Richie Beirach – Elm (ECM, 1979)

Richie Beirach (p); George Mraz (b); Jack DeJohnette (d)

Recorded in May 1979

Thelonious Monk had an expression: Before playing, he’d encourage his musician to play well by saying, “Let’s raise the bandstand.”  It’s easy to understand what he meant.  The best jazz defies gravity.  It’s as if, under the collective spell of the music, the players—and the listeners along with them—lift off the ground.  It’s a peculiar and ecstatic feeling, and even more special because it’s so fleeting.

For me, that magical feeling is what jazz is all about.  And that’s what I felt when I first heard Richie Beirach’s music.  I discovered it almost by accident.  I was browsing through the bins in a record shop when I came across an unfamiliar ECM LP with a striking green cover.  The record featured George Mraz and Jack DeJohnette, two of my long-time favorites—but I didn’t know anything about the leader, Richard Beirach, or the record, which was titled Elm.  I took a flyer and walked out with it.

From the very first spin, I knew that I’d stumbled on something special.  Beirach, Mraz and DeJohnette were levitating like crazy.  The musicianship was stunning.  The compositions were exquisite.  The interaction was palpable.  I felt like I’d unearthed a hidden masterpiece.  As a dedicated, long-time jazz listener, I kept asking myself, “How is it that I’ve never heard Beirach before now?!?!”  So I started collecting his records.  I quickly discovered that Elm was no fluke.  Now, after many years of listening to his music and exploring his large discography, I am thoroughly convinced that Beirach is one of the greats.

And here’s the paradox: Even though it’s clear that Beirach is a master, his music has been strangely neglected.  Many of his records have lapsed from print; others have only been issued in Japan and remain difficult to find.  (As of today, Beirach’s three ECM LPs all remain unavailable in the U.S. and Europe.)  And many critics have been ambivalent about Beirach’s work.  He is admired for his staggering command of the keyboard and for his encyclopedic harmonic knowledge.  (That’s why producer and Keystone Korner founder Todd Barkan calls Beirach “The Code.”)  But he’s also been unfairly characterized as a musician who values the head above the heart.  For example, Robert L. Doerschuk includes an essay on Beirach in his book 88: The Giants of Jazz Piano, and he praises the pianist for his dedication and his unwillingness to compromise.  But he then goes on to describe Beirach’s music as following a “difficult and obscure path, through an unlikely overgrowth of classical and jazz in their more academic manifestations.”

This assessment and others like it leave me scratching my head.  I cannot understand how anyone would describe Beirach’s playing as academic.  Instead, I’d be more inclined to use words like visceral, brave, passionate, forceful, tender, and, most of all, exciting.  Some of Beirach’s music is influenced by classical composers—but, like most jazz musicians of his generation, Beirach’s music is eclectic.  His influences span a wide array of styles and genres.  Listen to several Beirach recordings, and you’ll hear the influence of Bill Evans and McCoy Tyner sitting comfortably side-by-side with Alexander Scriabin and Federico Mompou.  Sometimes his music sounds through-composed (even when it may not be); sometimes he plays free; at other times, Beirach swings hard using a more traditional approach.  For me, the way that Beirach integrates these disparate elements into a unique whole is part of its appeal.  And it’s also one reason why Beirach’s music from 1970s still sounds so fresh and contemporary.  It anticipates the wide-open approach of 21st century jazz.

Here's a fascinating video of Beirach discussing Elm and the other records he made with ECM-founder and producer Manfred Eicher:

More Richie Beirach

As discussed in the video, in 1974 ECM released Beirach’s first recording as a leader, Eon.  Bucking the trend of the times toward electrification, Eon is an all-acoustic recording with Beirach’s rhythm-section band-mates from Lookout Farm, Frank Tusa on bass and Jeff Williams on drums.  An unfamiliar listener would never guess that Eon is a debut.  Beirach’s sound is fully mature, and the trio’s interaction is both dramatic and palpable.  Beirach’s skills as a composer are also striking.  Three of the six tracks are his compositions; another was co-composed with Tusa.  An arresting version of Miles Davis’ “Nardis” is the only jazz standard.

Beirach’s second LP for ECM was his first for solo piano.  Released in 1977, Hubris presents some of Beirach’s most enduring compositions: “Sunday Song,” “Leaving,” and “Rectilinear.”  Like many other solo piano recordings from the 1970s, it stretches the boundaries of jazz, owing as much to classical composers like Chopin and Scriabin as much as it does to the jazz tradition.