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753

Cecil Taylor at the Take 3, 1962-'63

Robert Levin By
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[Editor's Note: Excerpted and adapted from a work-in-progress, Going Outside: A Memoir of Free Jazz & the '60s]

In the summer of 1962, Cecil lands a three-month, four-night-a-week gig at The Take 3, a coffee house on Bleecker Street. It's right next door to The Bitter End where Woody Allen had performed just weeks before. (Allen was second on the bill and I'd thrown him a quick couple of lines in the Village Voice column—something about how this new comic exploited his appearance to good advantage.)

For Cecil, 33 now, The Take 3 experience will be important for the opportunity its extraordinary duration affords him to develop new ideas and achieve deeper levels of interaction with the two musicians he brings with him, Jimmy Lyons, alto saxophone, and Sunny Murray, drums. (The trio will be joined on occasion by either Buell Neidlinger or Henry Grimes on bass, but most of the time there's no bassist.)

For me, 23, and never happier than when I'm in a jazz club and in the company of musicians I admire, it's a chance to hang in my element on a semi-regular basis. But it's something else as well. This is 1962. An increasing number of us live with the conviction that a seismic change in human consciousness is both possible and imminent. We also share a belief that the New Jazz, in its break with established forms and procedures, and with its resurrection of ancient black methodologies, is showing the way. "Man," the bassist Alan Silva (coming off an hour-long, 13-piece collective improvisation one night at another venue) can say to me, "in ten years we won't even need traffic lights we're gonna be so spiritually tuned to one another."

At The Take 3, I'll feel myself to be at the very center of the universe.

I mention Cecil's engagement in the column a few days before he opens and maybe six people a night show up in the first week. The following week, impervious to criticism that I'm functioning as Cecil's unofficial publicist, I write what amounts to a paean to him. I also discuss a simultaneous Thelonious Monk date at the Five Spot. (Monk, of course, is one of Cecil's principle influences.) The Voice titles this column "The Monk and the Taylor" and gives it a banner front page headline. The next night I arrive at The Take 3 and see that the proprietors have hung a large sign over the entrance:

CECIL TAYLOR! 'STARTS WHERE MONK LEAVES OFF!'—VILLAGE VOICE

Not exactly the way I had put it, but so what? The column and the sign serve their purpose. From this point on the room is sometimes filled to capacity.

Among the musicians who come on nights that I'm there (and who would have come without the hype) are John Coltrane and Eric Dolphy. When the last set ends they sit at a table with Cecil, Anne (my girlfriend then) and me, and a love fest breaks out. John says to Cecil that he's "awestruck" by him. Eric calls Cecil "the spaceman—the astronaut!" After Cecil tells Eric that Eric is "about to become great," I raise my hand and say, "So what about me?" Everybody laughs except Eric. I can see him thinking: Wait a minute. Should I know...? Does Bob play an instrument?

John and Cecil had recorded together in 1958 and a word on the album they made, and their musical relationship in general, is in order here. The album, Hard Driving Jazz (United Artists, 1958), was originally a Cecil date and later reissued under Coltrane's name as Coltrane Time (Blue Note, 1959). It was certainly an interesting album but it turned out to be less than terrific.

Tom Wilson, an early champion of Cecil's and the producer of his first record, Jazz Advance, produced this one as well. He also chose the sidemen, all of whom— trumpeter Kenny Dorham, bassist Chuck Israels, drummer Louis Hayes and tenor saxophonist Coltrane, too—were serious beboppers and, with the exception of Coltrane, very much set in their ways.

Tom believed that he was putting something seminal together, something that would foreshadow where, following Cecil's lead, bebop might go from here. But surrounding Cecil with a group composed largely of intransigent beboppers was counterproductive to say the least. While Coltrane acquitted himself decently, Dorham (a splendid bebop trumpet player) was incensed by Cecil's "eccentric" comping and he made no effort to conceal his feelings. For their parts, Israels and Hayes could only struggle with the rhythmic challenges Cecil posed.

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