Thelonious Monk: Brilliant Corners

Writing about being "lost for words" is not the ideal way of starting a review, but it may be the plain truth. Perhaps Thelonious Monk is an acquired taste. Perhaps not. Whatever the case, this particular release of Brilliant Corners is just that—brilliant.

The whole package is superb and really defines Craft Recordings "Small Batch" vinyl series. The technical literature accompanying the recording says "Each edition is cut from its original analog tapes by Bernie Grundman and pressed on 180-gram vinyl at RTI using Neotech's VR900 compound and a one-step lacquer process—as opposed to the standard three-step process—allowing for the utmost level of musical detail, clarity, and dynamics while reducing the amount of surface noise on the record." Craft delivers as advertised.

The pressing and sound quality are superb, obvious even to someone who is not exactly qualified as an audiophile. The package is not inexpensive, but, frankly, is worth every cent. Even on a mid-range setup, every note (especially the celesta on "Panonnica") is crystalline, with Monk's dissonances and occasional clams sharply resonant. The pesante groan of "Brilliant Corners," Monk's fiendishly difficult original, literally skids across the room. The recording was released in early 1957, but it sounds fresh—real genius. Too bad that the MacArthur Foundation was not handing out its largesse in those days, because Monk would have been a no-brainer on the strength of this recording. No exaggeration.

The backstory to the recording session is part of Ashley Kahn's typically absorbing contribution, which is included separately. How many takes, how much editing, how many personnel changes, and why? Anyone who has wondered why Ernie Henry and Oscar Pettiford did not stick around for the whole session, will get an implied answer from Kahn. In fact, Kahn's valuable discussion easily justifies the reissue itself. And if all this is not enough, there is Monk's breathtaking, wholly spontaneous, and really moving version of "I Surrender, Dear." The same Monk who wrote "Bemsha Swing" nearly leaves a listener in tears at "I Surrender." Clark Terry actually sounds as if he got what Monk was doing on "Bemsha," so his chorus has always seemed so appropriate and all too brief. On top of that, Max Roach's kit and percussion are literally thunderous, perhaps more than one might have recalled. Somehow, all of it worked, in no small part due to Orin Keepnews, producer and founder at Riverside Records, who had just the personality to manage what must have seemed like collective insanity at times.

Anyone serious about the history of jazz in the '50s will find something new in the well-designed package. About the only complaint is that the print on Kahn's insert is a little tough on eyes of a certain vintage. Fortunately, the new technology that has given birth to the vinyl renaissance provides numerous solutions for experienced eyes. It is poor form to rave in a review, but if Monk, Craft and Brilliant Corners do not merit it, then who or what does?

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