CBS 9216 / SBPG 62620 / CL 2416
Evidence; (May 21, 1963 - Tokyo)
Light Blue; (July 3, 1963 - Newport)
Misterioso; (December 30, 1963 - N.Y.)
Thelonious Monk - piano. Charlie Rouse - tenor. Butch Warren -
bass. Frankie Dunlop - drums.
I'm Getting Sentimental Over You; All The Things You Are;
(November 1, 1964 - Los Angeles)
Bemsha Swing; (November 4, 1964 - San Francisco)
Well, You Needn't ; (February 27, 1965 - Brandeis U.)
Honeysuckle Rose; (March 2, 1965 - N.Y.)
Thelonious Monk - piano. Charlie Rouse - tenor. Larry Gales -
bass. Ben Riley - drums.
Sleeve notes by Harry Colomby
It doesn't seem like ten years. Yet it's been that long. I had
met Thelonious Monk, briefly, only once before that night, in the fall of 1955,
when I ran across him quite by accident in a nightclub which was featuring Art
Blakey and his Jazz Messengers. My mission that night was to make sure that
Blakey, whom I had hired to play a concert at the high school I then taught at,
knew the way to the school and, most important of all, the time he was to
appear. It was getting late, but I couldn't leave until I talked to Art and
gave him final instructions about the concert. I checked the clock. 1:30 a.m. That
meant, by the time I got home, four hours' sleep, tops. I began to think about
the students in my 7:30 a.m. class, about how exceptionally lively they were
that early in the morning.
Just then, a bulky figure brushed past me, went up to the bar
and ordered a drink. "Hey Monk!" someone cried out. Thelonious Monk?
That's funny, I thought. I didn't recognize him. I'm not sure why, but even
now, after so many years, Thelonious never looks quite the same to me each time
I see him. Looking over some of the hundreds of photos taken of him one can
find many faces of Thelonious Monk; child-like, somnolent, profound, distant,
gloomy...even silly, sometimes. Much the same is Thelonious in person: his
moods and looks change constantly, sometimes even within the hour.
I don't remember the mood he was in when I edged up to him at
the bar and muttered a tentative, "Hello, Thelonious. Remember me?"
Smiling politely and obviously trying to place me, he shook his head. I tried
again. "I'm Jules' brother. Remember the record session?" (Thelonious
had recorded for my brother's Signal Records a few weeks before.)
His eyes lit up and he beamed. "Oh, Harry. Yeah, I
remember. How are you? Say, you got your car here? You can drive me uptown.
That's where you live, isn't it?" I didn't live there, and it was now
close to 2:00 a.m., but I agreed to drive him home.
"How long are you going to be? You see, I teach school and
have to get up around 6:30." He assured me he wasn't going to be long,
that he just wanted to see Blakey for a few moments. So we both saw Blakey -
Thelonious to have a friendly chat with his old friend, and I to remind him of
the concert at the high school.
"You're a school teacher?" Thelonious asked. Here was
my opportunity. "Yes, and I have to get up very early. As it is I'll
probably get only about three hours' sleep," I added laughingly. "You
don't need much sleep, really, I haven't slept for two days myself,"
Thelonious said, adding, "you feel more alert with less sleep."
I began to envision myself slumped over the desk at school. I
had almost lost all hope when Thelonious offered, suddenly, "Are you ready
to quit it?" "What? Teaching?" I probed. "No, I mean are
you ready to go?"
So I drove Thelonious to his house at 2:30 in the morning and
at 3:00 a.m., a half hour later, became his personal manager. I'm still not
sure how it happened. I remember that he had always been my favorite jazz
artist; and I remember that in the car I gave him a long pep talk about how I
thought he could make it big by just sticking it out, playing the way he was
playing - no concessions, no compromises. I guess he liked that because he
intended doing just that anyway. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye,
sitting next to me in the car, and I became aware of a man with great personal
courage and, what really impressed me, great dignity.
Both of us knew that at the time he wasn't earning anything to
speak of, that he was maligned by critics, nightclub owners, concert promoters
and even other jazz musicians. Yet he kept his head up. He looked and acted
like a millionaire. He was sure that he was right and that he would eventually
succeed. I liked that. So when he asked me if I would like to be his manager, I
said yes, quickly - before either of us would have a change of mind.
© Harry Colomby