John Coltrane
The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings

Some records are like that, they crash into you and overwhelm you. They leave an indelible mark on your skin, a sensation that occasionally brings you back there, among those cursed grooves where a piece of your soul has taken refuge and has no desire to leave. You can threaten it, shake it, and insult it, but it will remain firm in its decision. Then there are only those notes left, torrents of warmth and sweat running over the shiny keys of a saxophone that enchants the audience like a snake charmer stupefies the onlookers. A play of glances, a mutual understanding, and then nothing remains but that magical scent that travels down your spine in a shiver of uncontrolled pleasure. Because music is a woman, it captivates with looks and is more sensual when you have to discover it slowly, without haste, removing one piece of clothing at a time. Over the years, however, everything has gained too much speed, aiming straight for the crux, the ephemeral pleasure of the moment that doesn’t allow you to enjoy the beauty of discovery, of searching for the right sound, the right mood of the music itself. Today, the taste for seduction is missing, and works like “The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings” by John Coltrane risk becoming like a woman so beautiful she's intimidating, because with her it's not enough to use a few silly lines to win her over. No, you cannot dismiss such a work with a couple of listens; it wouldn't be right.

Here, the train is running, but the mind moves faster than the fingers, and the music unfolds on intricate tracks made of cutting winds and rhythms chasing each other, overlapping and blending into a chaotic sea of harmonies, where we can only let ourselves be carried by the waves and see where they eventually lead us. Coltrane is free, but not in the literal sense of the word; we're not yet in the territory of “Ascension,” but he's equally free: in the temple of Jazz, he speaks and says what he wants, in his time and in his way. We are faced with a work of spiritual feel, which overwhelms you with its power but at the same time caresses and consoles you with its elegance. A progressive work for those times of great open-mindedness that today, due to the cultural barbarization we're experiencing, seems even too advanced. You can sense electricity where there is no electric current, a sonic charge at a time when the idea of “Wall Of Sound” hadn't yet been developed. What was strong were the energy of the leader and the suggestions the instruments succeeded in creating. If Coltrane wants to take you to “India,” he takes you, whether you like it or not! There's all the emotional charge and experience of a musician who was at the center of the great global jazz revolution, capable of dividing, and even stealing, the scene from another giant by the name of Miles Davis. And then, is it so difficult to close our eyes for a moment and imagine him in front of us: grand, with that sax tight between his fingers, his eyes closed as he pumps notes over notes that with each phrasing contribute to building him a throne in contemporary musical history? Perhaps today, it is. We are locked in cages made of emoticons, sentences in a hundred characters, and fleeting news that lasts the time it takes to scroll through. We have no time because it is taken from us by the noise that hour after hour fills every moment of our days. The intimate experience of a live album that demands our attention, which seems to look at us and say, "Hey, with me, you need patience. I have much to tell you, so listen!" has become too difficult. We have to run, always be connected with the outside, even at the expense of losing what we have inside. John Coltrane's proposal always had a spiritual imprint, a dialogue with God that culminated in that beautiful prayer which is “A Love Supreme,” a homily that has nothing dogmatic about it but is based on the solidity of perceptions, on air saturated with sweat, cigarette smoke, and applause. The Live at the Vanguard is just another piece of the spiritual work of a man who saw something more in art than fame and money, who knew that true beauty lies not only in the listening but in the discovery that derives from it. A record like this is an intellectual journey that doesn’t have a single final destination, for each person it is different, easier, more difficult, more tender, or more overwhelming, but its beauty lies exactly in this. Engaging with someone in a discussion about this sublime live testimony inevitably leads to confronting different experiences and ideas, because everyone has their own “The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings” and everyone has their own Jazz.

Thank you all for enduring this rambling rant that might not even be that sensible. I felt like talking to someone about John Coltrane, I hope I haven't bored you too much.