History lessons: Thelonious Monk + Norwegian black metal

Been spending time with two important new works of music history.

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Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of an American Original
As expected, Robin D.G. Kelley's new Thelonious Monk biography is outstanding. I feel like I'm learning something on every page. Did you know that to this day Monk shares a "Round Midnight" composer credit with both trumpeter Cootie Williams and lyricist Bernie Hanighen, neither of whom had much to do with the tune in its original state? Or that it was Herbie Nichols (yes, the genius pianist) who penned the first published review of a Monk performance? Or that when Bud Powell was first breaking into the scene, Monk escorted him to jam sessions and essentially forced other musicians to give him a chance? I'm just now getting to the part where the bebop revolution takes off and leaves Monk behind. Can't wait to find out exactly how and when the man began to get his fair due and really come into his own as a composer. Listeningwise, the book has already sent me off on a Monk spiral. I pulled out the Monk/Trane Carnegie Hall set over the Thanksgiving weekend and was re-amazed by its special grace, especially the opening sax-piano duo version of "Monk's Mood," which is simply one of the most sublime jazz recordings in existence. I also spun a bit of Elmo Hope, an interesting and underrated pianist who, according to Kelley, used to pal around quite a bit with Monk and Bud Powell.

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Until the Light Takes Us
Yes, this is the highly anticipated black-metal documentary that I've been hearing about for quite some time. (It opens in NYC this Friday.) Definitely worth seeing, especially if you're an enthusiast of this subculture. Might come off as somewhat sketchy for the uninitiated, but there's still enough here to pique plenty of interest and stimulate further study. There's more to this story, for sure, but no one can fuck with the film's basic primary-source approach. The infamous Varg "Count Grishnackh" Vikernes (of Burzum fame) is interviewed here at length about his nefarious deeds. You probably already know what he did, but there's no substitute for hearing him describe it firsthand. (Simply terrifying and nigh unbelievable.) The strongest aspect of Until the Light Takes Us is the way the filmmakers contrast Vikernes's charismatic yet obviously utterly insane take on the black-metal ethos with that of Darkthrone drummer Gylve "Fenriz" Nagell. It's basically the difference between a literal interpretation of the gospel ((Vikernes) and an aestheticized one (Fenriz), the result being that circa now the former man has just been released from a lengthy prison sentence while the latter is still living a humble yet productive musician's life in Oslo. It's fascinating to see how even though the two no longer communicate they still exert some strange gravitational pull on one another, as though the extraordinarily fucked-up events of the early-'90s black-metal scene have locked them in an eternal bond. Whatever you think of this music or the mystique that surrounds it, you should definitely have a look at this flick - at this point, it's the closest thing we have to a definitive treatment. Like many music docs, it skimps a bit on the actual music, but there's enough here to spark further research if you're so inclined. (Though in my experience, old-school black metal heard on record doesn't always live up to the legend.)

Bio picks: A.B. Spellman, etc.

"I have tried to let the musicians speak for themselves as much as possible... I have shifted and spliced, and moved their ideas around to put them in their most advantageous places, but I have not put words in their mouths. They have plenty of good ones of their own." - A.B. Spellman (pictured above), introduction to Four Lives in the Bebop Business (1985 edition)

I always feel at home when I'm reading jazz biographies. I've been working my way through Four Lives, a really great book, in piecemeal fashion. (If you're not familiar with Four Lives, it was first published in 1966 and consists of lengthy, freestanding profiles of Cecil Taylor, Ornette Coleman, Herbie Nichols and Jackie McLean.) I picked it up last year when I was researching Taylor, but I only read the section on him at that time. Just got through with the Coleman and McLean portions and I was enthralled.

It's pretty fascinating to hear from Taylor and Coleman, both famously tough interviews, at a time when they were still talking very lucidly about their work. Don't have great recall of the Taylor portion just now, but I do remember some fascinating insights into his practice method, which then involved a lot of solfège singing. The Coleman chapter, though, is a pretty fascinating portrait of inner turmoil and neurosis. At the time Spellman interviewed him, Coleman does not seem to be a very happy dude, and reading about the insane prejudices (both racial and artistic) that he had to endure in order to find an audience, you can't really blame him. Speaking of race, there's some pretty fascinating material in here about the strengths and weaknesses of black bassists vs. white bassists. ("I've met more white bass players who could be free on their instrument than black bass players," he says at one point.) Sometimes Coleman's logic seems iffy, but it's still valuable to have a window into his conception of race at that time. From everything I've read, it's clear that for him and a lot of other players and critics, it was still very much a foreground issue.

McLean comes off as far less eccentric. His chapter is also about hardship, but not so much aesthetic hardship. Spellman is very interested in McLean's struggle with heroin, and the saxist is sort of a case study re: the whole phenomenon of young Charlie Parker disciples falling unwittingly into their own addictions. McLean's accounts of interacting with bebop giants such as Parker, Bud Powell and Monk are fascinating. These men were superstars while he was growing up and he eventually joined their ranks as a respected peer. Spelllman also gives a good sense of McLean's artistic awakening via his work with Charles Mingus, an experience which led directly into the saxists finest sessions as a leader (Let Freedom Ring, Destination Out, One Step Beyond, etc. - some of my favorite jazz records.)

I read the Herbie Nichols piece a long time ago, but I have little memory of it (though I can say it seems to me that the common perception of Herbie Nichols as a tragic overlooked genius probably originated here). Getting ready to dive back in. But overall I love the depth of this book and also the subjectivity. It's so cool that Spellman just sort of chose these four artists, who don't represent any logical cross-section of jazz, without fussing over why they belong together as a set in any easily definable way. "Yes, I could have chosen four others," he writes, "but frankly these are four of my favorite musicians and men, and, like most people, I tend to satisfy my subjective instincts first." Nice.

After I polish this one off, I'm on to Robin D.G. Kelley's new Monk bio. I've browsed this and I'm extraordinarily psyched to get into it in depth. From what I can tell, Kelley is really out to debunk common understanding of Monk as this eccentric savant character. It's interesting because in the Spellman book, Jackie McLean speaks to the same issue. "Jackie feels that people have tended too much to regard Monk as a talented nut," Spellman writes. "During all his years of dealing with Monk, Jackie has found him to be enormously wise, lucid and informed. [this is McLean talking] 'Monk is a deep person; I know this because I knew Monk well. His interests vary far beyond what most people would imagine. He's very easy to know as long as you deal with him in a plain and friendly way. But if you try to be dishonest with him or play mental chess with him, then you might have trouble. His mind is something that should be respected at all times. People are too quick to think that a jazz musician knows jazz and that's it, you know.'"

Speaking of Monk, there's another amazing anecdote in the McLean section of the Spellman book about how the pianist once insisted on following McLean home after a gig so as to score a piece of Jackie's mother's chocolate pie. In a related yet somewhat more disturbing incident discussed in the Ornette chapter, Ed Blackwell recalls that when Coleman was living in a hotel during his early days in L.A., some fellow musicians strong-armed the saxist out of a cake his mother had sent him for his 25th birthday.

Weird parallels all around. Anyway, loving the Spellman and can't wait for the Kelley.

P.S. Just found a recent A.B. Spellman interview at The Independent Ear.