 
The shot heard round the world was fired in Sarajevo and started a war. The note heard round the world was a minor second played by Thelonious Monk, Cootie Williams and others and started a revolution. Be-bop is now old-time jazz though it was an outrage sixty years ago, and it's still weird when you hear Monk playing "Epistrophy" that goes from C#7 to D7 over and over, then up a tone to Eflat7 to E7, and when you get sick of that it starts over. There's sort of a resolution in F# minor 6th or B7 (as Monk might say, "pick one") but nothing you would call a tune, it's more like interlude music, or silent movie music indicating "the train's a-rolling!" Monk opened and closed every show with it and recorded it two dozen times. It's an enigma wrapped in a questionaire. But you can't tell if his statements are questions or answers. Monk is still difficult, after sixty years, but you can't deny he swings. There's Charlie Rouse, Tonto to Monk's Lone Ranger, acting like this was always meant to be thus, breathing lyrically as earnest bass and drums keep things metrical. But then there's Monk: is he drunk? what went clunk? He looks like a great bear sweating in his overcoat, can't seem to sit straight at the piano, then --whunk-- he adds a "grace note" with his elbow. The drummer inverts the rhythm and starts a loping shuffle. Monk stops and adjusts his signet ring, the appreciative Parisians burst into applause. At what? A living legend they "get" more than unsophisticated Americans. Or is it his theatrical presence? I once went to a John Cage concert in London in 1968 where the pianist played the inside of the grand piano with a matchbox. Was it the Emperor's New Clothes syndrome that caused us to give him a standing ovation? In the early sixties, Monk took a quartet on tour of Europe annually. He played the same songs -- his own -- over and over, once in a while throwing in "April in Paris" or "Body and Soul" so folks would get a sense of where he was coming from. His American labels weren't happy with this: They wanted new stuff, or failing that, a set of Beatles covers. He wasn't prolific but content to find more things to say within "Ruby My Dear," "Bemsha Swing" or "Hackensack." Then some nights he would call for a set of standards, like that cold night in Paris in November 1967 when the set list was "Sweetheart of all my dreams" (Consistently mislabelled "[Just one way to say] I love you"), "Lulu's back in town," "Just a gigolo," "Sweet and lovely," and "I'm getting sentimental over you." What corn; what genius! Here's another reissue of Monk playing his own tunes, and it's a great set. Sort of a hypothetical ideal Monk gig. Other than the opening and closing bits of "Epistrophy" there are five well-chosen tunes, worked out by Rouse, three different bassists and two different drummers, but they are all well-trained to their parts and you won't notice. It's a syncretic whole. I thought I had all of Monk's filmed appearances on video, but here's a 27-minute DVD of the London session that sports two more of his tunes, recorded in March 1965 at the Marquee Club on a night when the Who and Yardbirds must have been out of town. Thelonious Records has also issued the Paris Olympia sessions with bonus DVD. As I have it on vinyl and CD (from Charly Records in UK 1994), I'll pass, but it's a great set. I suppose their master plan is to eke out more bits and pieces with whatever rarities they can possibly find and keep the diehards like yours truly coming back for more. -- Doctor Rhythm
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THELONIOUS
MONK QUARTET