Coltrane's Impulse Recordings

John Coltrane John Coltrane wasn't the first to get into the jazz "new thing" in the 60s, but he quickly became its central figure. When he died in 1967, it was to a martyr's requiem. Just look at the tributes paid him during those tumultuous years: Albert Ayler's "For John Coltrane," Frank Lowe's "In Trane's Name," Noah Howard's "Homage to Coltrane." Archie Shepp called his first album Four for Trane. Judging by his recorded oeuvre, this worship was justified. Coltrane was on a continual quest for transcendence, which was evident in the progression of albums he made for Impulse in the 60s, some rereleased: Impressions, Ascension, New Thing at Newport, Kulu Se Mama and Interstellar Space. The fact that he died just as he was reaching the height of his powers makes these documents even more of a revelation at this late date. It's hard to say when Coltrane's real leap of faith occurred as far as the avant-garde goes, but Impressions might be as good a place to start as any. The opening cut, "India," represents the height of Trane's modal soloing, a technique he picked up working with Miles Davis on albums like Kind of Blue. Leading his own quartet, Trane was able to expand on his own musical vision by leaps and bounds. On "India," the meter established by Elvin Jones and Jimmy Garrison allows Coltrane to unravel lithe patterns on his soprano sax (same ax he utilized for "My Favorite Things" a couple years earlier). When the whole band merges again it's with the galvanizing force of what could only be considered a significant moment in history.

"Impressions" takes up where the earlier "Chasin' the Trane" left off, with it elliptical soloing and crashing rhythm section. Jones is amazing on this one, and his work on the bonus track, "Dear Old Stockholm," defies gravity, with an insane staccato delivery that alternates between stuttering drum rolls and otherwise staggering stick-work. It's hard to think of a higher peak in 60s jamming.

As its title suggests, New Thing at Newport, recorded in July 1965, was an attempt to introduce the new wave of jazz to the establishment who, up until that time, had been none too sympathetic about such developments. So, like Dylan's electric debut at the Newport Folk Festival around the same time, this was in many ways both a snub to the establishment and a triumphant moment for a whole new means of expression. At Newport that year, a young tenor man named Archie Shepp followed the Coltrane quartet onstage with a quartet of his own. Coltrane himself only played two selections (including a Freudian "My Favorite Things"), but compared to the Shepp group, the Coltrane Quartet sounded almost funky. With a group consisting of Bobby Hutcherson (vibes), Barre Phillips (bass) and Joe Chambers (drums), Shepp played much more sparingly than the Master, but his bluesy inflections contained strong melodies nevertheless. "Call Me By My Rightful Name" is a perfect example of such artful diligence.

About a month prior to Newport, Shepp had joined Coltrane for his most ambitious experiment yet, a record designed to rival and possibly surpass what was at that time still the reigning champ of the avant-garde, Ornette Coleman's Free Jazz. Taking Ornette's model of a "double quartet," Coltrane built his ensemble around a bank of strong soloists including Shepp, Pharoah Sanders, John Tchicai and Marion Brown, all horn players who, not surprisingly, were following in his footsteps. On Ascension, the cast barely disappoints. The only weak link is pianist McCoy Tyner, whose solo sounds a touch too studied compared to the free-for-all that precedes it. What's important about this reissue is that it finally conjoins both versions of Ascension (back in '65, Impulse mistakenly issued two different versions of the album). Except for an obscure Coltrane collection released sometime during the 80s, the two versions have never coexisted until now.

Structure-wise, the only variable in the two sessions is that in "Edition II" Tchicai solos after Shepp. But performance-wise there are crucial differences. For instance, trumpeter Freddie Hubbard's solo on "Edition I" is by far superior to the one on "Edition II." Other variations crop up, but it's a testament to each player's degree of discipline that in a performance based utterly on improv and, for that matter, chaos theory, that "Edition II" is only two minutes longer than "I." One thing's for sure: 35 years later, Ascension sounds every bit as incendiary as the day it was first waxed.

The same can be said for the equally impressive but lesser-known Kulu Se Mama. This is one of the first Coltrane albums I ever bought?as a 17-year-old senior in high school, I must have been in awe of the cover photo of the great man blowing this huge horn. Impulse's art department was in many ways responsible for the mythology that evolved around Coltrane, and by the time Kulu Se Mama came out, in early '67, his mystique was already greater than any figure in jazz since Charlie Parker. On this album, Coltrane retained Pharoah Sanders from Ascension for two tracks recorded in Los Angeles on Oct. 14, 1965. He's also joined by the vocalist Juno Lewis, whose poem "Kulu Se Mama" was the inspiration for Coltrane's piece. "Kulu Se Mama" and "Selflessness" (not on the original LP) are as intense as anything Coltrane ever cut; the great thing about him at this time was that he had the incredible knack of guiding enormous waves of noise into majestic musical movements. What could sound like mere chaos in lesser hands still sounds rhythmic executed here. "Kulu Se Mama," for instance, is as "progressive" a piece of jazz as you're likely to hear, and the long portion in the middle consisting of just Tyner and the various percussionists is a kind of Afro-outer-space boogie to rival Sun Ra's.

Kulu also contains some of the last recorded work of the classic quartet, such as "Welcome" and "Dusk Dawn." It also contains "Vigil," a duet between Coltrane and Jones, which pointed the way toward Interstellar Space, the final installment in this series. Recorded a scant few months before Coltrane kicked the bucket, the album pairs Trane with Rashied Ali, a drummer who more or less edged Elvin Jones out of the band. Ali's playing is more frenetic and propulsive, a technique Coltrane favored at the time over Jones' more polyrhythmic delivery. Coltrane by this point had perhaps reached his apotheosis, alternating between solid bluesy lines and a style of playing where the notes come in such rapid succession they conjure a swarm of locusts. This style would be widely imitated in the years following Coltrane's death, by everyone from Frank Lowe to David Murray to David Ware.

On songs like "Jupiter," "Saturn" and "Leo," Coltrane's saxophone practically speaks. To think that just two people can create such astounding melodies (dig "Saturn") is hard to believe in a day and age where everything on a major label is CheezWhiz and everything in the so-called "underground" is like a glorified form of therapy. Interstellar Space is the classic jazz duo record of all time, and there's no telling what Coltrane would've done next had he lived. But despite the aura that had risen around him, he was only human. On July 17, 1967, he died.