Pithecanthropus Erectus (1956)
9
Pithecanthropus Erectus / A Foggy Day / Profile of Jackie / Love Chant
Often
considered Mingus’ first truly major album, Pithecanthropus Erectus
is an album that was clearly ahead of its time, composed by a visionary musician
and executed by a great quintet that dared to bridge the gap between post-bop
and Ellingtonian swing on the one hand, and the as yet unwritten future on
the other hand (this is a few years before the innovative releases by Coltrane,
Coleman, etc). Never one to consider himself an average guy, Mingus called
this project one of his “jazz workshops,” but the entire approach
is different here. The contrast between the sax players almost couldn’t
have been greater at the time, for instance, as Mingus brought Jackie McLean,
a 24-year old Parkerite on alto sax, and the virtually unknown J.R. Monterose
(on tenor) together, adding Willie Jones on drums, and Mal Waldron on piano.
As for the terrific title track: it wasn’t a composition that was written
out in advance. Mingus explained in the liner notes to the album that he only
drew a mental score on paper after which “each man’s own particular
style is taken into consideration, both in ensemble and solos.” This
not only created a an atmosphere of freedom I guess (although Monterose allegedly
wasn’t very satisfied with the results - Mingus was more than once involved
in fistfights during recording sessions and live gigs), it also made
sure each player could feel at ease and was encouraged to dig as deep as possible
and necessary.
If it weren’t for the brilliant title song – innovative in concept and execution – the album would’ve proven to be another run-up to the later masterpieces, despite the quality of the other three tracks. With “Pithecanthropus Erectus,” Mingus wanted to tell the story of the erect standing man, from ascending from all fours until the (logical) catastrophic end. According to the liner notes it’s divided in four basic movements (evolution, superiority-complex, decline and destruction), and it’s indeed possible (but it takes some effort) to follow this, from the introduction of the main theme in the first part (that really offers proof Ellington was Mingus’ guru), to a first burst of dissonance with a great contrast between Monterose’s wailing tenor and the high-pitched shrieks of McLean’s alto. The song then moves on into a bunch of solos, first one by Monterose at the end of which the composition seems to collapse, but consequently grabs itself together leading to a solo by the unsung Mal Waldron, who never reached major status as a band leader or composer, although he recorded with some of the greatest musicians. (An interesting note – well, to me at least – was that Waldon, although he continued to release albums with both European and American musicians, spent the last years of his life in Brussels, where he passed away in 2002). Anyway, also Waldron’s solo constantly balances on the tightrope between classic post-bop and a newer style that really wasn’t explored that much at this point. After the solos, with increasingly intense outbursts of atonality, the song reaches its logical end during which all high hopes and pretentions collapse. It should be pointed out, finally, how Mingus’ bass remains an ever-present factor during the entire song, providing a hard-hitting and imaginative foundation for the four other musicians, that benefits from the great sound.
“A Foggy Day” is an interpretation of the Gershwin brothers’ “A Foggy Day in London” but here it’s transferred to San Francisco. The most remarkable aspect about the song is probably the real life noises (honking horns, police whistles, passing cars) that are imitated with the instruments at the beginning and end of the song. Also during this song, however, the quintet keeps up this swift city rhythm, hereby explaining what Mingus meant when he said he wanted his compositions and interpretations to become “jazz poems.” “Profile of Jackie” is the composer’s ode to his youngest disciple, and it’s a nice one that combines a subtle gentleness – most clearly expressed by McLean’s alto sax – with a light suggested swing. Finally, there’s the lengthy “Love Chant” that gets an incomprehensible (to my brain) analysis in the liner notes, but suffice it to say it’s a composition that moves along very majestically, with repetitive figures played by Waldron, who seems to be guide throughout the entire song, with sections in between that allow the soloists to stretch out a bit. Although they came from a different background and would head in different directions (both McLean and Monterose would eventually fall out with Mingus) these sax players complement each other magnificently, while also Waldron gets to shine another time with an inspired solo during which Mingus and drummer Jones once again keep up the strutting rhythm. Offering an (in my opinion) essential Mingus composition in the way of the title track, the entire Pithecanthropus Erectus finds a balance between focused invention and playfulness, between the foundations of the past and the unknown future. The albums still stands erect as one of the first “modern” albums that expanded on the attainments of bop and offered a way out of the straightjacket some musicians had played themselves into, in the process becoming a challenging (first song) but highly listenable (all songs) example of structured action painting at its best. In other words: get it, you fool!
Note: I’ve seen a few different albums around bearing the title, but with other songs and/or versions. If you want to check out the one dissected by my gibberish, make sure it’s the ’56 Atlantic version.
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