(Image from cover of Jazz Gallery flyer)
At the start of the second set at New York’s Jazz Gallery on October 16th, guitarist Miles Okazaki told the audience that for what they like in his playing, they should credit composer Thelonious Monk, “and what you don’t like,” Okazaki said, “you can blame me.” This humble comment set the tone for an evening-long meditation on Monk, whom Okazaki asserted is the greatest of all composers. For over five hours, broken into four sold-out sets, Okazaki played every one of Monk’s compositions, alone on solo guitar, from memory.
Just making it through everything felt like an incredible accomplishment. Okazaki, who also posts on Instagram about running, has himself made the analogy between a marathon and the act of surveying all 66 Monk compositions in one sitting. But while Okazaki’s Jazz Gallery concert was devoted to Monk, it also fully displayed all his strengths – the studied inventiveness with which he translates Monk’s music to guitar, his truly fertile imagination, and the sheer brilliance of his playing. By the time Okazaki finished the last chords of “Round Midnight” (at about 12:15 AM), I had both Monk’s themes and the sound of Okazaki’s guitar dancing in my head, a deep dive that was, for me, a singular experience.
To appreciate this accomplishment, it’s best to go back to Okazaki’s landmark 2018 recording of all the Monk tunes, Work. As Okazaki has stated in interviews and in that album’s excellent liner notes (which he wrote), the genesis of this six-disc recording came from discussions with fellow guitarist Steve Cardenas during Monk’s 2017 centennial year about how to translate Monk to guitar. Inspired to record all of Monk’s oeuvre on solo guitar, Okazaki developed rules for the project that kept the focus on Monk. He used just one guitar (an amplified 1978 Gibson ES-175 Charlie Christian), used no pedals, no overdubs, avoided reharmonizing Monk’s tunes, and focused his improvisations on the material provided by the compositions. Work is unlike any other Monk tribute album, an immersive experience that brings the listener into Monk’s sound world. The process for Work is integral to the result. The album was recorded over months and at home, where Okazaki would take just one of Monk’s tunes at a time, work on it until he was satisfied, and put it on tape. Work took the better part of a year to finish, and one of its charms is that each performance is a thorough and unique interpretation of the material.
Shortly after Work was released, Okazaki gave a podcast interview with Fretboard Journal and was asked if he had thought about performing the whole discography live in a concert. Sounding a little surprised by such a daunting challenge, he replied, “Maybe. . . if somebody gets me a gig, I’ll do it.” The Jazz Gallery must have been listening, because not many venues would have taken a chance on this type of concert. On October 16th, you could feel the anticipation in the air – the audience was unusually attentive, shying away from distracting iced drinks, not popping beer cans open, and not even sneaking a snapshot out of respect for the fact Frank Heath was filming the whole thing for future release. Jazz royalty was also in the house to bear witness – on the 16th, I saw Mary Halvorson, Tomas Fujiwara, and Caroline Davis in the audience for the first set, and Jacob Garchick sat right next to me for the last set. I don’t think I’ve ever seen an audience so raptly attentive: breaking the silence at the end of the first set, a woman remarked, “This show is intense!”
As you can imagine, there’s a lot to say about five hours of such heady and substantial music, so I’ll comment on the most singular things for me. Okazaki’s sound continuously struck me and felt like an ideal vehicle for presenting Monk. Okazaki has a rounded tone that is rhythmically assertive whether he plays with a pick or fingers, which allows the listener to appreciate Monk’s percussive and precise structures. My attention never flagged for a minute over four sets, something I can attribute as much to Monk’s durable music as Okazaki’s playing. The details of the interpretations were always fascinating, and when we get to see Frank Heath’s concert film, I’ll be interested to do back-to-back comparisons with the interpretations from the 2018 Work. To my ears, I heard a lot of changes that Okazaki has made with his approach to the material, a sign of his constant engagement, creativity, and/or willingness to give himself more license with this music. During the first set, Okazaki stretched out by playing the gloriously knotty “Skippy” with an extended intro of “Tea For Two,” a connection between the two songs that was only hinted at during Okazaki’s improvisation on the 2018 album version. Monk, who included a performance of a jazz standard on virtually every one of his albums, would surely have approved.
The confidence of Okazaki’s playing came through on the tunes that, to me (a non-guitarist, non-musician), seem especially formidable. The tricky double lines of “Epistrophy” bounced around authoritatively, and the demonic vamp of “I Mean You,” that comes from the big band version (and from Monk’s comping on the original recording), sounded electrifying. On Monk’s ultimate throwdown, “Brilliant Corners,” Okazaki played the repeat of the theme (in double time in the 1957 recording) at an impossibly fast tempo (triple time?). All these daring feats thrilled me, but the slower performances were just as commanding because you could soak in Monk’s connection to folkloric forms. Okazaki has made the point that the blues is essential to Monks’ language, ending each disc of Work with a Monk blues. Live, Okazaki’s performance of the blues – specifically “Bolivar Blues” – settled into a relaxed tempo with a lovely feel that had the crowd roaring applause. In a similar groove, Okazaki showed a subtle command of dynamics and tone with Freddy Green-like strumming on “Misterioso.” Other highlights were the evocative “extended” techniques that created ghostly harmonic effects on tunes like “Little Rootie Tootie,” “Pannonica,” and the exquisite “Ugly Beauty.” Okazaki’s range of approaches allowed me to soak in the enormous variety in Monk’s discography and to better see this music as a whole.
The fourth and last set on October 16 was especially magical, one of the most impressive performances I’ve ever seen, and one which I hope we’ll get to see in the future as it was filmed. The set started with an under-appreciated gem recorded only once by Monk, “Oska T.” Live at The Jazz Gallery, Okazaki brought a tone that convincingly replicated the blare of a big band on Monk’s live recording. With “Played Twice,” Okazaki said more with less, playing only the contours of the melody in a fascinating arrangement that made great use of dynamic contrasts. The angularity of “Boo Boo’s Birthday” was a nature fit for guitar. With each tune, the audience’s applause became more immediate, and Okazaki would cut right away into the next performance, building momentum through the set.
In an evening of music that loosely followed the eras Monk recorded his tunes, Okazaki saved six of his favorites for last, and the guitarist’s love of this music was more than evident. “Work” got an extended treatment, which suggested endless possibilities with the tune. “Nutty” featured a call and response between Monk’s singable melody and impressive interjections from Okazaki at the end of each phrase. The evening ended about a quarter after midnight, as I stated above, with “Round Midnight.” Okazaki told the audience, “you made it,” and after five hours, I felt as if we had completed a fascinating journey together. Okazaki interpolated several of Monk’s themes on the coda of Monk’s most famous tune, reminding the listener that this incredible body of work is interconnected and contains so many classic themes.
Since the concert, I have (delightfully) had little other than Monk melodies on my mind. One realization from an evening steeped in this music is that while Monk is famous for innovations in harmonics and gem-like compositions, Monk’s melodies are just as central to his genius. Part of the reason Monk is so loved is that each composition delivers every aspect of music at its optimum – composition stripped down to its essential elements, generative harmonic suggestions for improvising, structures that are both accessible and profound, and a rare element in modern music — pure singability. Monk has it all, as did the audience who had the privilege of experiencing Miles Okazaki play it all in one fabulous night. If you have the chance to see Okazaki play this material, don’t miss it!
(At The Jazz Gallery, Okazaki displayed copies of all his Monk LP’s that are his reference source and inspiration; photo James Koblin)
More Notes on Okazaki and Monk
The Monk Discography
There is some dispute about how many tunes Monk wrote. Okazaki recorded 70 of them on Work based on Steve Cardenas and Don Sickler, who published transcriptions of all of Monk for the first time in one place in their fake book. In a recent radio interview with Dave Lake on Evening Eclectic (WRUU 107.5 Savannah, GA), Okazaki said for The Jazz Gallery gigs he’s playing the 66 Monk tunes that have all the hallmarks of a composition, including repeated heads, rather than improvisations on the blues that pushed the Cardenas/Sickler transcriptions to 70 tunes. The interview with Lake is also an excellent review of Okazaki’s journey with Monk’s music and features live performances during the interview that you should check out. Highly recommend.
Keep Up With Okazaki
Okazaki has an excellent website that summarizes what he’s done and where he’s going. It also looks really great, not surprising given the emphasis Okazaki puts on visual art and its interaction with music.
Listen to Miniature America
Although the October 16th and 18th Jazz Gallery concerts and Work express Okazaki’s connection to Monk, it’s only one side of this artist’s creativity. For a completely different view of Okazaki, I recommend the recent album Miniature America, inspired by the “remarkable and mysterious” sculptures of Ken Price that Okazaki encountered on the trip to the West Coast. Okazaki is very much an interdisciplinary thinker, and he was inspired to create an album that would “relinquish the form of the final work to unpredictable variables.” There’s so much to say about this album, and I recommend reading Okazaki’s liner notes on his website, which I’ve briefly quoted above. I’ll simply say that these evocative miniatures remind me of the pleasure of discovering pebbles or shells at the beach, each one contrasting from the next, surprising and often delightful.
