Alright, so I know we’re trying to be approachable and not pretentious here, but indulge me for a moment.

In “The Shape of Jazz to Come” (1959, Atlantic), Ornette Coleman presents a nascent vision of the unburdened musicality which will become the revolutionary “free jazz” movement (although the producers added a self-imposed burden with that album title - quite a claim). Coleman’s vision is a musical system apart from traditional (read: Western) tonal centers and consonant harmonies where the musicians’ individuality and voice is put to the forefront to be compared and complimented by their fellow improvisors. His theory of harmolodics puts harmony, melody, and rhythm on equal footing, freeing music from the constraints of theory and opening it to pure theme and substance. Let’s explore the shape of jazz which came.

A warning from the liner notes of Coltrane’s “Ascension” before we proceed: “To begin at the beginning, a caveat for the casual listener. Be advised, this record cannot be loved or understood in one sitting, and there can be no appreciation at all in two minutes listening to an arbitrary excerpt in a record store.” Remember what I said about approachability…

Byard Lancaster’s “It’s Not Up To Us” (1968, Vortex) proves that slating an album as free jazz doesn’t preclude simple beauty from the music. The flute’s lovely melodic line is sung against the simple rhythmic frame. Don’t fret though, the album quickly ventures further out with a nearly broken rendition of “Over the Rainbow” and the menacing “Satan”, featuring Sonny Sharrock’s signature rapid fire pick work.

On “Up Popped the Devil” (1974, Enja), Mal Waldron carries a heavy load on his fingertips. His left hand anchors the brooding, helpless feeling that persists over the entire 12 minutes of “Space Walk”. The complimentary plaintive cries of the flute and bass turn this into the soundtrack for a Francis Bacon painting (I’m thinking something from the Pope Innocent X series is the right fit). Serious things fall apart music.

In contrast, Horace Tapscott’s “Live at I.U.C.C” (1979, Nimbus West) is a pure expression of communal joy. It’s a celebration of making music in the present moment. This record is so present and jubiliant it almost feels wrong to listen to it after the fact. But only almost.