John Coltrane: Afro Blue right now

I first encountered John Coltrane’s Afro Blue during a performance by the Dayton Dance Company at the American Dance Festival in 1996. Stewart Theatre was dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation. As the dancers moved in hypnotic unison, the rhythm of Afro Blue unfolded—a tour de force of shifting tempos, building layers of complexity from a subtle, simmering introduction to an explosive crescendo. The synergy between the dancers and Coltrane’s playing mesmerized me, each note spiraling into the atmosphere with a hypnotic force that seemed to freeze time. It was an awakening, a moment when music and movement became intertwined with my own sense of creativity.

For many, Afro Blue is immortalized in Coltrane’s Live at Birdland album, released by Impulse in 1963. It captures not only the visceral energy of live performance but the intimacy and freedom of Coltrane’s music within a nightclub setting. The piece itself, originally composed by Mongo Santamaría, took on a new life through Coltrane’s interpretation, blending modal jazz with Afro-Cuban rhythms, a testament to Coltrane’s ability to transcend musical boundaries and cultural traditions. As I listened to it that night, I realized that Afro Blue wasn’t just a piece of music—it was a conversation, a dialogue that spanned continents and time, from the traditional African rhythms in its bones to the future of jazz it predicted.

Of course, Afro Blue is only one thread in the intricate tapestry of Coltrane’s vast oeuvre. Like so many Coltrane devotees, my own journey through his music has been marked by discovery and rediscovery. My Favorite Things, his iconic reimagining of the Rodgers and Hammerstein show tune, was another milestone for me. Played on soprano sax, Coltrane unfurls melodic phrases that stretch and contract, transforming a familiar melody into something altogether spiritual. It’s the track I often return to when I’m deep in a creative process, whether writing, brainstorming, or simply reflecting. There’s something about the way Coltrane approaches the piece—at once meticulous and free—that clears mental blockages and inspires new ideas.

Listening to Coltrane can be an intensely personal experience, a sentiment that echoes through each of his compositions. Naima, a ballad written for his first wife, carries a kind of haunting melancholy that strikes at the heart of his genius. It’s a reminder that Coltrane’s genius wasn’t just in his technical prowess but in his emotional depth. He was able to articulate feelings—love, loss, yearning, joy—through sound alone, transcending language. And then, of course, there’s Giant Steps, a track often considered the pinnacle of Coltrane’s technical mastery. The rapid chord changes, known as Coltrane changes, have become a rite of passage for jazz musicians, a measure of their skill and understanding of harmony. But for all its complexity, there’s an underlying fluidity, a sense of motion that feels almost effortless.

Over the years, my connection to Coltrane has extended beyond just listening. His music became a part of my physical space. In my music study room, a large dry-mounted print of the Blue Train album cover hung prominently on the wall. The image of Coltrane, caught in a contemplative moment, reed between his lips, sax resting in his lap, watched over me as I practiced alto sax etudes. There was something reassuring in his presence, a reminder that mastery wasn’t instantaneous but the product of relentless dedication. Coltrane was the benchmark, not just for jazz musicians, but for anyone striving to reach new heights in their craft.

The influence of Coltrane’s music on my own development as a saxophonist and music lover cannot be overstated. His compositions, especially Afro Blue, have shaped the way I understand music—as a living, breathing entity capable of transforming, transporting, and transcending. There’s a reason why his legacy looms so large, not just in jazz circles but in the broader cultural conversation. To listen to Coltrane is to engage with a spirit of constant innovation, a refusal to be confined by tradition, and an unyielding commitment to artistic expression.

As I reflect on my personal journey with Coltrane, I find myself continually drawn back to Afro Blue, not just for its rhythmic complexity or modal improvisation, but for the way it encapsulates what jazz is at its core—freedom. Coltrane once said, “I want to be a force for real good.” Through his music, he’s done exactly that. Each note, each phrase, each breath is a reminder that the pursuit of artistic truth is an endless, yet deeply rewarding path.

John Coltrane’s music remains a compass, guiding us not just toward understanding jazz, but toward understanding ourselves.