I just finished reading a biography of Thelonious Monk by
Robin Kelley, a very serious and enlightening look at one of the greatest jazz
artists who ever lived who I didn’t know was one of the greatest jazz artists
who ever lived. I say that because, of course, anybody who knows anything about
jazz knows about Monk, but for me, he was just one of those guys who wasn’t
worth approaching. I suppose I was “contaminated” by reading an article about
the great pianist Dick Hyman (who I do respect and admire) who said something
in a Wall Street Journal piece like, “I don’t appreciate Monk. His music
doesn’t sound right and I think most of the time he’s just hitting wrong
notes.” That kind of embodied how I felt and I didn’t think I was missing
anything by giving Monk’s music short shrift.
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| The subtitle says it all. |
As I was reading Mr. Kelley’s book, however, some things
about Monk started to make sense. I started to see what kind of person he was
and how that could lead to him being ignored, or overlooked, or even ridiculed.
Then too, Mr. Kelley does a great job of illustrating the formulation and
evolution of a lot of Monk’s work, and it caused me to revisit some of the
tunes. And whaddaya know? Here I am almost ten years down the beginner’s jazz
blog road, and things I never understood started making sense.
I can’t really cite specific examples but I can say this,
when I read about a song and then the next day pulled out the lead sheet and
started to play it, suddenly Monk seemed not only approachable, it seemed like
playing his music was helping me achieve things I could not before that point.
It’s hard to put clearly, but, I started to see how Monk is more or less the
next level I need to go to. But what that really means is, if you can play Monk
on Monk’s level, I started to feel like I could probably play anything.
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| Haven't found any Miles Davis beer yet. I'll buy it and drink it if I do. |
Now, I’m not suggesting that if I work out all the changes
to Epistrophy, I’ll be able to zing my way through Ellington, or Coltrane, or
Hancock, or anybody. What I’m saying is, Epistrophy is harder to play, harder
to understand musically, and harder to make sound good than just any old song,
so if you reach the pinnacle on Epistrophy, you must be doing something right.
Ruby, My Dear is a good example. Here’s a song that once
upon a time, I could play pretty decently in an ensemble format. I could solo
over the changes and make it sound Monkish, and I knew what the song was making
me do harmonically to make it sound good. Now that I’m playing that song in
solo piano format from a book of Monk transcriptions, I’m finding what I
learned before did not much prepare me for what I’m playing now. Again, it’s
very hard to put into words.
The long and short of it is, Kelley’s biography isn’t
supposed to make you better piano player, but in my case, that’s exactly what
it has done. It’s broadening my musical interest and bringing me back to vast
swaths of the jazz landscape that I’ve never bothered to visit. I truly believe
that learning to play Monk tunes is going to help me play piano more and better.
We’ll see.
Of course, having finished the book (check out my review on Amazon) and being now embarked on reading Miles Davis’ autobiography, I may
feel different as I progress through that. Then again, I can and do play a host
of Miles tunes, whereas I don’t have one from Monk that I can call my own. Yet.
That and the fact the Miles can’t write like Mr. Kelley can may well leave my
Monkish attentions unaffected. Again, we’ll see.
