Another piano player. That makes three in a row – but what a piano player! A figurative and verging-on-literal giant of a man, McCoy Tyner was the kind of man and musician who inspired reverence. Influenced in his youth by Thelonious Monk's highly rhythmic approach to the instrument and by Bud and Richie Powell, who happened to be neighbours in his native Philadelphia, Tyner would influence in his turn everyone from Chick Corea to 'Chucho' Valdés. Even before John Coltrane recruited him for his classic quartet of the first half of the Sixties, he recorded in 1958 the youthful pianist's hypnotic composition, 'The Believer'. He was one, I believe, all his life.
To mark the occasion of BMG releasing as the next volume in their Montreux Years series Tyner's appearances at the Swiss jazz festival between 1981 and 2009, here's one of many live treasures available. I was highly tempted by 'Mambo Inn' with George Benson, but decided that it was a distraction, being more about George than McCoy. This particular performance doesn't derive from Montreux, but comes from somewhere not too far away. A short drive down the autoroute du soleil from Lyon, Vienne is one of many French towns in the summer to host an annual jazz festival. It's one of the biggest and the best and, like Marciac's, it has helped to put a town that might easily be missed firmly on the map. It took place three years after his final Montreux appearance, at the Théâtre Antique in the company of his latest trio and, felicitously, on tenor saxophone Ravi Coltrane, the son of his long-time boss. Bass player Gerald Cannon and drummer Montez Coleman are both new names to me, but they perform admirably, stoking the fire and keeping the relentless beat of this long, long chunk of spiritual jazz that seems to echo the masterwork that Tyner recorded with John Coltrane a mere 48 years before this concert was recorded, A Love Supreme.
It's not the longest version available on YouTube. Tyner was in his seventies here, a gaunt, avuncular figure in his white cap, a far cry from the robust prime version witnessed in the classic performance of 'Walk Spirit, Talk Spirit' from 1973. It was recorded in the company of 20-year old saxophonist Azar Lawrence, who looks younger than Arsenal's boy-wonder, Bukayo Saka, seated bass player Joony Booth and the swashbuckling drummer, Alphonse Mouzon, whose unforgettable performance behind the kit is almost worth the whole price of admission. But at 19½ minutes, it's asking a lot of potential viewers. As for the original 24-minute track on Enlightenment, the double album recorded at Montreux that same year with the same outfit, better grab some kind of liquid or solid sustenance before embarking on that one.
Consider this, then, a potted version of the '73 epic. If it lacks a little of the fire, it rambles less. As befitting someone in glasses, Ravi Coltrane plays with a more polite sense of control than the coltish Azar Lawrence. He probably recognised from the moment he picked up a saxophone that there was little point in trying to emulate his ever-questing, never-resting father. He does all that could be asked of him and doesn't try to steal the show with any histrionics. The three main solos – by Coltrane, Cannon and Tyner – are all concise and all both anchored and propelled by that devilishly catchy ostinato that lets up noticeably only once, during Tyner's solo foray, and by the relentless metronomic click-clack of Coleman's rim-shots. Even though it was a comparatively new trio and the saxophonist appeared as a guest, this comes over as a true group performance, as tight as the proverbial gnat's chuff.
The publicity for the new Montreux collection describes the Philadelphian pianist as 'a force of nature in the maelstroms of jazz improvisation.' Tyner was a leftie and able to generate a thunderous rhythmic power from the bass notes of the piano. This was allied to a surprising delicacy in his melodic explorations along the treble keys, which created a palpable sense of tension and made him such a distinctive stylist. Coltrane talked of his 'exceptionally well developed sense of form, both as a soloist and an accompanist. Invariably in our group, he will take a tune and build his own structure for it.' The proof of the pudding is in Le Chant du Monde's 7-CD set of John Coltrane's European tour of 1961, which I pounced on with unbridled joy in a sale a few years back. There are (count 'em) nine versions of the evergreen 'My Favourite Things' and, as often as not, it's Tyner's even more than Coltrane's improvisations on a fairly facile theme that transport me into fresh astral realms.
Just as I find it impossible to listen to John Coltrane's late explorations, Tyner left the fold because all he could hear 'was a lot of noise. I didn't have any feeling for the music, and when I don't have feelings for music, I don't play.' One of the great things about McCoy Tyner was that he didn't dabble. He barely bothered with the electric piano, but kept to the acoustic instrument. While so many of his contemporaries were trying their hands at jazz-funk or fusion of some sort, Tyner's playing and albums of the era remain resolutely his own, always firmly rooted in rhythm, melody and feeling.
As giants go, he was a gentle one. It was only when I saw him live at the Nordsee Jazz Festival in the Eighties – with his regular trio of the time and trumpeter Freddie Hubbard as (somewhat awkward) special guest – that I appreciated how imposing a figure he was: not in an outsize Oscar Peterson way, but just a big powerful man with big hands. For such a modest, humble man who was capable of great tenderness, certainly in his music, he appeared larger than life – at least until his last years when his comparative frailty was rather shocking to behold and made you fear that he wasn't much longer for this world. In fact, he died eight years after this video, in 2020, at the age of 81, which is quite a respectable age for a hard-working jazz musician. As it is, he left three labels each with its own considerable recorded legacy: Blue Note, Impulse! and Milestone.
But he didn't dabble in drugs and he looked after himself, so he should by rights be with us still. I count it as a particular blessing that I managed to see this musical demigod even if only once live in concert. As writer and former leader of the fusion band Nucleus, Ian Carr wrote, 'His music is an affirmation, an exultation in being alive.'
Affirmative, Captain.
