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about his withdrawn parents and this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
Keith
Jarrett, Jack DeJohnette and Gary Peacock. 
EUROARTS DVD 2054119 [84.00 + 42.00 bonus
footage]
