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June 17, 2009 · 22 comments
Late Period Bill Evans: Genius or Decline?
Here is a jazz paradox. Most great jazz artists make their best music before the age of 40. Yetand here is the irony of the matterthey usually get the most glowing reviews after the age of 40.
There is a certain amount of justice in this state of affairs. Jazz fans venerate the elders of the art formand thank goodness they do. Most of pop culture, and virtually everyone in a position of power at the major record labels, worship at the fountain of youth. I am happy to see the respect given the older musicians in jazz, if only as symbolic compensation for this imbalance in the rest of society.
Yet I also pity the beginning jazz fan who is trying to learn about the musicand is steered to Dizzy Gillespies 1980s recordings, and not his 1940s masterpieces. (If you havent enjoyed early Dizzy, check out this track for starters.) Or who encounters the widely available Lester Young sides on Verve from the 1950s, but never hears the Commodore Kansas City sessions, the Keynote sides, or Prezs early collaborations with Billie Holiday. These late offerings are not without their meritsbut they are not the place to start in learning why these artists were so admired and emulated.
And then we come to the case of Bill Evans. The importance of his early work is widely acknowledged. From his contributions to "Concerto for Billy the Kid" (1956) and All About Rosie (1957) to his solo piano album Alone, recorded a little over a decade later, this artist established himself as a towering figure in jazz music, the inventor of a new musical vocabulary andjust as noteworthyan unconventional emotional sensibility. Along the way, we find him on Kind of Blue, the justly famous 1961 Village Vanguard sessions, and on a host of important sideman and leader dates for Verve, Riverside and other labels.
Yes, a few critics have grumbled that his playing from this period is too European or not bluesy enough; but the Evans skeptics have been forced to do a lot of grumbling, because this body of work has exerted a tremendous influence on other players. You hear Evanss harmonic colors and conception everywhere these daysand not just in the jazz world. In any attempt to gauge the impact of keyboardists from this era, only Monk can rival Evans, and that only in the deepest inner sanctum of jazz. To some degree, the contrary gravitational pull of these two artists continues to shape jazz piano styles a half-century after their seminal work for Orrin Keepnews at the small but devastatingly smart Riverside label.
But Evanss later work is more problematic. Marc Myers recently expressed his view of the superiority of the earlier work, and others have stated similar opinions, although many fans have countered in defense of late-vintage Evans. I have written elsewhere about my reactions to a Bill Evans performance I attended ten days before pianists death, which was as acerbic and biting as the early Evans was introspective and dreamy.
Now two reissues give us an opportunity to explore late period Evans at greater length. The Complete Tony Bennett-Bill Evans Recordings from Fantasy brings together the controversial 1975 and 1976 collaborations by the pianist and vocalistwhich some will tell you are classic works, while others puzzle over the pairing of two such conflicting musical personalities. Alongside this, fans can consider the massive CD set Turn Out the Stars, which captures Bill Evanss June 1980 appearance at the Village Vanguard on six CDs.
I wish someone had recorded Bill Evanss 1961 appearances at the Vanguard with such devotion. To my mind, that early trio with Scott LaFaro and Paul Motian set the gold standard for Evans, and inevitably one compares later performances with the work of that seminal band. Evans himself invited these comparisonssince he continued to play the same songs in the same trio format up until his death. Many artists go to great efforts to get out from under the shadow of their early work, but Evans returned to the same changes, night after night, for two decades. Even when he added new songs to the repertoire, they tended to be similar to the 32-bar tunes he had played as a young man. This was all the more striking, given the turbulence and clamor for experimentation that permeated the rest of the jazz world during these years.
But the way Evans played these songs in the final months of his life represented almost a renunciation of that previous body of work. Compare the 1961 version of My Romance with the 1980 rendition, and see how Bill Evans at age 50 worked to squeeze the romanticism out of My Romance. The same comes across if one compares 1980 performances of Polka Dots and Moonbeams, My Foolish Heart, and other songs with his classic recordings from the past. The later works are jittery and aloof, at times almost savage in their undermining of any vestiges of sentimentality.
One might even conclude that Bill Evans no longer liked playing ballads in 1980. Time and time again, he pushes at the tempo, and cant wait to double up the pulse. On Polka Dots and Moonbeams, bassist Marc Johnson and drummer Joe LaBarbera try to maintain the relaxation of the beat as long as possible, but about midway through the song they decide to follow the leader and they are off to the races. Even a heartfelt Evans original such as Turn Out the Starswhich the pianist had written as a tribute to his father a few days after Harry Evanss deathis now treated like just another set of changes for a brittle medium tempo solo.
If this were your only experience of Bill Evans, you might think his sense of time was faulty. On Emily his shift from the rubato intro into the trio section is awkward, and even after the tempo settles in at 168 beats per minutetoo fast for this waltz, in my opinionEvans cant hold it there for long. Soon he is charging ahead at 200 beats per minute, and then beyond. He constantly rushes on these performances, and Johnson and LaBarbera get high marks for adapting to their bosss nervous and uncentered guidance from the piano bench. What a dispiriting contrast with Evanss work from the late 1950s and early 1960s, when he was nonpareil in his sense of time and group interaction.
Perhaps most surprising of all, Evans no longer shows his grand conception of space and silencetrademarks of his early workon these late vintage recordings. His version of Quiet Now here might very well be renamed Busy Now, and his block-chords-gone-amok solo is certainly impressive from a conceptual point of view, but it destroys the mood of a composition that is essentially a jazz tone poem. Time and time again on these performances, Evans fills up the bars. Sometimes he shows restraint for the first 60-90 seconds of a performance, but he cant seem to maintain it.
There is a certain brutal intelligence at work here, and a raw beauty that surfaces now and again. A student of jazz piano would find many interesting phrases and interludes on these trackswell worth studying and memorizing, perhaps. Yet the overall impression these recordings convey is of a musician who was working from his intellect and not his heart.
Hence, it is all the more surprising to compare these works with the Tony Bennett Bill Evans collaborations from the mid-1970s, and now released by Concord under the Fantasy imprimatur. Here Evans is the one showing restraint, and Bennett pushing for the grandiloquent gesture. Here Evans is content to maintain the mood, while Bennett is changeable and likes to raise the level of intensity as the performance develops. You can tell that neither artist is perfectly comfortable in this setting, but both are deeply in the moment, trying to make the best of the proceedings.
In this instance, the conflicting aesthetic visions enhance the final product. Bennett adapts to his understated companion, and delivers perhaps the most delicate performances of his careerwhich is quite a claim, given this artists rich body of work. Evans, for his part, is forced out of his comfort zone. For once, he sounds like a sideman, not a leader, and the change is benefical onefans sometimes forget what an exceptional sideman this pianist could be back in the 1950s. Evans constantly adapts his conception in response to what Bennett is singing, and I suspect that he probably surprised himself more than a few times during the course of this short but fertile collaboration.
The contrast here is indicative of the paradox of late period Bill Evans. As a whole, this body of work does not match the output of the 1950s and 1960s. Yet there are enough gems in the mixas the Bennett sessions make clearthat serious fans will want to delve deeper into this music rather than try to dismiss it with a quick generalization.
In addition to the Bennett partnership, outstanding music from this period can be found on Evanss You Must Believe in Spring (recorded in 1977), his solo project New Conversations (1978), the duo album with Eddie Gomez Intuition (1974), and the ear-expanding Claus Ogerman composition Symbiosis (1974).
This blog entry posted by Ted Gioia
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Great post - thought-provoking and very musically astute. I think with regards to Evans time in this period that its commonly known that he was using a lot of cocaine, and this is a drug that will definitely induce restlessness and impatience. However, his tendency to rush appears a lot earlier than this, starting with the trio with Marty Morrell and Eddie Gomez. Theres a recording from 1969 with the flautist Jeremy Steig in which So What rushes mercilessly, and many other trio recordings from this period especially the live ones show the same problem on anything faster than a ballad. Which is very strange when you consider his immaculate time on Concerto for Billy the Kid etc. I dont think Ive ever heard another example of a major musician whose basic time foundation seems to fall apart as he gets older. And of course Evans was not that old just over 51 years of age. I can only put it down to substance abuse. However there are wonderful things to enjoy from this period too the amazing intros he used to do on Nardis with the last trio for example.
Ronan, I agree on "Nardis." This tended to be the longest song of the set in his final performances, and seemed to inspire some of Evans's finest playing during this period. Certainly it was the highlight of the evening when I saw him a few days before his death, and there are several examples included on the "Turn Out the Stars" box set.
Top drawer, Mr.T--what a bundle of nerves and contradictions Evans became. Time does not go better with coke... and while I am one who enjoys many of the Bennett-Evans duets, I'd still rather listen to Explorations.
What a fascinating survey; I will never listen to Bill Evans the same again. The "discomfiting" things about the Tony Bennett stuff, such as why is it so great and so awkward at the same time, are beautifully resolved in your post, Ted. The idea that one could be insecure and renounce a previous body of work, at that level of genius, is also thought provoking. I often look to the Bill Evans interview on Marian McPartland's show for insight to the way he thinks. As for the issues about time, perhaps a pianist, even in a trio, owns his own time? --- but in the future I plan to listen for the issues raised in the post. And, your article sent me to a transcription of Turn Out The Stars (often wondered if that was a Brechtian reference)wondering if the use of pedal and descending voicings aren't still in full flower. Finally, as the player has years to work out their playing, so does the listener have years to work out their listening. Evans' avoidance of blue notes used to bug me no end and it doesn't any more. C'est la vie.
Bill's heart is open so wide by the time he reaches the age of 51, it becomes difficult for most to recognize. My experience of his " decline " is that he was moving at lightening speed toward an ascension. www.laurieverchomin.com www.laurieverchomin.com
Maybe the cocaine he abused and overused helped move him at lightning speed? Honestly, an "ascension" is hardly what he was moving toward. He was moving rapidly to an addicts death. I admire and enjoy him as much as anyone, but let's be realistic.
Great post, Ted. Love to analysis. I feel similarly about late-period Chet Baker, and debate with my friends about it regularly. While Chet's tone certainly changed after his teeth were knocked out and his "habits" caught up with him, many of the later live recordings show him to have absorbed all sorts of post-bop vocabulary on the faster tunes, and of course his supreme command of the ballard form. Maybe it's because I know what I know about him, but some of those later performances seem to show his soul and his entire life coming out of his horn. And even his singing, which is often times out of tune, is heartbreakingly beautiful. His sense of time and his ability to deliver a lyric was certainly second to none. Thanks for the thought-provoking and informative writing.
Evans is one of our great piano masters- no dispute there. We don't like to talk about it, and so we often forget how crippling his addiction was. I too felt that his final recordings showed a man who was desperate to make a final statement for and about himself, but seemingly unsure as to what it should be. Should he play some hard-charging music, to silence his he's-a-wimpy-glorified-cocktail-pianist critics? Should he focus on his own tunes, and celebrate his remarkable body of writing? Should he try to re-create the introspective, jazz-trio-as-single-organism approach that brought him the most adulation? Most importantly, do any of these approaches accurately reflect his relationship with his music in 1980? I recall going through confusion as a young singer, being told that Billie Holiday was the ultimate jazz singer. Unfortunately, my first record of her was 'Lady In Satin'. If this the ultimate in jazz singing, I thought, I want to do something else. Eventually, I found her early recordings with Teddy Wilson and Lester Young, and I understood what people praised about Lady Day. Another problem with appreciating master artists past their prime is that we have heard their innovations in the hands of lesser (or at least newer) players so often over the years, that hearing the originals in the last years of their lives can fail to inspire the requisite awe and respect. I remember seeing Mae West's 1970s movie appearances, and thinking how sad it was to see this old woman thinking she's sexy- not yet realizing that every movie vamp I'd seen was based on Mae. The art of Bill Evans will continue to influence jazz- either directly, or through the countless musicians who learned most of their harmonic and stylistic vocabulary from him. But he, like other self-abusers like Bird and Billie and Chet, failed to recognize the necessity of healthy communication between mind and body. The physical is the valve through which the artistic, the spiritual, can be shared; in his weakened state, nuance and conceptual precision were no longer possible.
Fascinating stuff, Ted. I too look toward his interview with Marian McPartland, he specifically discusses his interest in playing ahead of the tempo. I also had a conversation with him in person (as a worshipful fan), and he was very animated and enthusiastic about his "new" Warner Brothers recordings, I think he would have been very interested in debating your take on his later-day playing and the interaction with his young trio. Even if we decide his later-day recordings aren't his prime, even later-day Evans is unbelievably great compared to so many pianists I hear nowadays.
Good dialogue here. In this regard, I am happy to report that Bill Kirchner will be providing an alternative view of Bill Evans's later works in this column. He was involved in the release of the Vanguard recordings, and will no doubt bring a different perspective to this material than mine, and one that will gratify the fans of this music. Be on the lookout out for it on the homepage.
I agree with your relative assessment of early vs. late Bill Evans, particularly in the final year when the rushing and frantic momentum was quite disturbing to those who treasured the early magic. But his solos on the Bennett collaborations were indeed some of his finest inventions in the form.
You sort of amplify some points about Bill's later music but nothing that hasn't been dredged up before. In the last two years of Bill's life drummer Joe Labarbera approached Bill about the rushing tempos. Bill informed him words to the effect, "yes, sometimes I want you bring the tempo up with me - go with me." Bill was in a sort of frantic period at time, rushing to perfect a sort of layering effect of fast tempos and many, many notes. The astute listener will also find a many tempo-ed method of presentation of certain tunes. "My Romance" which became an alternate set closer like "Nardis" was like a five sectioned (with at least five specific tempos) concerto which each section treating the tune differently. There is also much more traditional trio participation in the last two years. You hear a lot of more trading of eights, fours, twos, and even single bars of music, at extremely fast tempos, and sometimes with that great "over-the-bar-line" phrasing of Bill's. Another great thing to listen for is how the intros that Bill played on the eight cuts of "My Romance" developed in the June 1980 Vanguard recordings. My favorite is the next to the last one chronologically. Bill creates some fantastic thunder in this intro, forecasting the power of things to come in the concerto-like rendition. I think, to the true believer of Bill's music, there is a great deal of music for the detailed listener to enjoy. It would be great if jazz critics could have the musical chops to write about the details of the music rather than dwell upon the drastic shift Bill took in is music making or how drugs effected someones music making. No one will know that except Bill and he's not telling. Bill's last two years is saying to me, listen up, I'm not being restrained anymore. The music gonna come pouring out - you can either listen or not.
While some of Ted's comments have merit, I must take serious objection to the way this arbitrary judgment of Bill's final trio period (1978-80)seems to be solely based on the June 1980 Vanguard sessions. That makes it a seriously flawed and unbalanced assessment. (The writing on the Evans-Bennett sessions from the mid-seventies is well-done and balanced). One almost unforgivable omission here, which should be a part of any discourse on Evans' late-period output, is the exquisite "Paris Concert - Editions "One" and "Two" -- recorded a mere seven months earlier than the Vanguard stuff cited-- and with the tender and sensitive, yet stunning balladry he's known for still quite apparent and still full of magic. Furthermore, there is no mention of the Keystone Korner material from August and early September 1980, (released on the "The Last Waltz" and "Consecration" CD boxsets) which also show examples of amazing clarity and control in the expansion of vocabulary and the energetic harmonic and rhythmic fullness that Bill was going for in his last years. To me, going from the beloved 1961 Vanguard stuff to a passing reference of the "Alone" album -- and then talking about the tempo- rushing of the 1980 "Turn Out the Stars" recordings is tantamount to an analysis of Miles and, for example, jumping from "Kind of Blue" over to "You're Under Arrest" or "Tutu". Perhaps also, Mr Gioia or Mr. Myers of jazzwax did not enjoy the pleasure of actually going to hear Bill 'live' various times in this period as I did -- when he played some ballads that could fracture you -- or know him personally at that time, as I also did. These experiences showed me a serious self-searching musician, still reaching and exploring -- from deep inside the almost private musical structures and syntax he created for himself, and energized by two excellent and empathetic trio members who were tuned into him. We spoke of it several times, and he was always forthright and clear about where his music was going, and what he felt was his great fortune in having two fine players that were willing to follow him there. As fine a jazz critic and thinker as Ted is, I am a bit surprised at the major gaps in this piece in evaluating the achievements of Bill Evans in his final period. Yes, I hear the sometimes coke-fueled tempos rushing too (when they unintentionally do -- "My Romance" is exampt since Bill WANTED it to go where Joe LaBarbera wanted to take it, sometimes at twice the speed), and of course I hear even what has been labeled by some as overplaying.(I disagree, in part, but that's a topic for another time and place) However, besides the aforementioned recordings ignored by Mr. Gioia, there are the others, such as various European dates (and the incredible Buenos Aires concerts)from the same period that clearly show Bill still rendering heart-breakingly beautiful ballad work and an often steady swing. As erudite as Mr Gioia is, any type of commentary on Evans that ignores all this work borders on short-sighted and perhaps unfair. I'm looking forward to what Bill Kirchner has to add on this matter, and will be discussing all this further at a future time at my own site at billevanswebpages.com Thanks!
Jan, if you would read my article more carefully, you will see that I not only mention the September 1980 Keystone Korner engagement by Bill Evans, but that I was in attendance, and even include a link to my account of this music in the article.
And, yes, I am quite familiar with the Paris concert recordings you mention, and have listened to many, many hours of Bill's music from this period, both studio and live performances. I have written elsewhere about much of this work, and didn't want to repeat myself in this blog article. So you may disagree with my verdict on late period Evans, but you are wrong in assuming that I haven't listened to this music extensively and over a period of many years.
I find the discussion of time here interesting, but I wonder what people are wanting to find...I don't always hear "straight time" in Evans's music, be it from 1959 or 1979. In many cases there is *a heck of a lot* of give and take in the "tempo" before the trio finds measure one, beat one of the form of any tune. I'll bet that (especially) a lot of live performances in 1959, 1969, or 1979 would not stand up to a click track, yet it was abundantly clear to bass and drums when Evans hit "1." Perhaps it was less subtle in 1979 than it was in 1959. Perhaps that was because Evans in 1969 or 1979 was in company of musicians who could bring it off convincingly, and he wished to stretch that aspect of the music. Here's another thought: Could it be possible that there was some sort of metric modulation intent/scheme in Bill Evans's head in the late seventies? He was probably technically capable of bringing off even the most "Elliott Carteresque" metric modulations if he chose to do so. Could that have been what he meant when he said "go with me"? Just look at the transcriptions of the later stuff and how difficult it was to notate. I don't have it in front of me, but I wonder if keeping a constant note value in the transcriptions, instead of shifting between quarter-, eighth-, and sixteenth-based meters might have revealed some logical series of tempos? Just a hypothesis. Jim W.
In this discussion, Laurie Verchomin, who, I assume, was closer to Bill on a personal level than anybody else said the most striking thing (the lightning speed toward an ascension) that, incidently, suits my own considerations: Bill Evans knew he was going to die. He realized that with his intellect but he still expressed it with his heart. Its called desperation and when desperation is uttered in an artistic expression its as valid and (to me, at least) as striking as any other feeling. The moment we realize an artist can be playing with his heart or with his intellect we should also recognize theres no right or wrong in this matter and if accept the thought that an artist, more or less consciously, can switch between the two I consider it a fact that for Bill, in his last months on earth, it was the other way around from what Goia suggests: Bill Evans, by way of his desperation, was playing abrupt phrases or slobby time because he was actually working from his heart rather than from his intellect
Ted, my apologies for perhaps what were incorrect generalizations as to your knowledge of the other recordings and performances of Evans last period. Thanks for reminding me of that (and I should have recalled reading them, because I did), but it just seems to me that statements such as "One might even conclude that Bill Evans no longer liked playing ballads in 1980" are rather categorical. The same can be said for your observation that his playing in later months was "almost a renunciation of that previous body of work". The tone of the piece generally seemed to me one of utilizing the Vanguard 1980 material as a model for your comments -- which, at least as a release, as we both know, represents only a fraction of the larger picture. There have been two sides to this issue of Evans later work for a long time, and I doubt it will go away anytime soon. But I thanks you for your considerable attention to Bill's music, which in whatever period, still seems fresh all these years later.
Perhaps most astonishingly, his playing became more intense, but also too fast and too mechanical in the last years of his life, not long after he switched from the use of methadone to cocaine. From a medical point of view the effect of methadon has quite a different impact on a person than cocaine that causes: Increased blood pressure Constricted blood vessels Dilated pupils Mental alertness Increased energy Restlessness Increased heart rate Decreased appetite Increased temperature Rob Rijneke, cardiologist www.billevans.nl
Dear Ted, A most interesting blog essay entry but just as much, the perspicuity of the comments. With regard to Bill's "speeding up" issue, I shout a vociferous, SO WHAT! We're discussing "the" all-American musical giant of the 21st century. Bill surpasses and leaves in the dust the other great jazz pianists, Tatum, Powell, et al. You see they were just pianists. Evans was more; He was an original composer whose towering intellect we have yet to dissect let alone understand. As a solo pianist he was a true innovator who also set new standards for the TRIO format. All trios since 1956 through 1980, have been borrowed, copied and patterned after Bill's. I met Bill in 1951 at the Washington D.C. Military School of Music. He was 21 and a complete virtuoso who could sight read anything. I witnessed him reading the full orchestral score to the "Rite of Spring", reducing it at the piano; I heard him practicing tune after tune after tune, alone in a practice room; I heard him jamming daily with a bass player, and with a quartet at night. He was the picture of health, vibrant, happy and constantly practicing and playing. When I heard in 1958 that he was taking drugs, I denied it for 2 years; I would not accept that the Bill I had known in 1951 needed any stimulants. He had the entire jazz piano/classical history in his fingers, ears and intellect. Bill was always fully aware of his place in music and was 100% secure in his mission which was to extend the Good, the Holy and the Beautiful to the world through his music. He is our Brahms, Chopin, Liszt and even our Mozart, Beethoven and Wagner. Let's get beyond these egoist analysis of "early/ late" periods and absorb/learn/study/enjoy the music. There's so much of it. If I'm boarding on the hagiographical, forgive me. I do get carried away at times. And rightly so!! It's Bill Evans I'm writing about. Thanks, Ted, for this opportunity to add my thoughts and comments. I had fun! Jack Reilly
PS, I forgot to comment with regard to Bill's accompanying on the Bennett/Evans duo; it's comparable and equal to the piano writing of the Schubert/Schumann/Brahms lieder cycles. Only Bill accompanied Tony "off the cuff". For my ears Bill surpassed the above mentioned classical masters. Jack Reilly Hagiographer at large.
As a listener of Bills from my early youth, I must profess to liking a lot of his earlier material better than the later material. That said, I never felt he lost his musical sensibility- no matter how far it evolved or changed or sped up possibly due to his addiction and or perception that he was running out of time. I must also point out that phalanxes of commentators on Bills music since then have said time and again - that the most expressive and seminal of Bills revolutionary Trios were the first (with Scotty LaFaro) and the last with Marc Johnson. There are also two points to add to that that come from a creditable source- Bill himself. Bill made it clear in the Marian McPartland interview how much he liked the last trio, and how fortunate he felt he was to find Marc. In that session (recorded barely 2 years before Bill died)-listen to the stark beauty of Ellingtons Reflections in D played very closely to the Dukes original arrangement and clearly unhurried. Bill also took his time when he wowed Marian when demonstrating how he played around the melody with the Touch of Your Lips. It has also been reported that towards the end Bill bypassed medical assistance to play with his last group. This is not the way someone talks who has given up on their music. As to the effect of substances on Bill there can be no doubt that decades of pushing his body on top of the effects of hepatitis were destructive. Anyone living Bills lifestyle who lacked anything but the most exacting personal discipline would never have survived over 20 years in its grip or repaid all those from whom he borrowed money to answer the unrelenting call of his terrible habit. Calmly soldiering on to the amazement of other musicians with a temporarily paralyzed left hand is another example of this discipline. Contemporary rock musicians with similar habits in the 60s routinely lasted far less than their proverbial 15 minutes of Warhol fame. It is also the case that (unfortunately) Bills entire recording career took place under some of that shadow. Indeed, Bill appears to have suffered from underestimating his abilities enough so that he might never have left the recording legacy we now know if he was not driven to some degree by the financial needs of his addiction. Most famously early material such as Conversations in his Bios is attributed to that influence, as is a lot of the Riverside material. We will never know if Bill might have sounded even better minus the illusions of confidence that substances provided. What we do know is how far his musicianship rose in spite of it, to a level that any jazz pianist could aspire to and that countless will undoubtedly view as a high water mark through the ages. If there were a Mount Rushmore of Jazz piano, Bill Evans would be one of the faces most would agree belongs there. Respect for your elders?- yes and I wholeheartedly agree with that thought for good reasons.
I couldn't agree more with Jack Reilly's assessment of Bill Evans'historical preeminence on the jazz music scene; the rest were as children compared to his contribution. As to whether the older Bill could slow down and play a ballad when he so chose, one has but to listen to (and watch) his heartbreakingly beautiful performance of his final composition "Your Story" at the Molde concert in August 1980, mere weeks prior to his death. (This rendition is fortunately available on the recently-issued "Oslo Concerts" DVD). As one who had the privilege of hearing a great deal of his live playing over the years at the Village Vanguard, I can attest that on any given night, regardless of what year you want to pick, this artist could wipe you out with the beauty and power of his music. It was honest music, and as such it of course varied with his inner state. But to me, Bill Evans even on a less than otimum day made music that was so ingenious and truthful that it can only, as Jack Reilly points out, be compared to the master classical composers of earlier times.. It is one of the enduring travesties of our time that, honored though he may be, he is nevertheless so underappreciated, relative to the intrinsic worth of his contributions as composer and performer. Then again, gazing out at the present state of our culture, perhaps no surprise is warranted.