As if John Coltrane's A Love Supreme did not enjoy enough lofty status, two new projects have recently hit the market to further enhance its legend: a double-disc Deluxe Edition that includes, among other features, two previously unreleased, near mythical alternate takes with an expanded lineup; and a handsome hard-cover book titled A Love Supreme: The Story of John Coltrane's Signature Album (Viking), by Ashley Kahn.Collectively, they provide the final word on a 1965 LP that has endured as one of the 20th century's most profound pieces of music.
In late '64, the saxophonist/composer sequestered himself in an upstairs room of his Long Island home and emerged with what he deemed his "gift to God." The album is structured as a four-part suite — some of it meditative, some of it fiery — but all of it so probing, so in-the-moment, that it does indeed create the feeling that Coltrane, drummer Elvin Jones, pianist McCoy Tyner and bassist Jimmy Garrison were acting as vessels for a higher power.
The good news is that you do not have to be particularly evangelical, nor a studied jazz aficionado, to appreciate A Love Supreme. While the music challenges, its built on swing-based rhythms and invites with grabby, minor-key melodies. The improvisations often build from introspection to boisterousness, nipping at the fringes of dissonance but not tumbling into chaos.
The album was a bridge between Coltrane's more post-bop tendencies and his growing infatuation with the cacophonous avant-garde movement, an unrelenting exploration of pure sound that would come to dominate the musician's muse until his death from cancer in 1967.
A Love Supreme was a true crossover album. An instant sensation with jazz fans and critics, it also resonated with the '60s counterculture. Hippies dug its blend of expansiveness and inward intensity, its non-denominational spirituality. It was some trippy shit. The LP was likewise claimed by the Black Power movement, which lauded the music for its unremitting commitment and a perceived political statement.
The first disc of A Love Supreme (Deluxe Edition) only includes the original LP, clocking in at 32:47. The original master tapes are long lost; subsequent LP and CD editions had come via a slightly flawed second-generation transfer from 1971 that added equalization and compression. Looking to raise the bar for this project, the producers found an untreated 1965 copy in the London vaults of the EMI label. The result is an audibly crisper Love Supreme, especially evident in the clarity of the cymbals and the fatness of the bass.
Of the 77-and-a-half minutes of bonus material on Disc 2, two alternate versions of "Part 1 – Acknowledgement," are easily the most important. Their existence remained rumor for decades — which is curious because both of the additional players, tenor saxophonist Archie Shepp and bassist Art Davis, are still alive. These versions were cut on the second day of sessions in December 1964. Coltrane invited Shepp, a young avant-gardist, and the skilled veteran Davis to see what other textures his heavenly gift might yield.
As it turns out, the alternate versions are more valuable as history than music. Jones takes a heavier hand with the drums; Shepp, especially in his first take, sounds tentative, essentially playing variations on the songs central bass riff and chipping in some raspy squalls. Coltrane sounds deferential, as if he's more concerned about the work of his young protégé than his own. The second take finds Shepp more assertive, and the chemistry between the horns somewhat better. Although the new versions have a certain frayed charm, they don't approach the focus of the original.
The entire A Love Supreme was only performed once on stage, at the Antibes Jazz Festival in France seven months after the studio sessions. The concert makes up a good portion of Disc 2. Jazz musicians of the era did not tour to "support" their new record. By July of '65, Coltrane and his band had all but forgotten A Love Supreme. This is illustrated in the first few bars of the concert version, where Coltrane plays the opening bass riff, as if to quickly refresh he and his mates about the music. (Garrison misses his cue, and stumbles in after Coltrane.)
The stage version is more than 15 minutes longer than the original, with soloists stretching into freer territory. Most successful is "Part 3— Pursuance," the suite's fastest movement. Coltrane simply rips it up on an extended foray, a good portion of which is just sax and drums. But this is followed by an eight-minute bass solo. Although Garrison turns in a capable performance, the listener really, really has to like bass solos.
The most digestible piece of extra material is an alternate take of "Part 2 — Resolution." Not quite as propulsive as the master, it provides a worthy bookend and, further, shows that Coltrane approached each take as a wholly separate opportunity for improvisation.
For folks who want to take the Love Supreme experience to another level — to gorge on historical perspective, analysis, and minutiae — Kahn's book is the ticket.
The 223-page text is the author's second pass at chronicling a single iconic LP (the first was about Miles Davis' Kind of Blue). A Love Supreme: The Story of John Coltrane's Signature Album, is the more effective effort, for a few reasons. First, the authority of Khan's reportage and writing clearly benefited from the prior project. The narrative zings along better.
Also, several of the principals in A Love Supreme are still alive: Tyner, Jones, Shepp, Davis and engineer Rudy Van Gelder. (The Miles book only drew drummer Jimmy Cobb as a living source.) Using these interviews and dozens of others, Khan gives A Love Supreme a prismatic overview. Lastly, Coltrane's work carries a bit more intrinsic mystique. Khan's opportunity to fully delve into the fuzzy alternate sessions emerges as something of a coup.
It's extremely rewarding to carefully listen to a song like "Acknowledgement," then read seven highly detailed pages about it, then listen to the song again. And with music as deep as A Love Supreme, such an exercise never gets academic.
Contact Associate Editor Eric Snider at 813-248-8888, ext. 114, or snider@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Nov 27 – Dec 3, 2002.
