It’s a tour de force that says Monk really was one of the great jazz pianists. The tempo doubles for a while, there are tremolo octaves, bold and totally accurate runs the length of the keyboard, all without hesitation. He adopts a kind of modified stride style, with four beats a bar in the left hand, either single notes or chords. It’s not a conventional technique by any means, but it’s firm and fluid, with a marvellous variety of texture.
Another aspect of his playing which lights up now is his sheer mastery of the piano. These five pieces constitute a typical set by the quartet around this time, which usually included a solo number for Monk – Don’t Blame Me in this case. Whatever the case, the result here is gripping. It’s possible, too, that once Monk had got the hang of Rouse’s playing he was able virtually to read his mind. Rouse seems to have got the hang of playing with Monk quite quickly, unlike several more distinguished saxophonists, and remained with him for 11 years. Some of the things he does here, alongside Charlie Rouse on Ruby My Dear and Well You Needn’t, are phenomenal. Actually, it wasn’t really comping at all, more like joining in with the soloist, and what he put in often determined the course of the solo itself. You can always tell when Monk was feeling inspired, by the boldness of his comping. To top it all, the band was in terrific form, especially Monk himself. Not only did they play a 47-minute set, but the school janitor recorded it and, what’s more, it turned out to be a clear, well-balanced stereo recording. It dates from 1968, when Danny Scher (16), a high school student in Palo Alto, California, managed to persuade the Thelonious Monk Quartet to play a concert at his school one afternoon. Not another old reel of tape being touted as a lost masterpiece? Er, well, this time it looks as though it might actually be a masterpiece, or near enough as makes no difference.
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