Few discographies are messier than that of John Coltrane. I don’t mean this in the typical sense of “messy,” mind, i.e. the wild peaks and valleys that you might typically associate with the phrase. In fact, I think he’s got arguably the most consistently satisfying, exploratory, and well-crafted body of work I’ve ever heard, and he’s released ten-fifteen albums that either attain or scrape up against the vaunted classic status. No, I mean in terms of making sense of the damn thing. Building a reasonable chronology of what his best works are and how they feed into each other can be a bit of a pain, since a) a shit-ton of albums came out in his name, many of them released by labels he had long abandoned, and b) release dates and recording dates often differ so dramatically that it can give even the most stalwart students of his work (and I would count myself among that number, at least from an armchair-historian’s point of view; I made a whole damn website about this dude’s discography for a course I took once upon a time) a headache.
Consider this post, then, my effort to hack through this jungle. And forgive the clunkiness of the two-part format; even boiled down to the most essential releases, Trane’s catalog still sprawls out in all directions at once, and the stylistic differences between his Atlantic and Impulse! releases present a natural dividing point. His tenure with Prestige is going to be a little short-changed by this list, and that’s not intended as a diss; it’s thoroughly enjoyable, and it’s always good to know where an artist came from. But it’s that glorious seven-year run, starting with Giant Steps and ending only with his premature 1967 passing, that has so captured my imagination over the years. Consider this list my tribute.
Note that I’ve fiddled with the chronology a little here; since I’m trying to chart a course through the man’s career, the dates these albums were recorded are a hell of a lot more interesting to me than their release dates, and several of my favorite later releases only came out after he passed; from what I understand, the dude was so musically restless that he’d leave whole albums in the can if they couldn’t keep his interest. Never trust an artist to judge their own work, because you’d goddamn better well believe that Om leaves me enraptured.
Lush Life. Prestige Records; recorded May 1957, released February or March 1961. I’ve chosen this as the major work of the Prestige years primarily on the strength of the title track. It’s far from Trane’s most innovative composition; it’s an old Billy Strayhorn standard done relatively straight. But Coltrane knew the songbook inside and out, it shows how well-developed his velvety tone, sense of space, and spiritual awe were even at this early phase. Features one respectable original, “Trane’s Slow Blues,” and a solid run through the old saw “Like Someone in Love,” which Bjork later Bjorkified on her 1993 Debut.
Blue Trane. Blue Note Records; recorded September 1957, released January 1958. Here it is, your first-ever indication that Coltrane was not like the other girls. It’s in the hard bop mode, even featuring future Jazz Messenger Curtis Fuller (who shines on “I’m Old Fashioned”), and an up-and-coming Lee Morgan, who also did a turn with Blakey. But if you’re one of those jazz fans who turns their nose up at hard bop because it’s too “basic” or whatever (in which case I do not understand you, but whatever), the bold tonalities that kick off the title track and the way Trane swoops into that “Lazy Bird” solo show that our hero already had a foot in the future. That title track, in fact, did a lot of work to get me over from jazz dabbler to jazz fanatic. Tip of the hat to Ed Love’s radio show “Destination Jazz,” which you can still hear on Detroit’s NPR affiliate if you ever find yourself curious.
Giant Steps. Atlantic Records; recorded May 1959, released February 1960. Near as I can tell it, Coltrane’s radical harmonic framework involved going back to the old standards. He’d change or add voicings as he saw fit, all the better to enrich the chords, and often increased the density of the changes themselves. This might all sound dry and academic until you note how dizzying “Countdown” is; he got in there and fiddled with “Tune Up,” which he first recorded with Miles, and the results are a glorious two-minute sprint into jazz’s future. Indeed, this whole album marks a mind-blowing response to the modal revolution, sometimes serving as a riposte to Miles’ spacious gospel (the thrilling title track) and other times deepening it, like on the haunting “Naima” (shoutout to Tommy Flannagan on this one) or the breezy sophistication of “Spiral.” And I mean, emotionally, this dude does it all. He’s earthy on “Cousin Mary,” playful on “Syeeda’s Song Flute,” and he just plain rips his way through “Mr. PC.” This would’ve been anyone else’s best album, and even by those astonishing Coltrane standards it’s still well in the Top Five. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar loved it so much he named his autobiography after it.
My Favorite Things. Atlantic Records; recorded October 1960, released March 1961. Musicians to this day adore Giant Steps, and us writers still salivate over A Love Supreme, but I’m pretty sure this is the most recognizable Coltrane album as far as the public imagination is concerned. Which, I think, might be part of the messiness; where Miles corralled everyone with Kind of Blue, Coltrane’s multifaceted nature makes it harder to pin a signature album to him than you might think. Still, his radical reinterpretation of the title track was as close to a hit as the circumstances (fourteen minutes, hardcore jazz, 1961 release date) allowed, and the album became one of his biggest sellers. And I gotta say, call me a populist dweeb, but I love this album. He takes can openers to the title and “Summertime,” transforming them into frenzied dances with strong modal influences; he takes a more conventional tack on “If Not For Me” and “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye,” and goddamn if he doesn’t carry those off, too. Features the first appearances of McCoy Tyner (who shines on “Summertime”) and Elvin Jones, so the classic quartet begins to take shape here.
Coltrane’s Sound. Atlantic Records; recorded October 1960, released June or July 1964. Atlantic slipped this album out after Coltrane left for Impulse; he recorded much of it during the My Favorite Things sessions, but for whatever reason left it in the can. It’s one of my favorites of the era anyway, since it’s less monolithic and more intimate than the two albums I mentioned above. It’s also gifted with a terrific sound, brooding but with a little pulse; the energy turns inward on the prayerful “Equinox,” but my man gets all extroverted with “The Night Has a Thousand Eyes,” and it’s clear he’s having a blast. Meanwhile, the ballad “Central Park West” is every bit as lovely as “Naima,” and those striking tonalities and roiling piano chords put “Liberia” in dialog with both Giant Steps and A Love Supreme. So you get the past, present, and future together in the same room, on top of a hot ass groove. You gotta give it up for that one, folks.
Ole Coltrane. Atlantic Records; recorded May 1961, released November 1961. One of jazz’s oft-forgotten side stories is the briefly popular “Spanish Tinge,” which cropped up in the late ‘50s and early ‘60s; Miles likely kicked it off with Sketches of Spain, although Mingus’ Tijuana Moods (rec. ‘57, rel. ‘62) beat everyone to the punch. Coltrane’s take includes one of my favorite of his long modal trances, the title track; Trane and his midsized group, which includes giants Eric Dolphy and Freddie Hubbard and two bass players (Reggie Workman and Art Davis), wend their way through a hypnotic rhythm that never stops developing, which keeps the twenty-minute monster fresh and fascinating. Robbie Krieger cited it as an influence on “Light My Fire,” just one of the million times Trane left fingerprints outside of the jazz world. Meanwhile, McCoy Tyner continues his development; his “Aisha” is a highlight of the record, spacious and spirited enough to pass as one of Trane’s, but with its own unique attitude to melody.
Africa/Brass. Impulse! Records; recorded May 1961, released September 1961. Another big turning point, and another plunge into the big weird. True to the title, Trane gathered up a walloping horn section, including trumpet, trombone, tuba, four French horns, and Dolph on the usual suite of woodwinds, and a bari sax in the background. Brass only sporadically fell into Coltrane’s tonal purview, let alone this much of it; maybe that’s why it took me several listens to pick up on what this record is doing. Because now I find the enormous horn section an enhancement to Trane’s expressionism. Dig the flare and fire on “Africa,” where those dudes add shades of the church and the symphony. It and “Blues Minor” are Trane originals, and they show his tonal range; the former explodes while the latter cools out. Sandwiched between them is Tyner’s reinterpretation of “Greensleeves,” which features some right pretty piano and a horn chart that’s, get this, catchy.
The Complete 1961 Village Vanguard Recordings. Impulse! Records; recorded November 1961, released September 1967. I still think Supreme is Coltrane’s peak as a composer, bandleader and conceptualist, but I reach for these tapes when I want to hear Trane do goddamn everything with the saxophone. To whit: he dips into Arabic and Indian modalities on, well, “India,” he wails a whole new blues on “Chasin’ the Trane” (I think Hendrix shouted out to this one in an interview, but I can’t find the source), he shows up to rouse the good audience on “Spiritual,” he lends “Naima” that signature delicacy, and I’m certain Wayne Shorter picked up a little mojo from “Miles’ Mode.” It sure helps that he’s got Dolphy, one of his most sympathetic collaborators ever; the sheer power the two whip up on “Brasilia” is a wonder to behold, and his bass clarinet line on “Spiritual” gives the tune a lot of depth. And the whole band’s on board; Tyner’s unforgettable on “Morning Sunrise,” side player Garvin Bushnell adds a mesmeric English horn solo to the November 5th performance of “India,” and is that Jimmy Garrison’s name in the credits? The band’s all here! It took a decade of Coltrane superfandom before I finally sat down with the whole big bastard, but it’s since displaced the original three-track LP (“Chasin’,” “Spiritual,” and “Softly”) in my rotation; my favorite move is to throw it on shuffle. Dismissed as “anti-jazz” by the critics of the day, but what do they know? I mean, writing about music? What a buncha dweebs. (tugs collar nervously)
Impressions. Impulse! Records; recorded variously 1961 - 1963, released July 1963. I feel like I’m cheating a little here because this album is such a mishmash; the title track (a reharmonized “So What,” and yes, I love the swagger) and “India” came from his Village Vanguard stint, “Up ‘Gainst the Wall” hails from a September 1962 session, and “After the Rain” came from April 1963. But since neither of the Village tracks made the old LP, this was all new material anyway. The title track spotlights the Trane-Dolph thing one last time, the two making a playground of jazz’s stateliest bassline. Between his work with Trane and his inimitable Out to Lunch, Dolphy has his place in my pantheon, and the dude still feels unsung. If you know, you know. Meanwhile, “After the Rain” is another stellar entry in the list of Trane’s ballads, with Jones’ shimmering cymbal treatment providing a powerful emotional grounding. And “Up ‘Gainst the Wall” swings like nothing else in the dude’s catalog.
Live At Birdland. Impulse! Records; recorded March, October, and November 1963, released January 1964. Well, mostly live at Birdland; it’s another of these studio-concert hybrids, and once again it makes up for its relative lack of cohesion with extraordinarily high-quality material. The record’s standout is the pensive prayer “Alabama,” believed by many to be a tribute to the victims of a church bombing by a buncha chuds appalled by the concept of civil rights. It makes a guy ashamed to be American sometimes. Meanwhile, the live stuff kicks many an ass; stage favorite “Afro-Blue” (never attempted in the studio) comes off with the proper fire, while Trane takes the idea of “saxophone solo” to its most literal extreme on “I Want to Talk About You,” to terrific results. Betcha anything Anthony Braxton was taking notes.
Crescent. Impulse! Records; recorded April and June 1964, released July 1964. I don’t always get it right on my first listen, or even necessarily my fifth. Case in point: it took me ten years of on-and-off listening before I realized that this disc ranks among Coltrane’s top-shelf material. That’s because it’s a subtle one, more keyed towards impressionistic soundscapes than either the tight, dynamic compositions of the Atlantic albums or the tonally adventurous suites that dominate his later career. Indeed, his play with configuration foreshadows later work; the Elvin Jones plus subtle accompaniment arrangement on “The Drum Thing” looks forward to Interstellar Space, while Jimmy Garrison’s showpiece “Lonnie’s Lament” might remind you of A Love Supreme. But it’s the first side that really gets me right down there; the keening sax/piano motifs drive the serene title track, while Trane brings a certain tempered heat to his solo on “Wise One.”
A Love Supreme. Impulse! Records; recorded December 1964, released January 1965. I once considered this my favorite album before my brain realized what my heart already knew: “A Love Supreme” is a weird way of saying “Songs in the Key of Life.” Still, it can’t possibly be any lower than three (also gotta have Abbey Road up there, don’t ya know), and it helped me pivot from the jazz, soul, and rock I grew up on to the exploratory forms I grew interested in through my teens and, especially, twenties. The flow between tracks is terrific, with unforgettable solos often bridging tracks - frenetic work from Jones gets you from “Resolution” to “Pursuance,” while Garrison’s bass makes a fine palette cleanser from there to the closing “Psalm.” Garrison also carries that unforgettable “Acknowledgment” groove, which later forms the bedrock for that unforgettable chanting. I’m still not fully sure how I feel about avant-garde music or deep theory; my thought on music is you either feel it or you don’t. And I feel Garrison’s heavy grooves, the spiraling piano solos Tyner peppers the record with, Jones’ ever-undulating rhythms, and especially the way Trane blurs the lines between melodies, solos, and purest expressionism. His closing solo on “Psalm,” which seeks to lend musical accompaniment to a poem from the original liner notes, serves at once as an astonishing demonstration of the man’s nuanced spirituality (boy, can I relate) and yet another form-pushing marvel. He’d only go further from there.
Ascension. Impulse! Records. Recorded June 1965, released February 1966. Arguably the most forbidding of Trane’s later experiments, which is why I don’t listen to it as much as a couple of the others; it’s a single forty-minute track, and while it follows a loosely interpreted head-solo-head structure, one could reasonably mistake it for a whole buncha honkin’. Especially since Trane swelled his quartet into an eleven-piece band, with solos from such luminaries as Archie Schepp (who appeared on a scrapped take of A Love Supreme’s “Acknowledgment” - Trane promised in that album’s liner notes that they would “continue the work,” and oh lordy did they), Freddie Hubbard, and late-period wingman Pharaoh Sanders. So it’s a work that both demands and rewards careful study; with this much talent on board, the record stays powerful throughout. It’s a protean work, its substantial energies forever moving and never settling long, and in that sense it embodies Trane’s creative process, at least as well as I understand it. If this sort of thing isn’t your cup of tea, I’m here to tell you it’s fine. Elvin Jones hated it so much he allegedly flung his snare drum across the room after recording wrapped. But if even a flicker interests you, keep listening and I promise its mysteries will unfold. Note that Trane recorded two takes on the piece, initially releasing the second and then changing his mind and putting out the first instead.
Kulu Se Mama. Impulse! Records. Recorded June and October 1965, released January 1967. Juno Lewis makes for a key addition in the Coltrane mythos, particularly due to how quickly he flitters in and out of it. A percussionist with a penchant for building his own instruments, he composed and performed on this album’s haunting title track, only to vanish from the dude’s circle almost immediately after. And indeed, it’s an unforgettable tune, with Lewis’ haunting vocals and surprisingly danceable percussion an interesting counterpoint to Trane’s fire. It’s often called “African-flavored,” but I have trouble tracing exactly which of Africa’s many musical traditions it aligns with, so I suppose we’ll have to settle for the word “syncretic.” It’s a highlight of the late period, as is the bonus track “Selflessness,” which features some of my favorite examples of how Trane and Pharoah Sanders complemented each other, each switching freely between explosive and ethereal playing. Elsewhere, Trane plays around with arrangements (the sax-drums duet “Vigil” foreshadows Interstellar Space) and emotional modes; see “Welcome,” later covered by a Santana group that included none other than Alice Coltrane. The latter of whom features little into our story, but never you fear; I have a completely separate respect and appreciation for her music, one that warrants its own entire piece.
Sun Ship. Impulse! Records. Recorded August 1965, released April 1971. A little before this album’s release, Trane, accompanied by the classic quartet and Archie Schepp, put on a live performance so fiery it sent the good crowd at Soldier Field hurling for the exits. Not just them, either; this and First Meditations, recorded within the same week, mark the last stand of the Classic Quartet. Though for Tyner I suspect it was less out of distaste for the music and more the desire to try out the bandleader thing for his own; his explosive live album Enlightenment reminds me of this very album. Which is a lot more song-oriented than Coltrane’s other late discs; it retains a similar flow, but tracks like “Amen” (with that unforgettably furious melody) and “Attaining” (Tyner brings the thunder hard here) make a lot more sense out-of-context than, say, any given extract of A Love Supreme and Meditations. Which doesn’t keep the title track from setting the perfect tone, or “Ascent” from serving as the ideal ending.
First Meditations. Impulse! Records. Recorded September 1965; released December 1977. Impossible to discuss without its cohort Meditations (Impulse! Records. Recorded November 1965; released August 1966). And yes, ok, I’m cheating a little, but it’s the same basic suite with a little reconfiguration. Meditations features a quintet loaded up with late period stalwarts: Alice Coltrane (whose incredible technique and clarity of tone sound incredible on “Love” especially; “Serenity” even foreshadows her own stellar solo career), Pharoah Sanders (who makes “the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost” the unforgettable experience it is) and Rashied Ali (extra-explosive on “Consequences”) as well as Jimmy Garrison, the one Classic Quartets member who stayed until the end. First Meditations marked that foursome’s last stand; the same basic suite (except with “Joy” instead of “Father”), done in a more ethereal and soothing style. I prefer First Meditations because it spotlights Coltrane’s underdiscussed capacity for eerie beauty; it’s a dense disc, dominated by Coltrane’s discursive melodies, Tyner’s chunky block chords, Garrison’s nimble countermelodies and Jones’ insatiable roil, but somehow all that adds up to a sound that’s both peaceful and electrifying. But the real schmoove is to listen to them back-to-back, and thus get the full sense of why this later Coltrane stuff exerts such lasting power.
Om. Impulse! Records Recorded October 1965, released January 1968. And speaking of power, all I gotta say here is sheesh. As an avant-curious teenager, I first heard this album-long track (along with “Ascension,” “Kulu Se Mama,” and “Selflessness”) on that big ol’ Major Works of John Coltrane collection, and I dismissed it as Trane’s lone unmitigated failure. Mostly because of that goofy monologue. But goddamn, when those guys get cooking, it’s unlike anything you’ll ever hear. It might sound devoid of melody on first blush, but that’s only because the melodies come on so fast and so thick that it’s hard to pick them out. That said, it’ll reward careful listening, and in many ways its improvisational spirit and multilayered harmonic approach make it the ultimate in jazz. Trane and Pharoah punch in some truly exploratory sax solos, and it’s about as close to psychedelic Trane as you’re likely to hear. For the record, the man himself seemed to dislike it, specifically instructing Impulse’s Bob Thiele to make sure it never saw the light of day. Just like Kafka said about the Trial and the Castle.
Interstellar Space. Recorded February 1967; released September 1974. Later covered by Nils Cline and Gregg Bendian, which I suppose means this record is finding its way into something resembling the mainstream. Regardless, this might be the furthest “out” Coltrane ever took it, as it’s all duets featuring drummer Rashied Ali as Trane’s partner. No bass, no piano, no other horns. Plenty of musical violence, though; I don’t stand by my RYM-era claim that “Mars” is “the antithesis of the free jazz movement” because a) I flat-out used the word “antithesis” wrong (happens sometimes), and b) that’s clearly Kenny G, but it’s sure an acid bath to start things off, and Trane’s about the only guy who could make the squeals all over “Saturn” sound musical. Still, you can tell the dude knows his jazz; listen obsessively enough to “Jupiter,” and you’ll hear the bebop ghosts clinging to the edges, even as he pushes at the form’s very limits. And “Venus” stands as a high watermark, combining Trane’s signature uncompromising intensity with the haunting delicacy that’s the skeleton key to understanding his “free” era. It’s only a record you play for company if you want everyone gone, but I come out of it feeling cleansed, my perspective altered. And that’s enough for me.
The Olatunji Concert: The Last Live Recording. Impulse! Records. Recorded April 1967; released September 2001. Sometimes you get a top-shelf live album by, at least partially, happy accident. Already steeped in the harsh, user-unfriendly aesthetic that we’re all by now familiar with, this concert’s feel is therefore enhanced by its poor recording quality. You can feel Trane and the band push against it, as though it’s just another obstacle for them to fight through, a gap between their fervent expressionism and the listener that’s bridgeable only by sheer power. Well, that and the man’s signature light touch; that indeed is our man playing the flute on the cover, and while you won’t hear it on this particular record, the moments of space and tenderness (“My Favorite Things” done in its full dynamic range) complement the incendiary energy; dig the way Trane and Sanders’ saxes bleed through “Ogunde,” a moment brought to us as much by the aforementioned sound quality as by their own performance. It’s humbling music, the sort of thing that runs you right up to the cliff-edge of the sublime and invites you to bask in the beautiful view. Which makes it all the more haunting that we lost him three months after this concert. There’s been a Trane-shaped void ever since.