#John Coltrane at the Village Vanguard

[jazzdailyblog]

Capturing History in Sound: "Duke Ellington at Fargo, 1940 Live"

Introduction: “Duke Ellington at Fargo, 1940 Live” is more than just a live recording—it’s a piece of jazz history, capturing the unique spirit of Duke Ellington’s orchestra during a pivotal moment in their journey. Recorded on November 7, 1940, at the Crystal Ballroom in Fargo, North Dakota, this album provides listeners with a rare window into Ellington’s live performances, away from the…

[cosmonautroger]

John Coltrane, Village Vanguard, November, 1961

[jt1674]

[jackspanto]

Back home.

[fabiche]

[crazycubanlove]

(Left to Right) Pharoah Sanders, John Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Jimmy Garrison and Rashied Ali outside the Village Vanguard, New York, May 28, 1966. Photo cover of the album "Live at the Village Vanguard Again" 1966. Photo © Chuck Stewart

[sinceileftyoublog]

John Coltrane Reissue Review: Evenings at the Village Gate: John Coltrane with Eric Dolphy

(Impulse!/UMe)

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Not even two years after A Love Supreme: Live in Seattle saw the light from Joe Brazil's private collection, a new John Coltrane treasure has been given to us, unearthed this time by accident. A Bob Dylan archivist, scouring through the archives of the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, found an August 1961 recording of John Coltrane with Eric Dolphy at Greenwich Village's long-shuttered Village Gate. While Coltrane's November performances from the same year at the Village Vanguard have long been available, either as part of his 1962 live album or a 1997 box set, this collection shows some familiar players a bit rougher around the edges. Future Nina Simone and Dylan engineer Richard Alderson, who wanted to test a newly found single ribbon microphone, decided to record the set, and everything from McCoy Tyner's restrained piano to, well, the overall sound quality, has the vibe of a group of geniuses still figuring things out, a fascinating snapshot in an ever-changing time in jazz.

In an era where our most revered artists take seemingly forever to release new albums, it's hard to fathom just what luminaries like Coltrane did back then, and the rapid pace of change they faced in a burgeoning music industry. In March, he released My Favorite Things on Atlantic, which yielded surprising hits in adaptations of George Gershwin's "Summertime" and Rodgers and Hammerstein's "My Favorite Things", the latter of which received significant radio airplay. Two months later, his Atlantic contract was bought by Impulse! While he kept Tyner and drummer Elvin Jones in his band, he replaced bassist Steve Davis with a young Reggie Workman and brought on multi-instrumentalist Eric Dolphy, forming the basis of a live quintet. His studio ensemble grew even larger on the first album he recorded for Impulse!, Africa/Brass, also one of his first to employ two bass players. Eventually, though, he'd settle into the Classic Quartet, Jimmy Garrison replacing Workman for the next several years, the four producing stone cold classics like, yes, A Love Supreme. It's impossible to separate this context when listening to Evenings at the Village Gate: John Coltrane with Eric Dolphy in all of its rawness.

Really, Evenings at the Village Gate is a true moment in time and one of arguable significance, though listening to it is a fascinating exercise. You constantly find yourself wishing you were there to witness it, watching an audience in real time react to where you know jazz would end up. As Jones' pattering drums and Workman and Tyner's steady bass and piano introduce "My Favorite Things", Dolphy subtly flutters his clarinet. Six minutes in, Coltrane announces himself with a brawny saxophone line before blasting streaks of notes above the band. When he very occasionally returns to the song's main refrain, it's like a sigh of relief before he embarks on another freeform journey. Sometimes, you can hear an audience member clapping, thinking his solo has finished, but he keeps going. Dolphy offers a similarly tattered solo on Benny Carter's "When Lights Are Low", while the rest of the band lurches. Tyner's solo, for example, is sprinkled but so low in the mix you can almost clearly hear background chatter in the club, and you can definitely decipher Workman's plucks. The band is risky and adventurous, unafraid to fail.

The final three tracks performed would eventually be recorded, including "Impressions", a Coltrane composition first set to tape in 1962. The version on Evenings at the Village Gate is an early run-through the way a lot of jazz instrumentalists do today. On one hand, hearing him breathlessly and immediately whittle away at schemas of jazz must have been thrilling. On the other, compared to the live versions of the song from months later, on this one, Coltrane embraces true chaos rather than controlled chaos. Only Jones and Tyner are truly honed in here, the former shining with his dexterousness throughout and underrated dynamism in his be-bop duet with the latter. If you've always thought Coltrane's recording of "Greensleeves", meanwhile, sounds a little bit like "My Favorite Things", Tyner somewhat interpolates the latter song as Jones' drum fills pervade the performance. Tyner's two-handed solo mid-way through simultaneously showcases the song's theme and his own phrasing, while Coltrane and Dolphy enter much later, as if they've been stockpiling on reserves before gradually taking the tune to dizzying new heights.

If there's a true highlight on Evenings at the Village Gate, it's of course the only known recorded version of Africa/Brass' "Africa". Art Davis fills in on additional bass drones, with Coltrane on tenor saxophone, and the song feels like the most the band had been in sync all night. Perhaps that's because there's nothing else to compare it to, but the performance is still thrilling taken on its own, from Jones' raindrop pitter patters to Tyner's unshakeable refrain. Coltrane and Dolphy give way to the rest of the band for a while, and the tune slowly ascends as they tease a return, first giving Jones his due with a rolling solo and then actually returning to rapturous applause, skronking and squeaking away. You have to think that some members of the audience had no conception for what they just saw. You also have to think the set made them want to dive in further.

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Awesome

[rastronomicals]

2:17 AM EST January 26, 2023:

John Coltrane - "Chasin' The Trane" From the album   Live at the Village Vanguard/The Master Takes (February 24, 1998)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

[jazzdailyblog]

Jimmy Garrison: The Bassist Behind the Legendary John Coltrane Quartet

Introduction: Jimmy Garrison was an American jazz double bassist best known for his work with the legendary John Coltrane Quartet. Born ninety years ago today on March 3, 1934, in Miami, Florida, Garrison developed a unique and influential style that helped redefine the role of the bass in modern jazz. This blog post explores Garrison’s life, music, and enduring legacy. Early Life and Musical…

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Pharoah Sanders, John Coltrane, Alice Coltrane, Jimmy Garrison & Rashied Ali outside the Village Vanguard, New York, May 28, 1966, photographed by by Ch. Stewart.

[jt1674]

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #347 - Sonny Rollins, Tenor Madness, 1956

Le Storie Di Musica toccheranno il traguardo delle 350 puntate questo mese. Come ormai da prassi, il numero tondo è dedicato ad un disco di Miles Davis. E questa volta, in ossequio al filo rosso degli album legati tra loro, ho deciso di raccontare il rapporto tra Davis e una grande etichetta discografica, la Prestige Records. La Prestige fu fondata da Bob Weinstock nel 1949: appassionato di musica jazz, vendeva dei dischi per corrispondenza in maniera così incisiva che ben presto affittò un locale e lo trasformò in un grande negozio di dischi, il Jazz Record Center, sulla quarantasettesima strada di New York. Frequentando i locali jazz che lì vicino iniziavano a diventare famosi, legò con molti musicisti fino a fondare prima la New Jazz Records che dopo pochi mesi diventa la Prestige Records. Weinstock è stato un personaggio leggendario, dalle mille manie, alcune delle quali racconterò in questi appuntamenti novembrini, ed è stato negli anni '50 uno dei fari della musica jazz mondiale con la sua etichetta indipendente, insieme alla Blue Note, alla Riverside, alla Impulse! prima che anche i grandi gruppi discografici entrassero nel jazz in maniera decisa.

Weinstock era oltre che un appassionato un grande uomo d'affari, capace di intuire le potenzialità degli artisti e di essere per loro trampolino di lancio e di ottimizzare tempi e costi delle produzioni: pochissime prove per le registrazioni, e leggenda vuole che si registrasse due volte sui nastri di alcune take per risparmiare, leggenda nata dal fatto che per quanto la produzione Prestige fosse numericamente grandiosa, esistono pochissime alternative takes dei loro lavori. Nonostante come ingegnere del suono ci fosse una leggenda: Rudy Van Gelder, che non lavorava solo per lui ma anche per la Blue Note, famoso per la sua accuratezza e maniacalità. Le prime registrazioni avvenivano nel garage della casa di famiglia di Hackensack, nel New Jersey, luogo che divenne mitico tanto che Thelonious Monk dedicò al grande ingegnere un brano, Hackensack, per poi spostarsi di qualche km a Englewood Cliffs, sempre nel New Jersey.

In quello studio a Hackensack Sonny Rollins registra il 24 Maggio del 1956 il disco di oggi. Rollins all'epoca è già riconosciuto un gigante del sassofono, tanto che è famosa il commento di Max Gordon, leggendario proprietario del jazz club più famoso del mondo, Il Village Vanguard, che sosteneva: I critici e gli appassionati hanno pareri molto discordi sulla bravura di alcuni musicisti jazz, ma non su Sonny Rollins. Lui è il più grande, il più grande sax della sua generazione. Theodore Walter Rollins nasce a New York nel 1930 da una famiglia di origini caraibiche, i cui "suoni" influenzeranno la sua carriera futura. Fa un apprendistato breve ma intensissimo, suonando con i più grandi: J.J Johnson, Monk, Bud Powell, Max Roach e soprattutto Miles Davis e Charlie Parker. È il primo che trasporta la rivoluzione del bop sul sax tenore. Con Davis dimostra anche le sue già ottime capacità compositive scrivendo pezzi diventati famosi, come Airgin e Oleo. Però ha un difetto: ad un certo punto sparisce, per i motivi più strani. Nel 1954 si ritira a Chicago, per non cadere in tentazione tra soldi e droga, per continuare a studiare facendo lavori manuali. Quando ritorna a New York, suona per la Prestige in uno dei primi 33 giri del jazz, Dig. Nel 1955, tornato nel gruppo di Davis, poco prima di un'importante serie di concerti al Teatro Bohemia, sparisce di nuovo, stavolta per disintossicarsi. Ritorna nel 1956, quando sempre l'amico Roach lo scrittura per un disco portentoso: Sonny Rollins Plus 4 è all'apice della creatività, tanto che ancora come innovatore impone nel jazz il tempo in tre quarti (la storica Valse Hot). Nel frattempo però il suo posto nel gruppo di Davis è preso da un giovane che di lì a poco diventerà un gigante, John Coltrane, ma Davis gli vuole bene e per delle registrazioni del 1956 per la Prestige gli offre la sua sezione ritmica, che nel jazz è ricordata come "The rhythm section" per quanto iconica e grande è stata, e con questa registra il disco di oggi. Rollins è insieme a Red Garland al pianoforte, Paul Chambers al contrabbasso e Philly Joe Jones alla batteria quando inizia a suonare Tenor Madness, che contiene nella title track un incontro unico ed eccezionale. Essendo lì per una sessione con il quintetto di Davis, in quello che diventerà il più famoso chase della storia del jazz, John Coltrane si unisce a Rollins in quel brano, da allora uno dei capisaldi del jazz. Cos'è però un chase? è un incontro dove due strumentisti colloquiano con lo stesso strumento su un dato canovaccio, una sorta di dialogo musicale dove si fronteggiano a suon di assoli. Tenor Madness è un piccolo blues, che si rifà a Royal Roost di Kenny Clarke and His 52nd Street Boys, registrato nel 1946, ma qui diviene il brano che mette insieme i due più grandi e influenti sassofonisti della storia del jazz, con il timbro squillante e luminoso del primo Coltrane (che debutterà come solista solo l'anno successivo nel 1957) e il suono più cupo e leggero di Rollins, che all'epoca aveva già più esperienza. Il resto di Tenor Madness è altrettanto iconico: When Your Lover Has Gone, classico di Einar Aaron Swan, divenuto famosissimo per la sua apparizione nel film La Bionda E L'Avventuriero del 1931 di Roy Del Ruth e interpretato da James Cagney e Joan Blondell, che solo nel 1956 ebbe una ventina di incisioni; Paul's Pal è un omaggio di Rollins a Paul Chambers, uno dei più geniali bassisti di tutti tempi, uno che ha suonato in almeno 100 capolavori del jazz; My Reverie è la ripresa dell'arrangiamento che nel 1938 Larry Clinton fece si un brano di Claude Debussy, Rêverie, del 1890; chiude il disco una cover spettacolare di The Most Beautiful Girl In The World, opera del magico duo Rodgers and Hart e presente nel musical Jumbo, che trasformava un teatro di Broadway in un mega circo con acrobati, trapezisti e giocolieri durante lo spettacolo. Il disco, un capolavoro, ne anticipa un altro, Saxophone Colossus, dello stesso anno, uno degli apici creativi di quegli anni incredibili e altro gioiello della collezione Prestige.

Rollins fu attivo per la lotta dei diritti civili e politici degli afroamericani, tanco che nel 1958 firma in trio con Oscar Pettiford e Max Roach, il disco The Freedom Suite, uno dei primi album-manifesto sulle discriminazioni razziali del jazz, e continuò ad avere costanti le sparizioni dalle scene. Sempre dovute alle sue dipendenze dalle droghe, la più famosa riguarda un suo disco, il suo maggior successo commerciale, The Bridge del 1962: ancora insoddisfatto della sua musica, decide si andare a suonare sotto il ponte Williamsburg, quello che divide Manhattan da Brooklyn, provando per 12-13 ore al giorno, in tutte le stagioni.

Scontroso (si dice che abbia licenziato il maggior numero di colleghi, più di Mingus), dalla personalità labirintica, non seguì le rivoluzioni degli anni '60 e '70, scriverà ancora grandi album (What's New con Jim Hall, un altro gioiello) e parteciperà con attenzione anche a contaminazioni con altri generi, e famosissimo è il suo assolo per i Rolling Stones in Waitin' On a Friend, da Tattoo You del 1981. È l'ultimo dei grandi a sopravvivere, ritiratosi nel 2012 dalle scene, un gigante che ha segnato un periodo irripetibile della musica.

[jazzandother-blog]

Bootleg of John Coltrane 4tet + Eric Dolphy in Copenhagen 1961

(English / Español)

Without a doubt, saxophonist John Coltrane's band after he left trumpeter Miles Davis in 1960 is one of the defining groups of jazz, and for the year or so during which multi- instrumentalist Eric Dolphy joined Coltrane on reeds, the band became a phrenic and frenetic powerhouse that shook jazz to its core. Between Dolphy's piercingly distinct sound and Coltrane's newly developed interest in Eastern modalities, as well as the driving force of one of the all-time great rhythm sections—pianist McCoy Tyner, drummer Elvin Jones, and bassists Jimmy Garrison or Reggie Workman—this was a band to reckon with.

Recorded on November 20, 1961, mere weeks after the legendary Village Vanguard sessions that got critics' dander up, this album finds the quintet at the Falkonercenter in Copenhagen, playing the first part of a sold-out two act bill (the second act was trumpeter Dizzy Gillespie's band: what a concert!). Here, Workman is still holding down the bass chair, though Jimmy Garrison had likely won himself the spot for future iterations of the Coltrane band with his performance on "Chasin' The Trane" back in New York. Previously made available on vinyl, but only just released in a complete CD form with announcements by presenter Norman Granz, this is a must-have for Coltrane or Dolphy completists.

The album boasts two curiosities that distinguish it from all the other Coltrane recordings available in the marketplace. The first, a pair of rare false starts on "My Favorite Things," prompting an apology from the ever mild-mannered Coltrane to the audience, will likely only interest the true die-hard fan. But a version of Victor Young's beautiful "Delilah," purported to be the only version of the song that Coltrane or Dolphy ever recorded, is a deluxe addition to any fan's collection.

Without a doubt, this would have been an astonishing performance to witness. While Coltrane, Dolphy and McCoy are fantastic as always, part of the pleasure of hearing this band is in the seemingly telepathic give and take between all players. Hearing Coltrane's fire with only hints of the sparks that Elvin Jones is lighting behind him isn't the complete experience. That being said, it's still a lot better than most of what's out there.

Tracks: Announcement by Norman Granz; Delilah; Every Time We Say Goodbye; Impressions; Naima; My Favorite Things (false starts); Announcement by John Coltrane; My Favorite Things.

Personnel: John Coltrane: tenor and soprano saxophones; Eric Dolphy: alto saxophone, flute, bass clarinet; McCoy Tyner: piano; Reggie Workman: bass; Elvin Jones: drums.

Extract text from: allaboutjazz.com / By Warren Allen

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Sin lugar a dudas, la banda del saxofonista John Coltrane tras su marcha del trompetista Miles Davis en 1960 es uno de los grupos que definen el jazz, y durante el año en que el multiinstrumentista Eric Dolphy se unió a Coltrane en las cañas, la banda se convirtió en una potencia frenética que sacudió el jazz hasta sus cimientos. Entre el sonido penetrantemente distintivo de Dolphy y el nuevo interés de Coltrane por las modalidades orientales, así como la fuerza motriz de una de las mejores secciones rítmicas de todos los tiempos -el pianista McCoy Tyner, el batería Elvin Jones y los bajistas Jimmy Garrison o Reggie Workman-, ésta era una banda a tener en cuenta.

Grabado el 20 de noviembre de 1961, pocas semanas después de las legendarias sesiones del Village Vanguard que levantaron la polvareda de la crítica, este álbum presenta al quinteto en el Falkonercenter de Copenhague, tocando la primera parte de un programa de dos actos con las entradas agotadas (el segundo acto fue la banda del trompetista Dizzy Gillespie: ¡menudo concierto!). Aquí, Workman sigue ocupando la silla del bajo, aunque Jimmy Garrison probablemente se había ganado el puesto para futuras iteraciones de la banda de Coltrane con su actuación en "Chasin' The Trane" en Nueva York. Anteriormente disponible en vinilo, pero recién editado en CD completo con anuncios del presentador Norman Granz, es un disco imprescindible para los completistas de Coltrane o Dolphy.

El álbum cuenta con dos curiosidades que lo distinguen de todas las demás grabaciones de Coltrane disponibles en el mercado. La primera, un par de raras salidas en falso en "My Favorite Things", que provocaron una disculpa del siempre apacible Coltrane al público, probablemente sólo interesará a los verdaderos fans acérrimos. Pero una versión de la hermosa "Delilah" de Victor Young, que se supone que es la única versión de la canción que Coltrane o Dolphy grabaron jamás, es una adición de lujo a la colección de cualquier fan.

Sin duda, habría sido una actuación asombrosa. Aunque Coltrane, Dolphy y McCoy están fantásticos como siempre, parte del placer de escuchar a esta banda está en el toma y daca aparentemente telepático entre todos los músicos. Escuchar el fuego de Coltrane con sólo indicios de las chispas que Elvin Jones enciende tras él no es la experiencia completa. Dicho esto, sigue siendo mucho mejor que la mayoría de lo que hay en el mercado.

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

John Coltrane Quintet with Eric Dolphy - Kulttuuritalo, Helsinki, Finland, November 22, 1961

A day after this performance, DownBeat's John Tynan wrote: "At Hollywood’s Renaissance Club recently, I listened to a horrifying demonstration of what appears to be a growing anti-jazz trend exemplified by these foremost proponents [Coltrane and Dolphy] of what is termed avant-garde music. I heard a good rhythm section… go to waste behind the nihilistic exercises of the two horns.… Coltrane and Dolphy seem intent on deliberately destroying [swing].… They seem bent on pursuing an anarchistic course in their music that can but be termed anti-jazz."

Time has proven Tynan 100% right, of course — this stuff sucks! Just kidding ... the team-up of Coltrane and Dolphy is one the high water marks of modern music as we know it. At least in my opinion. The four-disc Village Vanguard collection offers one of the most incredible listening experiences you'll find anywhere in any genre. And amazingly, we're going to get more Coltrane / Dolphy (and Jones and Tyner and Workman) in about a month. The previously unreleased Evenings at the Village Gate: John Coltrane with Eric Dolphy features 80 minutes of music recorded a couple months prior to the Village Vanguard stand. Unreal! You can check out a sample over on NPR now and although the recording was made with a single mic (by future Dylan engineer Richard Alderson), it sounds well-nigh miraculous.

While we wait for the rest, let's enjoy this wondrous 40+ minutes of the Coltrane Quintet in Finland. Compared to the Village Vanguard tapes from just a few weeks before, the performance is relatively smooth — nothing too outward bound like "India" or "Chasin' Another Trane." Coltrane had already tested the European audience's stamina on his final tour with Miles in 1960, so maybe he was hedging his bets slightly. But that's not meant as a criticism. This is spectacular music from start to finish. And if this group is deliberately destroying swing on the long and luminous "My Favorite Things" here ... well, then destroy away, dudes! Dolphy's incredible flute solo here is a total showstopper.

"At home [in California] I used to play, and the birds always used to whistle with me," Dolphy said. "I would stop what I was working on and play with the birds ... Birds have notes in between our notes—you try to imitate something they do and, like, maybe it’s between F and F-sharp, and you’ll have to go up or come down on the pitch. It’s really something! And so, when you get playing, this comes. You try to do some things on it. Indian music has something of the same quality— different scales and quarter tones. I don’t know how you label it, but it’s pretty."

Photo: Herb Snitzer/Impulse! Records

[whileiamdying]

A SERENE JAZZ MASTERPIECE TURNS 65

The best-selling and arguably the best-loved jazz album ever, Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue still has the power to awe.

MARCH 06, 2024

At a moment when jazz still loomed large in American culture, 1959 was an unusually monumental year. Those 12 months saw the release of four great and genre-altering albums: Charles Mingus’s Mingus Ah Um, Dave Brubeck’s Time Out (with its megahit “Take Five”), Ornette Coleman’s The Shape of Jazz to Come, and Miles Davis’s Kind of Blue. Sixty-five years on, the genre, though still filled with brilliant talent, has receded to niche status from the culture at large. What remains of that earthshaking year in jazz? “Take Five” has stayed a standard, a tune you might hear on TV or on the radio, a signifier of smooth and nostalgic cool. Mingus, the genius troublemaker, and Coleman, the free-jazz pioneer, remain revered by Those Who Know; their names are still familiar, but most of the music they made has been forgotten by the broader public. Yet Kind of Blue, arguably the best-selling and best-loved jazz album ever, endures—a record that still has the power to awe, that seems to exist outside of time. In a world of ceaseless tumult, its matchless serenity is more powerful than ever.

On the afternoon of Monday, March 2, 1959, seven musicians walked into Columbia Records’ 30th Street Studio, a cavernous former church just off Third Avenue, to begin recording an album. The LP, not yet named, was initially known as Columbia Project B 43079. The session’s leader—its artistic director, the man whose name would appear on the album cover—was Miles Davis. The other players were the members of Davis’s sextet: the saxophonists John Coltrane and Julian “Cannonball” Adderley, the bassist Paul Chambers, the drummer Jimmy Cobb, and the pianist Wynton Kelly. To the confusion and dismay of Kelly, who had taken a cab all the way from Brooklyn because he hated the subway, another piano player was also there: the band’s recently departed keyboardist, Bill Evans.

Every man in the studio had recorded many times before; nobody was expecting this time to be anything special. “Professionals,” Evans once said, “have to go in at 10 o’clock on a Wednesday and make a record and hope to catch a really good day.” On the face of it, there was nothing remarkable about Project B 43079. For the first track laid down that afternoon, a straight-ahead blues-based number that would later be named “Freddie Freeloader,” Kelly was at the keyboard. He was a joyous, selfless, highly adaptable player, and Davis, a canny leader, figured a blues piece would be a good way for the band to limber up for the more demanding material ahead—material that Evans, despite having quit the previous November due to burnout and a sick father, had a large part in shaping.

A highly trained classical pianist, the New Jersey–born Evans fell in love with jazz as a teenager and, after majoring in music at Southeastern Louisiana University, moved to New York in 1955 with the aim of making it or going home. Like many an apprentice, he booked a lot of dances and weddings, but one night, at the Village Vanguard, where he’d been hired to play between the sets of the world-famous Modern Jazz Quartet, he looked down at the end of the grand piano and saw Davis’s penetrating gaze fixed on him. A few months later, having forgotten all about the encounter, Evans was astonished to receive a phone call from the trumpeter: Could he make a gig in Philadelphia?

He made the gig and, just like that, became the only white musician in what was then the top small jazz band in America. It was a controversial hire. Evans, who was really white—bespectacled, professorial—incurred instant and widespread resentment among Black musicians and Black audiences. But Davis, though he could never quite stop hazing the pianist (“We don’t want no white opinions!” was one of his favorite zingers), made it clear that when it came to musicians, he was color-blind. And what he wanted from Evans was something very particular.

One piece that Davis became almost obsessed with was Arturo Benedetti Michelangeli’s 1957 recording of Maurice Ravel’s Piano Concerto in G. The work, inspired by Ravel’s triumphant 1928 tour of the U.S., was clearly influenced by the fast pace and openness of America: It shimmers with sprightly piccolo and bold trumpet sounds, and dances with unexpected notes and chord changes.

Davis wanted to put wide-open space into his music the way Ravel did. He wanted to move away from the familiar chord structures of jazz and use different scales the way Aram Khachaturian, with his love for Asian music, did. And Evans, unlike any other pianist working in jazz, could put these things onto the keyboard. His harmonic intelligence was profound; his touch on the keys was exquisitely sensitive. “I planned that album around the piano playing of Bill Evans,” Davis said.

But Davis wanted even more. Ever restless, he had wearied of playing songs—American Songbook standards and jazz originals alike—that were full of chords, and sought to simplify. He’d recently been bowled over by a Les Ballets Africains performance—by the look and rhythms of the dances, and by the music that accompanied them, especially the kalimba (or “finger piano”). He wanted to get those sounds into his new album, and he also wanted to incorporate a memory from his boyhood: the ghostly voices of Black gospel singers he’d heard in the distance on a nighttime walk back from church to his grandparents’ Arkansas farm.

In the end, Davis felt that he’d failed to get all he’d wanted into Kind of Blue. Over the next three decades, his perpetual artistic antsiness propelled him through evolving styles, into the blend of jazz and rock called fusion, and beyond. What’s more, Coltrane, Adderley, and Evans were bursting to move on and out and lead their own bands. Just 12 days after Kind of Blue’s final session, Coltrane would record his groundbreaking album Giant Steps, a hurdle toward the cosmic distances he would probe in the eight short years remaining to him. Cannonball, as soulful as Trane was boundary-bursting, would bring a new warmth to jazz with hits such as “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy.” And for the rest of his career, one sadly truncated by his drug use, Evans would pursue the trio format with subtle lyrical passion.

Yet for all the bottled-up dynamism in the studio during Kind of Blue’s two recording sessions, a profound, Zenlike quiet prevailed throughout. The essence of it can be heard in Evans and Chambers’s hushed, enigmatic opening notes on the album’s opening track, “So What,” a tune built on just two chords and containing, in Davis’s towering solo, one of the greatest melodies in all of music.

The majestic tranquility of Kind of Blue marks a kind of fermata in jazz. America’s great indigenous art had evolved from the exuberant transgressions of the 1920s to the danceable rhythms of the swing era to the prickly cubism of bebop. The cool (and warmth) that followed would then accelerate into the ’60s ever freer of melody and harmony before being smacked head-on by rock and roll—a collision it wouldn’t quite survive.

That charmed moment in the spring of 1959 was brief: Of the seven musicians present on that long-ago afternoon, only Miles Davis and Jimmy Cobb would live past their early 50s. Yet 65 years on, the music they all made, as eager as Davis was to put it behind him, stays with us. The album’s powerful and abiding mystique has made it widely beloved among musicians and music lovers of every category: jazz, rock, classical, rap. For those who don’t know it, it awaits you patiently; for those who do, it welcomes you back, again and again.

James Kaplan, a 2012 Guggenheim fellow, is a novelist, journalist, and biographer. His next book will be an examination of the world-changing creative partnership and tangled friendship of John Lennon and Paul McCartney.