The musician Henry Rollins says was “incapable of making any mistakes”
Pythagoras, one of the most significant figures in Ancient Greek history, claimed that music was the language of maths. His premise was that there was a science to making sequenced sounds appealing to the human ear. He effectively discovered that harmonics are a feature of physics. In essence, there is a theoretical correctness to perfectly composed music.
Yet, when you watch a musician in perfect flow, you barely comprehend that they’re not just stringing together notes at will. They’re computing mathematical sequences ahead of time. In effect, we are struck by the very opposite of being blinded by science. Alas, very few musicians are ever capable of going beyond simply linking a few pleasant chords together and reaching this lofty flow state. However, as Henry Rollins explains, there are an immaculate few defying physics.
“There are a few musicians who are so pure, who are so directly connected to the source of music, they were such pure messengers of music’s great signal, that they really didn’t make any mistakes,” he told The Sound of Vinyl. “Because they were incapable of making any mistakes because everything they did was unforced. Who do I mean? John Coltrane. Find the bad John Coltrane record? It does not exist!”
As Rollins urges, “You should hear every note Coltrane ever blew” because therein, you’ll find a rare musician making maths dance to his own whims. In fact, he danced with music in such a delirious way that the world became a blur, never mind the constitutions of physics. For instance, Coltrane wouldn’t notice things like the fact that he had left the stage mid-show and somehow played purely to David Crosby, who was attempting to shelter in a toilet while in the depths of an anxious drug episode.
Crosby said of the incident: “I was very high, and [Elvin Jones] drove me out of my chair. Elvin Jones is a very intense motherfucker. He started getting real intense and drove me out of my chair.” So, he fled to the men’s room.
He added, “I got my head against this puke green tile; I can still remember the colour of the tile. And I think, ‘Okay, it’s gonna be alright, just get it together now, it’s gonna be okay, you’re in Indianapolis’. BAM! Somebody kicks the door open. BAM! It’s Coltrane. He’s kicked the door open because he’s [sax screech and then some]. Playing at the most intense level you could ever imagine in your life”.
Even in a bathroom with a drugged-out folk star staring back at him greenish and agog, true to Rollins’ promise, Coltrane is faultless. “He never stopped soloing. He’s still soloing. And he’s like burning in this bathroom. He doesn’t even know I’m there. He never even saw me. I’m thinking, ‘I’m gonna slide right down this tile’. I’m thinking, ‘My nose is gonna open, and my brain is gonna rush out onto the floor’. It was so intense. I never heard anyone be more intense with music than that in my life,” Crosby concludes.
As most lyric-philes from the world of four chords and a catchy chorus would attest, the notion of instrumental music somehow containing profound truths is a perplexing one. Sure, most would agree it could catch a vibe and maybe even prove to be spiritually transcendent, but unearthing truths, enacting change or summoning beauty that resonates beyond the journey of the stylus or the doors of the concert hall seems a stretch.
Yet, for Coltrane, this was the reason to play. As an ever-growing legion of fans would testify, he not only achieved it, but he remains a musical paragon of virtues like a pursed-lipped prophet of goodwill and even better jazz.
As Coltrane said himself: “Well, I think that music, being the expression of the human heart or of the human being itself, does express just what is happening. The whole of human experience at that particular time is being expressed.”
But for Coltrane, mastery of expression did not come as easy as simply getting something off his chest, even if his prolific spell of brilliance from 1957 to 67 makes it seem that way. His life was tough – at the age of 12, his father, grandfather, grandmother and aunt all passed away within a matter of weeks. He struggled with drug addictions and was fired by Miles Davis as a result – but his music was easy.
All he wanted, he says, was to be a “force which is truly for good”. According to Rollins, he achieved this in the highest degree. “Jazz is America’s greatest gift to the rest of the world. And music is humankind’s greatest invention,” he says. “One of the people on the forefront o that gift to humankind, is John Coltrane. And he expresses it so exquisitely and so beautifully on A Love Supreme—put it this way, every house should come with this record”.
