Mar 18, 2025 3:00 PM
A Love Supreme at 60: Thoughts on Coltrane’s Masterwork
In his original liner notes to A Love Supreme, John Coltrane wrote: “Yes, it is true — ‘seek and ye shall…
Saxophonist Joshua Redman with singer Gabrielle Cavassa at Monterey in September.
(Photo: Stuart Brinin)
Guitarist Stephane Wremble backstage with other artists at this year’s Monterey Jazz Festival.
(Photo: Stuart Brinin)
Chief Adjuah performing at this year’s Monterey Jazz Festival.
(Photo: Stuart Brinin)To sustain any cultural intuition — and beyond that to refresh it — is a tall order. To keep faith with a well-established brand and its fans while re-tuning to the temper of the time and preferences of new audiences is to dare a balance in which some teetering is likely. So Darin Atwater, the Baltimore-based conductor-educator in his first curation of the Monterey Jazz Festival (Sept. 27–29) as only the third artistic director in its 67-year history, deserves kudos for populating the multiple stages of comfortably scaled if well-worn Monterey Fairgrounds with a diverse, multi-generational program celebrating the breadth of jazz and jazz-adjacent genres, tweaking the fest’s mellow mainstream West Coast vibe with new acts, broadened scope, whetted edge.
Throughout sunny afternoons and damp evenings, randomly timed sonic booms from airplanes landing nearby and acts on overlapping schedules continuously from 11:30 a.m. to 11 p.m., there were few evident false steps. Rather, dozens of sure-footed artists filled the five distinctive performance spaces dotting grounds about the length of two football fields, connected by paths lined with community groups’ tents, crafts vendors and food stalls.
The ethnically heterogeneous but majority grey-haired crowds ambled peacefully, noshed at picnic tables, perched on bleachers and folding chairs, sat on the grass or stood, often refreshments in hand. Attendees could get close to the musicians at the Tim Jackson Stage (named for the fest’s just-retired director of 32 years, here enjoying himself in the audience) set in a glade of trees; the Courtyard Stage, a small platform over a pond; and the West End Stage, farthest from the entrance and separately ticket arena. One could listen casually or intently, but there was constant temptation to check out what was happening just a hundred feet away.
Although best experienced by grazing, the MJF has loyal supporters who buy premium-priced front-row and stands seats near the Jimmy Lyons Stage (named for the fest’s first director, who co-founded it with journalist Ralph Gleason) every year and tend to stay in the arena (capacity 5,800 seated, getting full as the day progressed). The shows here were big, characterized by upbeat determination, tuneful touchstones and audience outreach. The lineup highlighted gospel roots, commanding vocalists, cohesive standing bands and audacious spectacles powered by star instrumentalists at the top of their games. Ethnographic displays were welcomed from Lila Downs, a joyous avatar of indigenous Mexican and Californian traditions, and Somi, whose lilting yet explosive African-American folk-jazz was energized by a crafty small band. (All the weekend’s supportive musicians deserve recognition — they were named in the fest’s 62-page, four-color, $10 souvenir program book.)
From the gospel of the Blind Boys of Alabama (tempered by self-described “dirty old man” Bobby Rush blowing blues harp) and Donald Lawrence’s fervent choir to bassist Kyle Eastwood’s quintet with the Monterey Symphony Orchestra concertizing his father Clint’s original film music (dad and Morgan Freeman as witnesses); from the united front of the SFJAZZ Collective to the flash of Hiromi’s Sonicwonder, the neo-fusion intensity of bassist Stanley Clarke’s N-4ever band and the powerhouse Stretch Music of Chief Adjuah; from the lyricism of Joshua Redman with Gabrielle Cavassa to Robert Glasper easing into his funky thang to the unbridled vocalism of Samara Joy — on this stage, where Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin debuted, Otis Redding had his apotheosis, Charles Lloyd recorded “Forest Flower,” Mingus led a unique 12-tet — artists reached for the sky.
Outside the arena there were quieter but equally compelling moments. In the boxy Pacific Jazz Café — where Ashley Kahn held panel talks — alto saxophonist Miguel Zenón and pianist Luis Perdomo duetted exquisitely on Afro-Caribbean boleros (every night, Bay area salsero Christian Pepin and Orquesta Bembé held a raucous, trombone-forward dance party). At the West End Stage, Tarbaby (Orrin Evans, Eric Revis, Nasheet Waits) played a slow-burning set including an Andrew Hill tune and ’70s Philly-soul his “Bettcha By Golly Wow”; pianist Gerald Clayton’s trio romped delightfully. Free funk New Yorkers Harriet Tubman threw down for a small crowd, Melvin Gibbs’ bass trenchant, Brandon Ross’ guitar and voice keening, J.T. Lewis’ drums loose and driving. Chicagoans led by trumpeter Marquis Hill with drummer Makaya McCraven reveled in their jetstreamed, International Anthem style.
In the Jackson glade, I caught only a moment of pianist Jason Moran with tape loop specialist Blank Forms and drummer Marcus Gilmore (Moran had a substantial fest presence, and I’m sorry I missed his other collaborations). Guitarist Stephane Wremble’s afternoon concert of originals with nods to Django Reinhard and Andalusia was enhanced by pianist Jean Michel Pilc. Bay Area guitarist Mimi Fox’s organ trio and Blue Note Records president Don Was’ Pan Detroit Ensemble were fun. The last music I heard was tenor saxophonist James Brandon Lewis’ Red Lily Quintet, playing Mahalia Jackson repertoire, devotedly.
There was much more: Valiant Julia Keefe fronting her Indigenous Jazz Ensemble; Berklee Institute for Jazz and Gender Justice students showing chops and heart; pianist-singer Sara Jones bouncing through “Devil May Care” and “My Attorney Bernie”; the Carolyn Sills Combo, a Western Swing band with hot pedal-steel player.
Suspecting older adults fade after 9:30 p.m., Atwater added a “coda” series in the Arena, with Jose James, MuMu Fresh and Keyon Harrold. He was right — I folded early. I’ll catch up via recordings.
What I recall most vividly is:
Best of all was Mavis Staples. If she’s not a jazz vocalist, still this indomitable 85-year-old sings with authenticity and resilience like no one else alive. Her voice was coarse — she sipped hot tea — but her phrasing was impeccable, her delivery lively and her message crystal clear. With perfectly empathetic guitarist Rick Holstrom, bass and drums and two backup singers, Staples imparted the wisdom of “Respect Yourself,” lauded her Pop’s last words as “Friendship” and led the audience in a singalong of the refrain from Buffalo Springfield’s 1966 protest song “For What It’s Worth” that seemed to speak to the background political moment: “Hush baby, what’s that sound?/Everybody knows what’s going down. . .”
Music conveys expressive truth. The 67th Monterey Jazz Fest was a telling soundscape for where we are now. DB
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