Ornette Coleman at Town Hall

There aren't many of the great old jazz legends still alive, but Ornette Coleman certainly rates as one of them. I began listening to his music in the mid eighties when he released a CD called In All Languages. As a musician the sounds on that CD introduced me to many new ideas and taught me many things. The complex sounds on it created emotional responses that were equally complex. One might feel sad and at the same time confused and harried as layers of sound competed for your attention. It opened a new world of possibilities for what music could do.

In his younger days Ornette created a new musical theory called Harmolodics. I'm not sure I can define it, but it asks the musician to use his ear instead of following rules about keys and melody. It states that no one must hold down the rhythm or carry the melody. It frees the musicians, but also places a heavy burden on them.

There is a great story about the first time he attempted to put his theory into action. He was playing with a band and when his solo came he took off. The sound was so shocking that the band quit playing and the audience went silent. The bandleader fired him on the spot, and for good measure they beat him up in the parking lot afterwards and took his horn away.

But this is often how people react to revolutionary ideas.

Ornette took the stage at Town Hall in New York City, a somewhat frail elderly man dressed in a blue and white plaid suit. His band consisted of a drummer, a stand-up bass player, and an electric bass player.

There first sound the band unleashed was a chaotic flurry of notes that fell to a dead silence with razor sharp precision. That followed by the same frenetic melody line again followed by silence. Then the music began to flow. Although the sounds were unlike any other music, in a live setting it made more sense. Instead of being challenging, the free flow of notes cascaded over your ears creating a relaxing dream-like state.

Given that he has over 50 years of recorded music under his belt and I only know two or three of his albums I didn't expect to recognize much of what I heard, but that didn't matter because the music was entrancing. The musicians were not only excellent on a technical level, they also possessed an amount of instinct and creativity that was astonishing.

While never losing site of the tempo or groove, the drummer meandered from rhythm to rhythm as his whims took him, something rarely heard even in jazz. The upright bassist often played with a bow or switched back and forth within songs. The electric bassist played his instrument like a guitar, often playing chords and harmonics, or simply playing lead guitar type solos.

Ornette's Saxophone solos were as unique as his compositions. Usually starting each passage with a high-pitched sustained note that gave way to a bebop flurry that bounced back and forth down the scales. The other musicians kept their eyes riveted on him, at times following him, at others playing against him with a dazzling array of counter-melodies, but always tuned-in for a level back and forth interaction that very few musicians could achieve.

They each took turns visiting the main theme briefly before being whisked away in the torrent of their own improvisations. And just to remind us that they were in total control they would unite in the main melody without warning, or stop dead on the dime with incomprehensible timing.

Occasionally Ornette would lay down his saxophone for a few moments and pick up a trumpet and play lines that sounded like an elephant in distress. At other times he switched to violin and his playing became even more abstract.
During on such moment he bowed the instrument in a fast steady rhythm while slowly moving his fingers up and down the upper register of the neck. The upright bassist, also playing with a bow, began to follow him creating a strange harmonic that gave the music a surreal quality.

Throughout the night Ornette did not speak. Although playing with vigor he often sat on a high stool, somewhat hidden behind two music stands and a group of microphones. Between songs the upright bassist would come and leaf through Ornette’s sheet music to find the correct pages for him.

As the show came to an end the audience rose to their feet amid shouts of “Better than ever,” and “We love you.” Before the encore he spoke a few sentences with a low soft voice, none of which anyone could make out what he was saying, his words seemingly as mysterious as his music.