Happy 60th Anniversary to John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme, originally recorded December 9, 1964 and released in January 1965.
There is a certain level that artists reach, where they begin to be claimed and commemorated by the town that they grew up in or where they were when they became popular. Even the briefest of flirtations with the city of Liverpool will leave you bombarded by blue plaques marking the childhood houses of the Fab Four or directions to the hallowed ground of The Cavern Club, where they started out on their path to global domination.
In Minneapolis, the spirit of Prince lives on at his home/playground Paisley Park and with streets renamed in his honor, whilst a corner of Queens, New York was rededicated to the memory of A Tribe Called Quest’s Malik ‘Phife Dawg’ Taylor. In addition to their musical and cultural legacy, notable artists often leave their stamp on the physical environment in these ways.
It may be a tad cynical, but reasonably accurate, to suggest that often these dedications are also a way to maintain an economic benefit for a city/area once the artist has passed on. For others though, and specifically one, it is markedly different. In San Francisco, at 2 Marina Boulevard, there is a church devoted (in its truest sense) to John Coltrane. That’s right, a church. A place where people congregate every Sunday to take their lessons from the work of John Coltrane. A place where the liturgy comes courtesy of Coltrane’s inspirational saxophone and the transcendent music that flowed forth from it before his far too hasty departure from this mortal coil.
Franzo and Marina King began a jazz listening club in their garage in 1964, where they and their friends would tune their ears to try to spot who was drumming or playing bass, without reading the liner notes. One day someone brought along Coltrane’s A Love Supreme and, once Franzo’s initial misgivings were conquered, what they heard struck the most profound of chords. A few months later they found a way to sit front row at one of Coltrane’s concerts in San Francisco and the unthinkable happened—a Damascene moment of God’s love washed over the couple.
Franzo was the son of a minister and was pretty sure he’d escaped the clutches of church life leaving it a dim and distant memory, but Coltrane changed everything that night. Inspired not just by the music but also by the liner notes that read thus:
Dear Listener:
All praise be to God to whom all praise is due.
Coltrane then goes on in those notes to describe and explain his spiritual awakening of 1957 (as mentioned here) and his awakening begat that of the Kings. But their words, in an interview with The New York Times in 2021, tell the story much better than I could ever do:
Listen to the Album:
“It was as though he was speaking in tongues and there was fire coming from heaven—a sound baptism. That began the evolutionary, transitional process of us becoming truly born-again believers in that anointed sound that leaped down from the tone of heaven out of the very mind of God, stepped from the very wall of creation and took on a gob of flesh, and we beheld his beauty as one that was called John.”
This work of genius was, of course, not created by Coltrane alone. Alongside his saxophone were a young McCoy Tyner on piano, Jimmy Garrison on double bass and Elvin Jones on drums. They assembled on December 9, 1964 at the legendary Van Gelder studio in New Jersey and recorded the work in one session. Though this brevity can be said, in part, to be down to the exceptional musicians present, it is also due to the fact that Coltrane had it all sketched out.
A few weeks ago, in fact, the social media accounts of late jazz pianist and composer Marian McPartland shared an image of Coltrane’s charts and ideas for the piece. In the 2016 documentary Chasing Trane, this level of preparation was confirmed with a quote from John himself, who said at the time: “It’s the first time I have everything ready.” And once more, the inherent spirituality emerges, as the film also quotes his wife and fellow jazz giant, Alice, as saying that he emerged (after two weeks’ isolation) from his studio above the garage at the family home “like Moses coming down from the mountain.”
In a short film from Jazz Workshop entitled Saint Coltrane: The Church Built On A Love Supreme, the structure of the album is also cast in an overtly spiritual way. Composed of four tracks, it can be said that they form or follow the path to enlightenment. Track one, “Acknowledgement,” can be seen as the confession or admission of sins or wrongdoing. This is followed by “Resolution,” whereby listeners are forged with the resolve to amend their ways. “Pursuance” is the act of maintaining the changes necessary for enlightenment, before the final track “Psalm” is the prayer to God through which thanks are given.
After a very brief flurry of percussion, the album kicks in with a blast of Coltrane’s horn and immediately brings two things to mind. It can be heard as a “reveille”—the blast of a horn used to wake up soldiers for duty, or as a reflection of the call to prayer that rings out from mosques, the world over. Either way, it is a magnificent call to action. I can attest to the surprise of it, because I remember exactly where I was when I first heard it.
My exploration of music beyond the Top 40 exploded when I went to University. With a few quid in my pocket for the first time (sorry food!) and time to investigate (sorry studies!), I set off on the first steps of a continuing, lifelong journey. At the time the Rhino record label was reissuing albums on CD and with every few purchases, you could send off for another one free of charge. Having bought a few, I decided upon sending away for A Love Supreme (Live in France).
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I was ignorant to the fact that this was (at the time) the only known live recording of the band playing the album and simply popped it in the CD player and pressed play as I shaved one evening before bed. Without wanting to be hyperbolic or over-dramatic, it is fair to say that blood was shed that evening. My concentration lapsed, my razor persevered and the claret rolled down my neck, such was the shock of it. I cannot lie and say I was smitten by it—in truth, it took a long time for my limited musical vocabulary and brain to be ready for it. Once I was ready for it (after further exploration and horizon-broadening), it struck me with immense power.
Any documentary you watch around the album will be filled with great musicians telling of a similar impact on their lives. My favorite story is from Carlos Santana, who plays the album whenever he goes anywhere new, as he insists it clears bad vibes or energy from any room it is played in. Furthermore, he called it, quite magnificently, a “vortex of possibilities.”
Many of us will have tales of quasi-religious experiences connected to music. For some, it will be the euphoria of the dancefloor, while for others it may be visiting some of the places mentioned in the opening to this piece. The closest thing to a religious experience I have was seeing Terry Callier perform many years ago at Union Chapel in Islington. In those surroundings, the kindness and generosity of spirit in the elderly man who was center stage generated a devoted hush throughout the songs and an ecstatic throng at their conclusions.
Yet it did not inspire me to turn to God or form a church. Nor celebrate it every Sunday for the rest of my life. Or create iconic (in the true sense of the word) stained glass windows or murals of Mr. Callier.
They did, and still do, for John Coltrane though.
Listen: