendary flautist Hubert Laws and organist Joey DeFrancesco.

“A Night in Tunisia” – Kenny Burrell 11:27 (75th Birthday Bash Live!, Blue Note 2007)

The R&B covers album has become somewhat of an expected interspersion in the discography of many a jazz musician, but the duo of drummer Carl Allen and bassist Rodney Whitaker manage to offer something refreshing on Get Ready (2007). Rounding out the quintet are Cyrus Chestnut on piano and organ, Steve Wilson on alto sax, and the always-engaging Rodney Jones on guitar, who tackles the material here with fervor. The vibe is cool and relaxed, supplemented with a healthy balance of well-worn classics like Smokey Robinson’s title track and Marvin Gaye’s “Inner City Blues” with a handful of original numbers by the pair. While at times the interplay is bogged down by complacency and an inescapable sleekness, the guys obviously had fun recording this and it translates well to the listener. I still have issues with Allen’s flimsy, paper-bag snare sound, and there are a few inexplicable fades at the heels of several tracks, but overall this is a solid disc with much replay value, especially during the early hours of the morning.

“Get Ready” – Carl Allen & Rodney Whitaker 9:03 (Get Ready, Mack Avenue 2007)

Los Angeles pianist and composer David Witham is most famously known as the musical director for George Benson, but his solo outing Spinning the Circle (2007) contains such a wide range of styles that any notion of pigeonholing is rendered obsolete. Eerie abstractions like “Momentuum” (showcasing Witham on accordion) sit comfortably alongside the drum ‘n bass workout of “The Neon” and reflective mood pieces like “Who Knows” and “Light and Life.” He’s joined by an impressive roster of guests, most notably the aforementioned Nels Cline (whose subtle comping practically steals the show on the Mwandishi-inflected “Afrobeat”) and the pedal steel of Greg Leisz, who adds exquisite shades of color to “Con Quien” and the otherwise limp “N.O. Rising.” Co-produced by Witham and Jeff Gauthier, the sound of the recording is a tad lifeless, but it can be overlooked with the abundance of stimulating ideas here.

“The Neon” – David Witham 7:02 (Spinning the Circle, Cryptogramophone 2007)