Sonny Rollins - 'Alfie's Theme'

The film Alfie was the epitome of Sixties cool. You could argue that this video of Sonny Rollins and band playing 'Alfie's Theme' in Norway isn't necessarily the coolest you could find on YouTube, but it's certainly one of the most unusual. It features the bizarre spectacle of Rufus Harley in full North African garb playing the bagpipes. Not surprisingly, Harley was probably the only piper known for his contributions to jazz music. You can't imagine too many record producers suggesting 'What we need on this one is some Scottish bagpipes. Someone give Rufus Harley a call.' The piper had the good sense to double on soprano sax. He harmonises with Rollins on his other instrument towards the end of this interpretation of one of the great tenor saxophonist's best known and loved numbers. Compare and contrast to Harley's bagpipe solo, which follows at around the 3½-minute mark Rollins' opening improvisation.

It's quite a brief, concise improvisation – which is one reason I chose this video. At the time of writing, Walter Theodore 'Sonny' Rollins is retired, which is hardly surprising in view of his 94 years. It's undeniable that he is the greatest living saxophonist, and there won't be many who would argue that he will probably go down as one of the five greatest and most influential horn-men in the annals of jazz. But he was more of an improviser than a tunesmith, given to long and winding improvisations of such an all-consuming nature that in one performance, he took a jump in mid-solo-flight, broke his heel and, like a beached leviathan, carried on blowing on his back. Depending on your appreciation and/or tolerance, they could be breathtaking or verging on plain boring – particularly in the context of a piano-or-guitar-less trio. After some of his great recordings of the '50s, both as a leader and as a cohort of Miles Davis, Thelonious Monk and others, he recorded Way Out West (in L.A.) in a trio format, introducing a technique called (I am informed) 'strolling', with which he solos over just bass and drums. Great for tenor sax students and enthusiasts, but just a little too cool for my tastes. I crave the warmth and harmony of a guitar or piano.

Many, many years ago, I watched a fascinating documentary that revealed just how devoted Rollins was to the art of improvisation. The full-length film focused on Rollins' two-year sabbatical when he effectively dropped out to spend his time practising on the Williamsburg bridge in New York for hours at a time. He re-surfaced in 1962 with an album he called The Bridge in the company of his perennial bassist Bob Cranshaw (seen on this video on electric bass), Monk's drummer of choice throughout the '60s, Ben Riley, and guitarist Jim Hall. You might find the film somewhere on YouTube, but this brief video tells the story. It marked me and not long after I found the album disguised as one of the I Grandi del Jazz reissues. Not surprisingly, therefore, I was very tempted to choose this 10-minute-long rendition of 'If Ever I Would Leave You' by the same band. Dressed up for telly in dinner jackets and propelled by the trendy bossa nova rhythm supplied by Messrs. Cranshaw and Riley, Rollins and Hall synchronise and solo beautifully, so it's all you could really wish for in a Sonny Rollins performance – but it is broken up rather jarringly by a few words from Jazz Casual's presenter, Ralph J. Gleason. And where are the bagpipes? So this one just shades it. It's introduced informatively by the Jazz Video Guy and the music starts just after the two-minute mark.

The concert took place in 1975, a year after The Cutting Edge, recorded in Montreux with virtually the same band, but with Stanley Cowell on piano and James Mtume on congas and with Rufus Harley only on the closing 'Swing Low, Sweet Chariot'. It was one of a series of albums recorded in that decade when Rollins in particular and jazz in general were at a low ebb. Without Miles Davis's taste for innovation, the great saxophonist scratched around for an audience, even flirting with disco on numbers like 'Disco Monk', as incongruous a notion as, say, Charlie Parker playing in David Letterman's show band. But by sticking to his guns, Rollins found that – like vinyl records – what goes around comes around again. The great improviser continued to solo and revelled in his latter-day role as an elder statesman. If you've still got the appetite for more, here he is as a spritely octogenarian (no longer, though, given to taking running jumps in mid-solo) playing with gusto one of his perennial favourites, 'Don't Stop the Carnival'.

My mother gave me the middle name Theodore because, for some strange reason, she was very taken with the big-game-slaying, warmongering American president, Theodore Roosevelt. I am very happy, though, sharing it with a jazz legend.