The Persistence of Monk
“You know, anybody can play a composition and use far-out chords and make it sound wrong. It’s making it sound right that’s not easy”
Thelonious Monk
A spinning cap, a mumble, some more noises – Monk is in Monk’s world, turning round and round and round, his feet glued to the stage, his head in the clouds. Time drifts and he returns to his muse, thumping out whole tone scales and dissonant chords – luring us into his world of abstraction and distortion; where everything is skewed, bent, stretched and squashed - the Salvador Dali of Jazz.
Every Jazz fan should watch Clint Eastwood’s documentary, on Monk, Straight No Chaser: a lovingly assembled mix of concert footage and behind the scenes titillation. The fly on the wall material is fascinating; providing an insight into Monk’s private life, recording sessions and psyche. It does little to dispel the image of Monk as an eccentric enigma, who is perturbed by mental illness. Indeed, his strange and beautiful music is undoubtedly the residue of a fragile disposition.
At one recording session Charlie Rouse (saxophone) attempts to decipher the chords on Monk’s chart of “Boo Boo’s Birthday”. Monk, withdrawn to the point of catatonia, grunts one-syllable replies to the saxophonist’s enquiries. Rouse, wise to his employer’s eccentricities, cajoles and teases the information out of his serpentine mind. It’s a revealing exchange that highlights Thelonious’ reputation as a kooky savant who could be difficult to work with.
During the last six years of Monk’s life he never played the piano; sinking into a reclusive mire of ill health and solitude. He slipped away in 1982, and we can only speculate on the dreams and regrets that swirled through his mind in those moribund years. Yet Monk’s life has the air of an elaborate ruse – maybe he’s up there grinning at having duped us all; wearing his cap, mumbling and spinning round on a white fluffy cloud. Just maybe…