How the year of 1959 changed Jazz

1959 was a momentous year for jazz, when the complexity of bebop gave way to new

forms, giving musicians unprecedented freedom to explore and express themselves. It was also a

key year for the United States, at a time when democracy and wealth began to suffer social and

racial upheavals, with jazz as an urban background that did not escape controversy.

In 1959, Miles Davis, Charles Mingus, Ornette Coleman and Dave Brubeck, with their

albums Kind of Blue, Mingus Ah Um, The Shape of Jazz to Come and Time Out, respectively,

showed the genre its future and musical evolution. And from the music, these creations that

integrated black and white talents projected an avant-garde face of racial integration.

Since the 1940s, jazz had followed the frenetic pattern of bebop, so virtuously mastered

by Charlie 'Bird' Parker. But he began to turn that page thanks to the work of his gifted student:

Miles Davis. Author and manager of the most successful album in jazz history, Kind of Blue,

Davis and his musicians recorded without thinking that they were creating a masterpiece. They

did it in little more than seven hours and only one of the tracks required repetition, the rest were

the single takes. Davis preached that "the first thing that comes is the best."

The charismatic trumpeter had instrumentalists in stellar moments: John Coltrane (who

that same year recorded Giant Steps, released in 1960), Julian Adderley, Wynton Kelly, Paul

Chambers, Jimmy Cobb and pianist Bill Evans. The lurid, sad, blue sound of his instrument on

this album stripped the genre to clothe it again. His experimental vein led him to share minimal

indications, that is, he let his colleagues fly from simple figures, and thus gave rise to moments

impossible to plan. The jazz world was stunned by the sound and the way Davis conjured magic

in his explorations. The recording engineers had to adapt to their vision, as sounds and
reverberations that they considered errors were vital to the musician for the atmosphere he was

looking for. 

Elsewhere on the spectrum, from his genius and a double bass that he played like nobody

else with his huge hands, Charles Mingus added his share to this year of jazz breakdown. In his

album Mingus Ah Um he channeled events of the time such as the absurd segregation supported

by governors of southern states such as Orval Faubus. Also, with insane discipline, he obtained

from his musicians the interpretations of their lives. Mingus did not believe in time, everything

was present and postulated that what was good endured any time. That is why he prepared his

instrumentalists to improvise in all kinds of styles. Mingus never restrained his outbursts.

In parallel the figure of Ornette Coleman rose, who with her white plastic saxophone

generated suspicions among her peers but achieved a sound that none had achieved. His total

detachment from notes and scales symbolized his dedication and devotion to sound. The Shape

of Jazz to Come was daring from its title ('The form of jazz that comes'), but especially for its

music. So much so that, 50 years later, his transgressive frenzy and his ability to divide opinions

remain intact. For many, Coleman managed to interpret the nuclear nervousness of the Cold War

with his sonic creation, a fact that earned him the rejection of many who considered his playing a

nonsensical tirade. But it undeniably fascinated a freethinking niche of musicians like Lou Reed.