Jazz pianist. An appreciation

Born: March 25, 1929;

Died: April 5, 2018

WHEN the jazz pianist Cecil Taylor, who has died aged 89, made casual reference to “88 tuned drums”, he handed mainstream music critics an easy metaphor for his piano style, for which ever after the shorthand was “percussive”.

In the standard histories of “free jazz” in the 1950s, saxophonists John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman are credited with stretching conventional harmony as far as it could possibly go, which was past breaking point in the eyes of more conservative critics like Philip Larkin, while Taylor was always described as having introduced “atonality” into jazz, as nonsensical a description as “percussive”.

Taylor’s long improvisations could sometimes take tempestuous and unexpected turns, particularly once he began to incorporate poetry, dance and physical sculpture into his performances, but the standard model offers no illumination of the pianist’s more important role as a jazz composer of a very high order, whose cellular approach – he called them “unit structures” – was so profoundly radical that it has so far failed to spawn a school of imitators, as happened to Coltrane.

Taylor’s distinctive style involves the very rapid juxtaposition of tones, often almost on top of one another, thus creating a field of musical activity that is neither linear nor chordal, but laden with overtones. On the very best of his recordings, like the 1991 The Tree of Life, or the five-night documentation of his Feel Trio with bassist William Parker and British-born drummer Tony Oxley on the ten-CD 2 Ts For A Lovely T, Taylor achieved a fine balance between lyricism and violence, “freedom” and an almost symphonic density of purpose. Infamously, and somewhat like Art Tatum, whom he somewhat resembles, Taylor did not “swing” in a conventional way; anathema to many fans and critics.

He was born into a middle-class African-American family in Corona, Queens, New York City, on March 25 1929 (sometimes given as 1930). He began to study piano when he was six, moving on to New York College of Music and the New England Conservatory, where he encountered European modernism.

In New York he founded a group with soprano saxophonist Steve Lacy, bassist Buell Neidlinger (who also died recently) and drummer Dennis Charles. His 1956 debut Jazz Advance is now seen as transitional work, but Taylor’s handling of Broadway tunes is every bit as radical as his later solo performances.

He made some recordings with Coltrane (which were later reissued under the more famous saxophonist’s name) and then formed his first really defining group with saxophonist Jimmy Lyons and drummer Sunny Murray. Their 1962 Copenhagen recording Nefertiti, the Beautiful One Has Come is shaky enough acoustically to have been unearthed from an Egyptian tomb, but it has become a modern classic.

A decade after his emergence, Taylor unveiled his compositional ambitions on Unit Structures and Conquistador!, dark records that have still not been fully absorbed. When Lyons, who appeared on both, died, Taylor was loath to replace him. The saxophonist’s absence and poor commercial returns led him to experiment with solo performance. In keeping with his habit of producing a masterwork every decade, 1986’s For Olim, again for a European label, was packed with advance musical ideas and ferocious energy. In 1988, Taylor made a series of collaborative concerts in Berlin, all of which were recorded for the FMP label.

Though he was gay, he resented being defined by a three-letter word. Waspish, hedonistic and personally capricious, Taylor was a significant New York personality in later years. His thirst for champagne was legendary, as was the occasion when he took a prestigious and well-paid commission and handed his sponsors a single page of music. Those who gasped failed to notice how much music was contained on it. Cecil Taylor died at home in Brooklyn on April 5.

BRIAN MORTON