This is apparently the first
extended documentary with Keith Jarrett as
the subject. It avoids the tyranny of a chronological
approach and instead evokes the spirit of
improvisation, one that which animates the
whole enterprise. The unseen interlocutor
is Mike Dibb and his questions encourage Jarrett's
reserved wit and humour to surface, as well
as his acute perception when it comes to his
own music and musical development. More, small
but significant, information emerges in the
extra features about his withdrawn parents
and this goes some way to unravelling some
of the more gnomic utterances Jarrett has
made over the years.
We hear that Jarrett learned
the art of improvisation through classical
music. He was something of a recital prodigy
- which renders the classical recordings he's
made of Bach, Handel and others very much
more explicable and as one more exceptional
gift at his disposal. In one of the most penetrating
asides he notes that for him improvisation
goes "from zero to zero" whereas classical
players think of it as a connective device
that leads "from one thing to another" - for
example a concerto cadenza. For aficionados
one can trace his lineage, on his own admission,
to Ahmad Jahmal and it's an admiration just
short of veneration shared by the members
of his Standards Trio, Jack DeJohnette and
Gary Peacock.
That weird half crouching,
half standing, feet pumping playing style
owes its origin to his intense involvement
in the act of improvisation - a level
of involvement that he doesn't feel when he
plays classical music. There are nuggets of
this kind, throughout; his interest in Gurdieff
and the music of the East, how he had "fun"
in Miles Davis' band "but not with my own
instrument" - he played an electronic keyboard
and elsewhere we rather get the impression
that the fun was tempered by exceptional frustration.
We also see Jarrett's real "other" instrument,
the soprano saxophone, which he played throughout
the 1970s and of which he speaks with fondness
and also not a little pride; he certainly
cultivated an individual sonority and concept
on it, certainly influenced by his liking
for the eastern and the avant-garde.
We see Jarrett playing in
his long favoured ECM studios and hear from
his staunch admirer and producer Manfred Eicher;
if ever there was a case of symbiosis in a
recording studio this is it. Beyond the non-linear,
non chronological approach, itself a kind
of improvised dialogue we see valuable snippets
of Jarrett with the Charles Lloyd Quartet
and with Miles Davis; a lyrical interlude
is provided by Gary Burton whose sole recorded
meeting with Jarrett proved to be so memorable.
It’s useful too to learn of Jarrett’s almost
obsessive conduct. He asks for the same room
in the same hotel in Tokyo – and has been
doing so for the last thirty years. As someone
wryly comments, the formality of Japanese
life appeals to Jarrett – and one could add
comes as a startling counter-balance to the
volcanic performances Jarrett gives on stage.
Other interviewees include Dewey Redman and
Chick Corea, the former formidably articulate,
the latter relaxed and seemingly star-struck.
We also hear briefly about Jarrett’s debilitating
illness; it was Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and
in the aftermath we hear that Jarrett is not
writing very much at all now.
The bonus footage includes
a trio performance of "Butch and Butch"
and revealing interviews with DeJohnette and
Peacock. I won’t spoil your fun by repeating
the allusions to Picasso-esque drumming or
to their insider’s view of Bill Evans (well
I will; Jarrett is more polyphonic, Evans
harmonic). Only a few things jarred; the bonus
interviews are slightly but noticeably (thus
infuriatingly) out-of-sync. And the production
sometimes inserts talking head boxes - usually
Jarrett chatting - superimposed over a filmed
performance. I can live without that kind
of thing; what’s wrong with a voice-over?
Still, Jarrett emerges as a thoughtful though
not fulsome interviewee. His fingers, and
the mind that animates them, are articulate
enough. If the writer is always less articulate
than his words, then the musician is usually
less eloquent than his music.
Jonathan Woolf
CD Reviews
EUROARTS
DVD 2054119 [84.00 + 42.00 bonus footage]
