As many of my readers may have noted, I follow the Gods and Godesses of piano religiously.
Here, from my Memoir, Chapter Two, a glimpse of Rachmaninoff through the hands and soul
of Olga Kern.
However, and I speak of this after decades of hearing the likes of Horowitz, Art Tatum and Lazar Berman.
Here is Jarrett and Autumn Leaves.
—–
Cook.
The heat rises and Keith Jarrett cooks!
Photos of him increasingly reveal the physical strength of the man. His fingers alone, however, could lift Arnold Scharwzenegger.
You hear it in his astonishing articulation. As if each finger of his right hand might possibly be capable of breaking the whole piano.
Time.
Machine-like time!
Driving not only the trio but the whole audience up and out of their seats. The thrilling frustration always inherent to the magic of a musical genius.
That, however, is what defines him as the greatest jazz pianist living today and, perhaps, form myself at any rate, the best there ever was.
Hmmm … large claim … but … well … here’s why: the range of his achievement emotionally.
No, the “serious” critics haven’t revered his classical recordings … but … if they’re jazz afficienadoes and addicts … the past hasn’t half the excitement of basking in an improvisational giant in the present moment and hearing a contemporary genius hold worldwide audiences in the palm of his hand, all by himself, and entirely with his own, two hour long evenings of Keith Jarrett.
Emotionally, on the one hand, Jarrett has you jumping in your seat.
The more times you listen to Jarrett’s ownership of Autumn Leaves, the more repeatedly astounding are the cooking miracles within it.
On the other hand, with revelations like Danny Boy, he can have you crying and leave you wanting to cry all day to his music, it is so blissful.
Ecstasy seems to be Jarrett’s identity: not only “follow your bliss” but “here, have a taste of mine!”
He’s one of the greatest storytellers we have!
As an actor I know a little about the subject of leading an audience through a tale of … mystery … and adventure … and … well … yes LOVE.
Is there a more sacred love song in the world than Danny Boy?
My adopted son, Floyd, just lost one of his sons today in a Toronto shooting.
Black on black vengeance.
To me the piercing truth of Jarrett’s rendering of Danny Boy has the agonies of profound loss in them, losses like that of my son.
Within all that pain, the beauty of existence is never more intense. The half-note interval tensions that drift … yes, mysteriously appear and disappear in his harmonies.
Speaking of “never more” … the “nevermore” of life and its fragility … and knowing how a great artist can literally force us to realize just how exquisite is God’s gift to us.
Life!
How brief.
How divinely painful.
Bill Evans, one of the most influential jazz pianist of our time, performs Danny Boy in a much higher register … and … as lovely as his version may be … it carries none of the weight of Jarrett’s.
Why?
The stated key, at the very opening, tells us how profoundly serious Keith Jarrett is about Life in general.
The very last chorus of Jarrett’s Danny Boy leads to a brief quintessence of devastating harmonies, tensions that are at once divinely painful yet so deliriously inevitable. You know that this entire call to Danny Boy strikes at the very heart of our impermanence.
It ends with an allusion to the sacred plagal cadence, that all familiar ending to a choir hymn. Only an allusion, however.
Keith Jarrett is too fast to dwell, at any length, on what might be a cliché … if overly stated.
The speed, of course, is why he is so incredibly sensitive to the nuances within the melody of Danny Boy.
Why?
He knows the lyric.
Oh, a man of notes can tell one story, but a man of words has one thousand tales to tell you, all at the same time.
Here he is on Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me.
Here’s the lyric to help you:
Don’t worry ’bout me
I’ll get along
Forget about me
Be happy, my love
Let’s say that our little show is over
And so the story ends
Why not call it a day, the sensible way
And still be friends
Look out for yourself
Should be the rule
Give your heart and your love, to whomever you love
Don’t be a fool
Darling why stop to cling, to some fading thing
That used to be
If you can forget
Don’t worry ’bout me
It is not hard to know who broke up with whom here. One senses that the singer of this song is the rejected one and the depth of his or her love is self-evident in the selfless wish: Don’t Worry ‘Bout Me!
The final chorus, beginning in bold and brave octaves?
Who hasn’t tried to cover their pain that way?
This leads me to discover that Keith Jarrett is not only our greatest jazz pianist but also one of America’s best and most unknown dramatists.
He has a Chekovian gift to him … Anton Chekov, that is … the great Russian playwright whose tales, like the love lyrics of the great American song book, leave us, at times, breathlessly in awe.
Within this tale of lost love you hear the range of sometimes raging frustration that can come with an open door to your heart.
The coda?
Like bells!
Jubilation in the distance!!
And we are all terribly, frighteningly glad to be alive.
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