One of the most legendary figures in modern jazz, Thelonious Monk, appeared for the first time in this country at the Royal Festival Hall on Saturday night. He is one of the few survivors of the original Minton╒s sessions that have shaped the music of the past two decades, a man whose name has long been synonymous with the most advanced schools of thought in the jazz world.
Monk╒s appearance on the stage maintained his reputation for eccentricity, a soft cap perched on his head, a tweed suit that appeared to have travelled from New York the hard way, and brogues that had that Brand X look. At intervals he meandered slightly loopily around the stage while his bassist, John Orr, pounded away at chordal progressions on another planet.
But all this was small beer for those who cannot take anything stronger. The fact is that once Monk had got to work at the keyboard he revealed himself as still a profound creative talent. He does not take his jazz the easy way. Each note is apparently considered, weighed, analysed and then reluctantly committed to the audience. It does not make for easy listening, but why should it? Although he has a superb sense of melody he seems less than happy with it and prefers to explore the intricacies of harmonic improvisation, finding a nerve-tingling discord and playing moodily with it while he considers how to get himself out of it.
With such an unpredictable personality dominant, the rest of the quartet gets little chance of imposing itself to any degree. Charlie Rouse, the tenor saxophonist, had to be content with the minimum of solo work; mostly he followed Monk╒s right hand in the opening sections of each piece and faded rapidly from the scene. Analysed bar for bar each man probably got his fair whack but was totally unable to counteract the brooding figure loping distractingly in the background or to establish any real definition in his playing. It was a pity, for one felt that both Rouse and Orr could have borne closer examination.
