Ironically, Davis began his ascendency with a performance of Monk’s “ ’Round Midnight.” The ironies are compounded when you remember that Monk would always be irritated about how Davis used incorrect chord changes, not just on “ ’Round Midnight” but on “Well, You Needn’t,” as well.Īfter his death, in 1982, scholars and fans settled down and began doing the serious work of parsing the complexities and clearing away the controversies. Most of the skeptics ended up admiring his compositions, although certain great musicians, like Miles Davis, Lennie Tristano, and Oscar Peterson, would continue to dislike aspects of his playing. Some of the cognoscenti were bewildered, at least at first. Occasionally, when his left hand opened up and gave an accurate quotation of glorious Harlem stride, it became downright anachronistic. It was stubborn, incantatory, utterly African. Eventually, the record companies decided that he wasn’t a religious icon (“the high priest”) but a warrior instead, and his last significant major-label release, “Underground,” depicted him on the cover with guns, grenades, and a captured Nazi.ĭuring Monk’s ascendency, his style was so different from that of any other bebop or modern-jazz pianist. In 1964, he even appeared on the cover of Time magazine, and was profiled by Lewis Lapham, in the Saturday Evening Post, although most of the mainstream press during Monk’s lifetime made unhappy allusions to craziness, infantilism, and negroid primitivism.
From there he became a household name and one of the biggest draws on the European circuit. After Monk spent a few more years in penniless obscurity, suddenly, most of New York City went to the Five Spot, where he was in residence for multiple months in 1957. To help generate publicity, the Blue Note label dubbed him “the high priest” for his first records, as a bandleader, in the late nineteen-forties.
For those who couldn’t tell he was an unusual musician simply from listening, the visuals were a helpful guide: outrageously idiosyncratic percussive piano techniques and long, spastic dances, not to mention a wardrobe of impeccable flash and taste.Īt the beginning, Thelonious Monk was a shadowy figure known only to fellow-innovators. The blues that were an unchanging constant.
The memorable melodies that sat atop a virtuosic harmonic conception, emphasizing unexpected dissonances. The avant-garde music that verged on conceptual art but was delivered at a relaxed and buoyant foxtrot. There was always something to talk about.
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