JACK COOKE - Jazz Monthly, September 1967
JOHN COLTRANE died in hospital in New York City on July 17th. He was forty. This sudden end to the career of one of the most gifted musicians in jazz must come to everyone as a considerable shock: for me, and I’m sure for many others, it has the dimensions of a major tragedy.
Most readers of this magazine will be at least familiar with the basic fact of Trane’s biography, and in any case it would take more words than I want to write at the moment to outline who he worked with, how his music evolved, the total of his achievements and what changes he brought about in the music during his career.
Perhaps it would be best at this point to try instead to pay some tribute to him as a man, for behind his music was a strong and forthright personality, and I am sure it was no coincidence that the really wide implications of his work and his greatest musical successes developed after he began to lead his own group. Trane grew slowly but inevitably into being a leader, and the thought and care and sheer hard work that went into the constant maturing of his music enabled him to see and bring out the best in others. Elvin Jones and McCoy Tyner never played more consistently, or to a more constructive end, than when they were in his quartet; Archie Shepp has spoken of Trane’s helpful attitude towards him, and he was always willing to enlarge his group to accommodate promising musicians, both on a casual and longer term basis: in 1961 Eric Dolphy worked regularly with his group, and when he added Pharaoh Sanders in 1965 the partnership prospered to the extent that in 1966 it became the basis of an entirely new band.
I hope it doesn't seem presumptuous to introduce a personal element here—I can hardly claim to have known him well—but in 1961, when he was in this country, I did spend some time with him. He was an impressive and memorable man; quiet, reserved yet courteous, and intensely serious. He was deeply involved in his music, concerned about its reception, prepared to discuss its construction: he also talked freely and admiringly about musicians as diverse as Ornette Coleman, Johnny Hodges and Sonny Rollins. He practised endlessly, and he was careful and responsible in the day to day running of his group. Easy formulas seemed out of the question for him, and in many ways the first principle of his music, that the outward trappings of style must when necessary always be sacrificed for a deeper, truer form of expression, was reflected in much of his personal outlook.
One of the most tragic aspects of his death is that he was by no means at the end of his long line of exploration. In his lifetime it seemed unthinkable that he would ever become unproductive, and now abruptly it’s all over. All we have is the records, and luckily there are a lot of them, for Trane was always willing to record; his career is probably as well documented as any major jazz musician's has ever been. But at the moment this seems small comfort.
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