I went to see Keith Jarrett play solo at Carnegie Hall last night. This may puzzle careful readers of this blog, who no doubt recall my boycott of Jarrett in August 2007 after his disgraceful behavior at the Umbria Jazz Festival, on top of a career of disgraceful behavior. Well, I decided to call an end my own pique. First, I’m told that Jarrett apologized to the people of Umbria. Second, now that Barack Obama is president, the tantrums of a piano player are more likely to be seen as a mere random annoyance than “yet another example” of American brutishness. Finally, I figured, it’s a new era, I’ll give the guy another chance. He’s too good an artist—too great, really—to ignore just because he’s a jerk. (Jackson Pollock was much more unpleasant, yet that doesn’t stop me from gazing at Number One (1950) every time I visit the Museum of Modern Art.)
So, as I was saying, I went to see Jarrett at Carnegie Hall last night, and it was one of the most astonishing piano jazz concerts I’ve seen in a long time—two 45-minute sets of improvisation, followed by six encores’ worth of ballads and rags, all of it riveting, quite a bit of it jaw-dropping. He moved seamlessly, effortlessly, from atonal flurries to funky blues to stirring balladry, all the while exploring hidden passageways of harmony, sifting subtle shades and dazzling colors, never succumbing to predictable patterns but never indulging in the bizarre for its own sake either.
And he was even gracious to the audience, for the most part. Has KJ embarked on a new era, too?
The concert was recorded (a pair of microphones leaning into the piano, a pair of omnis at the front of the stage for ambience) and a two-CD set will probably be released soon on ECM, as was his last solo date at Carnegie in 2005. When it comes out, buy it.
