THELONIOUS ASSAULT

THELONIOUS ASSAULT

VARIOUS ARTISTS That's The Way I Feel Now _(A&M)_

Richard C. Walls

by

This is producer Hal Willner's second multi-artiste tribute to a recently deceased composer of renown, his first being the 1981 homage to film scorer and Fellini collaborator Nino Rota. This time the honoree is pianist Thelonious Monk, a jazz musician as celebrated for his distinctive composition as for his wonderfully eccentric style of improvising and, as before, Willner has assembled, along with some logical choices, musicians not generally associated with the music at hand. It's a gimmick, but a wellmeant one—the presence of people like Joe Jackson, Donald Fagen, and Todd Rundgren will supposedly attract people unfamiliar with Monk and his music, and Willner has prepared for the results of this cultual outreach by listing on the album's sleeve the still available records where Monk's own versions of the compositions can be found.

Will hearing Peter Frampton deliver a perfectly decent solo within a perfectly tolerable mainstream fusion arrangement (by Chris Spedding) of Monk's 'Works' send the perennial pop fan scurrying to the jazz bins to seek out the original? Or, having bought the record to hear the offerings of Jackson or Fagen or Rundgren, will the non-jazz fan be so taken by the Monkish wit (as well as the many fine selections here by actual jazz musicians) that he/she will be moved to investigate the music further? I couldn't say. But whether or not the proselytizing aspects of the album are effective there's a lot of good music here and (not to jinx the missionary thrust of the thing) Monk fans in particular will find much worthwhile stuff (speaking as one).

The main thing you want to know, no doubt, is how some of the seemingly odder match-ups fare. Well, Frampton, as mentioned, is good if ordinary, while Joe Jackson, whose latest album is a mushy mistake, takes Monk's greatest hit 'Round Midnight' and explores the song's dramatic possibilities without lapsing into schmaltz, even taking an able if tentative piano solo (none of the pop/rock people sing on the album). Todd Rundgren takes one of Monk's most delirious tunes 'Four In One' and gives it a high-spirited, almost vaudevillian synthesizer interpretation, while Donald Fagen's synth rendition of 'Reflections,' aided by Steve Khan on acoustic guitar, is decidedly more respectful—though both versions are quite apt, with Rundgren responding to Monk's rhythmic playfulness and Fagen to the almost forlorn beauty of his melodic line. Less successful is Was (Not Was)'s very brief version of 'Ba-lue Bolivar Ba-lues-are' which sounds like an overly self-conscious attempt to do something weird with a rather basic blues. The venerable Dr. John, on the other hand, renders 'Blue Monk' and 'Bye-Ya' with a notable lack of pretension. The avant-garde is represented here by Joel Zorn's totally bananas version of 'Shuffle Boil,' which transforms Monk's insistent melody into a petulant duck call, and Shockabilly's shocking Hendrix-like ravaging of 'Criss Cross,' shards of the melody being briefly identifiable amidst the rubble.

Of the jazz cuts, soprano saxist Steve Lacy, who once led a group that played Monk tunes exclusively, appears on four of them, including duets with tenor saxist and long time Monk sideman Charlie Rouse, drummer Elvin Jones, and legendary arranger Gil Evans (the fourth cut is a solo version of 'Gallop's Gallop') — duets which necessarily deemphasize Monk's rhythmic dexterity (the way the angular lines interlock like a jigsaw puzzle) but also emphasize the depth of his emotional range. While Lacy is, as always, impressive, such is not the case with the Carla Bley big band version of 'Misterioso.' Although the temptation to go for the yuks with Monk is understandable, their raucous reading trashes one of his wittiest melodies; originally a blues disguised as a child's piano exercise, it's played here much too broadly for the humor to survive.

There's much more on this double-record set (a tack piano version of one of Monk's most beautiful songs,'Pannonica,' by Barry Harris, for example, and NRBQ's Terry Adams with the Whole Wheat Horns!), and at this point the reviewer is obligated to comment on how wonderful it is that Monk's music lends itself to such variegated interpretations, how this little musical U.N. proves we're all brothers under the skin, etc. But instead I'll be a spoilsport and mention that it's a shame that a composer and musician of Monk's obvious genius is relegated to near obscurity in the marketplace and then—posthumously—has to have his music made more palatable by having it associated with pop 'names' of, uh, varying stature. Just thought I'd mention it (somebody was bound to)...