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Rating: Ornette Coleman had the idea to remove the shackles from jazz once and for all.
He did it splendidly, gathering what he had heard before, mixing in some fantastic musical ideas, with the help of his faithful Robin, the saxophone. Thank you, Ornette.
And so the audience of 1961 was impressed, bewildered: the new album from the double quartet was an almost 40-minute improvisation, full of solos and, ultimately, a bit of sonic chaos - absurd!
But who made him do it?
True geniuses are not recognized as such during the period when they produce their masterpieces: just think of electric Dylan of '65, Miles's Bitches Brew, the Velvet Underground's first two records, to name a few examples.
On December 21, 1960, a technician, Tom Dowd, in the Atlantic Records studio, let the reels run without a precise time limit: on the other side of the room, the double quartet was traveling on a mantle of freedom: finally, the creature was born.
In the end, Atlantic found themselves holding a masterpiece of a record.
Confused brushstrokes, yet clear and bright at the same time.
Ornette invented a new language in jazz, and this record is the proof.
He painted, along with the other musicians (there was also Eric Dolphy, not some nobody), the emotions, imprinting them on the magnets of those famous tape recorders, in the freshness of the vinyl that was the cause of the utmost bewilderment among jazz listeners at the time. But they should have expected it, from someone like Ornette.
Few sections were written before entering the studio, no rehearsal with the group, what we get to enjoy is the one and only take of the work. And it is perfect.
No title was ever more fitting.
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