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Versatility, with its accompanying absolute mastery of the most diverse styles, is one of the hallmark traits of great musicians from every era. Between Beethoven of 1808 and John Coltrane of 1964, even the most daring musicologist would find not the slightest musical affinity, yet in both cases we are faced with an example of versatility so striking and absolute as to border on the incredible. All this, let it be clear, respecting the firmly established hierarchies: no lèse-majesté to the detriment of Beethoven, heaven forbid (that would be the height of irony coming from a classicist like myself).
Thus, in 1808 Beethoven presents in the same concert the Fifth Symphony, which is like a majestic and overwhelming whirlwind of strong emotions, and the idyllic Sixth "Pastoral," a calm and balanced masterpiece of a completely opposing nature. Well, in 1964 a John Coltrane at the height of his creativity gives full rein to all the moods that a saxophone can humanly express and produces that monument to improvisation in four movements, known as “A Love Supreme”, where the urge for direct expression manifests by every means, including cries, sobs, murmurs, and even the voice itself, repeating the phrase “A Love Supreme” like a prayer (and indeed that suite is nothing more than a very personal hymn of praise to God).
The same John Coltrane, still in that blessed year, also gives us an exceptionally fine album, much more conventional and as such destined to be overshadowed by the more innovative work, but no less perfect in its composition and execution. "Crescent" contains 5 tracks that seem positioned there to demonstrate that the sax doesn’t necessarily have to moan and writhe, but can also unleash a calmer force and in a certain sense more "rational." The result is a surprising singability that makes this album easily comprehensible even to non-jazz lovers, for whom certain jagged edges of "A Love Supreme" (not to mention "Ascension") could prove a bit challenging. The lineup is the ideal quartet of the '60s, probably the best Coltrane ever had at his disposal: McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on bass, and Elvin Jones on drums. A high-level band, but with special mention for the pianist: Tyner is truly much more than an accompanist, and his personal and refined touch countless times blends perfectly with the warm and enveloping notes of John Coltrane's tenor sax, creating wonderful nocturnal effects.
"Crescent" stands out for its concentration of "ballads" or in any case of intriguing slow pieces, compared to previous albums, in which Coltrane was not generous with such tracks. Which reinforces the hypothesis that this record was somewhat his "Pastoral," the ideal place where the violent passions of “A Love Supreme” were gently tempered. If one were to find a reference, it would automatically be the immortal “Naima”, from "Giant Steps" (which however was a magical moment of ecstasy amidst a crowd of more or less frantic tracks).
It begins with the fascinating "sustained slow" that gives the album its title: the brief, poignant introduction of “Crescent” immediately clarifies that this nocturnal and singable melody is the backbone of the piece, and will not be stripped by the subsequent and imaginative sax phrases, which at times seem to wander on paths extremely distant from the initial theme, but then end up resting on a series of long notes that lead to the sumptuous reprise of the inspired initial theme, which finally fades away in a rustle of cymbals from the excellent Elvin Jones. Then it’s McCoy Tyner who introduces masterfully “Wise One”, until the sensuous entrance of a sax sound more than ever rich, with in the background a slight sparkle of cymbals and rarefied piano notes. A magical start to a “ballad” that keeps its promises even after the entry of the rhythmic base. A gentle and vaguely Latin rhythm sets the stage first for sober yet clear piano notes, then for a long sax solo, with few outbursts but of great quality. Again here the fade-out closure is suggestive, with a masterful reprise of the sensual introductory motif. “Bessie’s Blues” is a brief pause, but not for reflection, rather for acceleration. Old swing cadences provide the space for two brilliant interventions by an unusually “reasoning” Coltrane, always well supported by the excellent McCoy Tyner. Then follows another languid “ballad” with a dark and nocturnal allure: “Lonnie’s Lament”. The interplay between the sax and piano is as always perfect in the introduction, and the background of brushed cymbals is also very effective scenically. Then bass and drums draw a barely sustained rhythm, on which McCoy Tyner first rages with a solo made of unsettling notes, at times almost sinister, then Garrison’s bass comes to the forefront with its vibrant and deep voice, engaged in a long dialogue with itself, almost abruptly cut off by the sax, which returns to the beautiful main theme, which despite the title is anything but “lamenting” even if somewhat sad. “The Drum Thing” closes the album with an unusual dialogue between Elvin Jones's tribal percussion and Coltrane's sax notes, long and trailed to give a vague sense of Middle Eastern song. Then the drums decisively assert themselves, in a wild crescendo that seems to anticipate by twenty years certain African atmospheres of Peter Gabriel. Here Elvin Jones undoubtedly experiences his moment of glory, interrupted only by the return of the sweet chant of the sax. Perhaps the only track in the album “not hummable,” but still of great exotic and extremely modern charm.
There’s no denying it: an album to be framed, highly recommended to those who want to discover the more classical side of the multifaceted and innovative John Coltrane.
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