Thelonious Monk Trio

Prestige 30164

One of the more common complaints levied at Monk covers is an aggravating tendency toward sanded edges. Even Monk himself was wont to apply chamois cloth and cottonseed oil to compositions in his later years, but the sharp angles and built-in dissonances are an essential aspect of his songbook’s singularity. This RVG of an early Monk platter is a case study in why. The composer/pianist was in the midst of a contract with Prestige, a transitional way station between his seminal Blue Note and Riverside runs. Producer Bob Weinstock purchased the results of two 1952 sessions supervised by the enigmatic Teacho Wiltshire and the ubiquitous Ira Gitler and coupled them with another that he financed at Rudy’s studio in 1954. Two cuts from that last date open the set, starting with a version of “Blue Monk” that runs to the double the length of any of the other album tracks. Monk capitalizes on the comparatively capacious temporal space, spinning off a string of thematic variations and sparring with drummer Art Blakey who gladly rises to the rhythmic bait without resorting to easy bombast. Bassist Percy Heath does a passable job as accompanist, but disappointingly errs on the side of caution during his solo feature. The piano and drums interplay on “Little Rootie Tootie” is even more ebulliently combative, Monk stabbing out ear-poking notes as Blakey pounds his kit. By the same crew, “Bye-Ya” builds on syncopated patterns that are at once primitive and futurist, much like the Gil Melle’s hand-drawn album cover art. Max Roach occupies the drum stool for a spiky “Bemsha Swing”, his staccato press rolls alternating with a cantilevered clip clop beat. Monk responds with jarring repetitions, made even more penetrating by the brittle acoustics that actually work in the bracing music’s favor. Poor bassist Gary Mapp is mostly lost in the shuffle on both of the earlier sessions, the reciprocal creative energy funneling almost exclusively between the pianist and his percussive companions. Later versions of these iconic tunes may have carried the lubriciousness and uniformity of a hot oil process, but these renditions are rife with nappy kinks and whorls and embody Monk in exquisitely undiluted form.

~ Derek Taylor