Thelonious Monk - "Misterioso"

 

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