At The Blue Note Comp Recordi

I say 'intimacy' because, judging by the applause, I'd be surprised if there were more than 300 in the audience. And you get frequent reminders that they are there -- on CD#1, track #1, around 7:10, you can hear a wine bottle go tumbling!

It's so hard to pin Jarrett down. He's produced excellent group work (e.g. 'Survivors' and 'Nude Ants'), solo albums (e.g. 'Vienna' and 'Dark Intervals'), solo classical (e.g. Handel) and the experimental (e.g. 'Spheres' and 'Arbour Zena').

Previously I've found the Standards trio to be the least compelling aspect of his output -- it's tempting, on first hearing, to put it in the 'dinner jazz' category which so many other trios have successfully played. Jarrett's own compositions are of such a high calibre that it seems almost wasteful to have the band play largely other composers' songs. Perhaps it helps to have seen the trio perform on video or DVD, then you realise how special the band is. In the Japanese concert I have, Jarrett seems to spend over half the concert playing the concert standing up (and dancing rather strangely!). Jarrett's scat-singing is also, uhm, unusual -- I doubt whether he was taught the technique at the Juilliard.

Although not budget-priced, it's impossible to fault this collection, and it is easy to be overwhelmed by the range of songs that the band played over three days, in two 65-minute sets per day.

Another reviewer for this box set said that "There's also unparalleled "attitude," "ego," "self-belief," and a canny sense of self-promotion." I can see what he means, but if that makes for better music, why does it matter? I think that Keith's attitude, ego, self-belief and so on contributes to the music in a way that the music is more recognized in the improvisation process. What I mean by that is also what Keith himself writes in the linear notes: "[The music] must be let in, recognized, and revealed to the listener, the first of which is the musician him/herself. This recognition is the most misunderstood part of the process (even by musicians). It is a discrimination against mechanical pattern, for content, against habit, for surprise [...]. It is like an attempt, over and over again to reveal the heart of things." Though this recognition part of the improvisation process is practised among all other great jazz musicians, I think Keith has his skill fully developed. And if you're going to hear these albums or some of them, you have to be open, because if you're not, every ballad is just going to sound like it always have been; if you're open, on the other hand, you can hear how the trio constantly tries to "reveal the heart of things."

What I favour before the other albums by the Standards Trio is the variance of the playing. In spite of the fact that these 6 albums were recorded in a weekend, the trio never bores you. It's incredible how creative and imaginative they can be.

When, in the early 80's, Jarrett recoiled at the description of his music as "new age" and committed himself to programming "standards," he did little to change his approach to improvisation or communicating with a large listener base. Take either "Autumn Leaves" or "You Don't Know What Love Is" (disc 3) as a touchstone to his approach. Each performance is approximately 20 minutes long, with 3 separate "movements": 1. Keith introduces the song with an accessible melodic fragment or "folksy" motif that is not so much developed as portentously repeated; 2. Bass and drums join piano for statement of the melody and improvisation on the chords of the song; 3. An extended Coda is initiated with Keith "riffing" on a single chord while bass and drums drop the 4/4 "walking bass" time and go into a "danceable," latin-feel beat.

While sections 1 and 3 are going to strike many experienced listeners as containing unlistenable self- indulgence if not pure "jive," the second section always gives Keith a chance to demonstrate his credentials as an improviser in the jazz tradition. Even though his left hand never comes close to matching the tone quality or creativity of the right, his single-note melodic lines are characterized by melodic cohesiveness, sophisticated phrasing, sure-fingered precision and, above all, a rich, sonorous tone. Even without the constant "assist" provided by Keith's splintering of the piano's voice and the player's, his melodic lines stand up to musical inspection.

But this hardly explains his popular success. There's talent, musicianship, pianism--but nothing approaching a Bill Evans performance (going from "Live at the Village Vanguard" to "Live at the Blue Note" is a regressive, painfully reductive experience for this listener). There's also unparallelled "attitude," "ego," "self-belief," and a canny sense of self-promotion. Keith's own published statements to the effect that no piano as presently manufactured is worthy of him has created more true believers than doubters. And it is these believers who follow Jarrett's every move, because like few other performers (Monk and Glen Gould are the other notable examples who come to mind, though neither took "performance art" to this level) he allows the listener--any listener--a sense of being "in on" the creative process itself. The man has taken what is for many a foreign language and allowed them to see how its meanings are made. Not bad as a start, but now comes the time to explore the later developments and cultural accomplishments of that language.

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