When the John Coltrane Quintet visited Britain in 1961 with the Dizzy Gillespie Quintet, on a Jazz at The Philharmonic tour, he sat down with a few different journalists during the tour. Jazz News, which was a weekly music paper, published their interview in late December. This was the first and only time Trane was in the country.
JAZZ NEWS — Wednesday, December 27th 1961
WHEN I first joined Miles in 1955
I had a lot to learn. I felt I was
lacking in general musicianship.
I had all kinds of technical prob-
lems, for example, I didn’t have the
right mouthpiece, and I hadn’t the
necessary harmonic understanding.
I am quite ashamed of those early
records I made with Miles. Why he
picked me, I don’t know. Maybe he
saw something in my playing that
he hoped would grow. I had this
desire, which I think we all have,
to be as original as I could, and
as honest as I could be. But there
were so many musical conclusions
I hadn’t arrived at, that I felt in-
adequate. All this was naturally
frustrating in those days, and it
probably came through in the
music.
I've been told my playing is
‘angry’. Well, you know musicians
have many moods, angry, happy,
sad — and since those early days
perhaps more sides of my musical
nature have been revealed on re-
cords. I don’t really know what a
listener feels when he hears music.
The musician may feel one way and
the listener, may get something
else from the music.
Some musicians have to speak
their anger in their playing. The
beauty of jazz is that you’re free
to do just what you feel. But while
their playing might express anger,
I wouldn’t know whether they’re
angry as people or not. If a man
can play well, I get an elation from
his music, even if he’s playing
angry and hard. An aggressive
frame of mind can create pretty
stern music. But this may well be
a very rewarding experience for
the listener. You can get a feeling
of expectancy and fulfilment in a
solo, and an artist of ability may
lead you down paths in music
where many things can happen.
I'd hate to think of an audience
missing out on music, because they
think it’s nothing but anger.
Change is inevitable in our music
— things change. A big break with
the dancing tradition of jazz came
in the forties with Diz and Bird.
You got broken rhythms, complic-
ated harmonic devices. There is so
much beauty still in this music,
Then almost ten years later,
Miles, who’d been with them at the
beginning, swung over to the other
side again. You can dance to most
of Miles’ most popular things —
like “Green Dolphin Street”. Now,
in the music of people like Cecil
Taylor and Ornette you have a
swing back to broken rhythms
again. It’s a fact that everything
in life is action and reaction. Things
evolve, not necessarily consciously.
But there are certain elements
that are inherent in jazz, and you
must be watching for them. If those
elements are there, you'll get it.
Mingus says “the best beat must
go” and I, admit I don’t love the
beat, in the strict sense. At this
phase I feel I need the beat some-
where, but I don’t really care about
the straight 4/4 at all — though
this is just a personal feeling. In
a rhythm section I like propulsion
and a feeling of buoyancy, which
fits under and around the horn,
and has a lift to it. A sense of the
pulse, rather than the beat, can
take you out of a stodgy approach.
And, of course, you can swing on
other time signatures than 4/4. But
what happens depends on the mus-
icians I have playing with me.
Choice of material is entirely
individual. I've played some jazz
forms so long and so much that
I feel the need for other forms, and
perhaps for no form. When I start-
ed the group, I used to plan routines
like mad, now I don’t have to plan
so much, as I learn and get freer.
Sometimes we start from nothing,
no ‘in’ plan, no intro. or solo routi-
nes. I know how it’s going to end
— but sometimes not what might
happen in between! I try to accept
songs as they are, with a different
approach for everything. I make
suggestions to the group, as to what
I feel, and we use this as a starting
point.
I like extended jazz works, and
written compositions, if they're
well done. I’m studying and learn-
ing about longer constructions. If
I become strong enough I might try
something on those lines. I don’t
study the music of any particular
period, but harmony and form from
a natural standpoint. I try to look
at it all. I want to understand
music, so that I can do things in
an objective way. So far, I’ve only
written from the piano, with mel-
odies that come out of the chords.
I'd like to be able to write away
from the piano. It is very useful,
though, as you have a whole band
under your hands with a piano,
and it’s the best thing for working
on chord forms.
Progress in jazz can be made con-
sciously — think of Sonny Rollins
— he was back in November
and we'll: see something! Sonny
“retired” before, and when he
came back, he’d added quite a bit.
I admire his tremendous powers
of concentration. You have to do
a lot of work consciously, then you
can leave the rest to your sub-
conscious later on.
Jazz is a companionable thing,
and I like playing in smaller
places, so that I can see what
people feel. 1 would like my music
to be part of the surroundings,
part of the gaiety of a club atmo-
sphere. I realise I’m in the enter-
tainment business, and I'd like to
be sort of guy who can set audiences
at ease. If you go about music
without a smile, people think you’re
not happy. I don’t make a habit of
wishing for what I don’t have, but
I often wish I had a lighter nature.
Dizzy has that beautiful gift — I
can’t say “Be happy, people”, — it’s
something I can’t command. But
you have to be true to your own
nature.
May I say, though, that when I
go to hear a man, as long as he
conducts himself properly, and
moves me with his music, I am
satisfied. If he should happen to
smile, I consider it something added
to what I have received already, if
not, I don’t worry because I know
it is not wholly essential to the
music.
Ref : Jazz News 1961; Photo - Jazz Magazine No 78 1962 (France) Photographer unknown
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