Rubber City Review

Several things happened since I first posted this piece almost two years ago: 1) Based on my google stats, it’s still drawing a lot of readers; 2) A new bio about long-time Thelonious Monk patron Pannonica de Koenigswarter – written by her great-niece Hannah Rothschild, who also directed The Jazz Baroness –  is now available on Kindle (you can buy it or pre-order the hardcover at the end of this post); and 3) The Jazz Baroness DVD was released in the UK on April 30, which should mean it will soon be available in the U.S. Seems like three good reasons for a re-post:

“This is the story of a love affair between a man and a woman whose backgrounds and experiences, whose cultures and class were so different, that the chances of them even meeting were extremely unlikely.”

So begins the documentary “The Jazz Baroness,” a fascinating look at the 28-year relationship between Pannonica (“Nica”) de Koenigswarter – member of the wealthy and powerful Rothschild dynasty – and jazz pianist Thelonious Monk. Written and directed by Nica’s great-niece Hannah Rothschild, the film was first broadcast on BBC in April 2009 and also appeared on HBO.

As writer Stanley Crouch points out in the documentary, Nica was “a complete European” while Monk, who he describes as “a Country Negro,” was a product of pre-Civil Rights North Carolina and a descendant of West African slaves. How did these two worlds collide?

Nica’s great wealth gave her the freedom to travel the world, but her love of American jazz brought her back again and again to New York City, where she became a friend and patron of the form’s most important artists. One of her oldest friends was swing pianist Teddy Wilson, who gained fame as a key member of Benny Goodman’s small bands.

Nica stopped by to see Wilson during a visit to New York during the late ‘40s. She only planned to stay a few days before heading on to Mexico, where she was living with her husband and family. Wilson told her she couldn’t leave without hearing this new record ‘Round Midnight. In the film, the wonderful British actress Helen Mirren narrates with Nica’s own words: “I couldn’t believe my ears. I’d never heard anything remotely like it. I made him play it 20 times in a row… missed my plane and never went back to Mexico.” She left her husband in 1951 and made New York City her home. ‘Round Midnight

The inevitable meeting of Nica and Monk didn’t occur until 1954, when they were introduced by legendary jazz pianist Mary Lou Williams. In the film’s second narrative, Hannah adds that Nica and Monk were hardly ever apart for the next 28 years.

“The Jazz Baroness” includes interviews with a number of jazz musicians, writers and enthusiasts, including Crouch, Sonny Rollins, Clint Eastwood, Quincy Jones and Gary Giddins, as well as T.S. Monk Jr. and several of Nica’s notable relatives. But jazz drummer and bandleader Chico Hamilton almost steals the show with two gems. First, in just a few seconds of scat-singing magic, he lays bare the difference between swing and be-bop. And in a second clip, he recalls hearing Monk’s bass player offer this observation about his boss’ unique approach: “Man, I’ve played with piano players who played all the white keys, and I’ve played with piano players who played all the black keys. But I never played with no motherfucker who played in between the cracks.”

Here’s Monk, playing in between the cracks: Little Rootie Tootie

Nica was a beloved figure among jazz musicians, especially those who benefited from her patronage. More than 20 songs have been written about her – Nica’s Dream, Thelonica, Blues for Nica, Tonica, Nica Steps Out… but the best belong to Monk. Suitably, his crowning achievement is Pannonica, from his thorny masterpiece “Brilliant Corners.” It features Rollins on sax and Monk on celeste – an odd choice for jazz, but maybe the perfect instrument to capture the essence of a name that Nica’s eccentric father first gave to a new species of butterfly. Pannonica

Thankfully, “The Jazz Baroness” offers nothing in the way of sensational, E! Network-style confessionals about the nature of Monk’s relationship with Nica. Monk would balk at suggestions that they were anything other than close friends. But his son T.S. makes the bold statement that Nica “fell in love with my dad – I have no doubt about that… She was profoundly moved by his music and personality. He was a good-looking cat… She was a hottie…” And that’s about as far as it goes. Obviously, Hannah Rothschild knows how to play in between the cracks too.

In fact, she offers the theory that Monk’s long-time wife, Nellie, might have appreciated Nica’s helping hand in dealing with a full-blown manic-depressive – an illness that only worsened in Monk’s later years. The film claims that Monk was diagnosed as a schizophrenic and received electroshock treatments during a stay in San Francisco.

Nica remained unshakably devoted to Monk throughout the rest of his life. She even took the rap for drug possession ($10 worth of weed) when she was pulled over while driving Monk and sax player Charlie Rouse to a concert in Wilmington, DE. Nica faced a possible sentence of three years in jail followed by deportation, but managed to get off on a technicality. “His protection is at the root of the whole business,” she later explained, knowing that her race and wealth gave her a far greater chance to prevail in court.

Nica’s influence also helped secure a long-standing and legendary gig for Monk at New York’s Five Spot Café. Here’s a 1958 recording from the Five Spot featuring “the Little Giant” Johnny Griffin on tenor sax, Ahmed Abdul-Malik on bass and Roy Haynes on drums: Rhythm-A-Ning

By the 1970s, Monk’s mental illness became far more debilitating.  He eventually moved into Nica’s cat-filled house in Weehawken, NJ, and lived there until his death from a stroke in 1982. During his final years, he stopped playing altogether and spent most of his time in bed, surrounded by books, magazines and records. “He wanted to get well more than anything in the world,” Mirren narrates as Nica. “He cooperated with his doctors 100 percent and tried everything under the sun, but nothing seemed to help. I only regret one thing in my life, and that’s not being able to save Thelonious.”

Hot New Artist: Thelonious Monk

“The Jazz Baroness” wasn’t the only major work about Monk’s life and music that debuted in 2009. We also could feast on author Robin D. G. Kelley’s exhaustive labor of love, “Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of an American Original.” And I dug right in, because 608 pages seems hardly enough to cover one of the most important composers and performers of the 20^th Century.

Among its many merits, Kelley’s book debunks several widely held myths about Monk and his music. Here are just a few…

Myth: Monk was an idiot-savant – a jazz “outsider” artist who simply channeled his strange muse and received very little in the way of a formal education in music.

Reality: Monk was well-read, took advantage of the best musical training his community offered, was a master of the traditional “stride” piano style, and could play classical compositions by Chopin and Rachmaninoff. In other words, he worked hard at his craft.

Myth: Monk’s sparse, deliberate style wasn’t a musical choice – he didn’t have the chops to play any faster.

Reality: Monk could play blazingly fast if he wanted to, and would occasionally cut loose with Art Tatum-like passages to prove his point with fellow musicians.

Myth: Be-bop was fully formed during Monk’s stint as house pianist at the famous Harlem nightclub Minton’s Playhouse.

Reality: Many participants in the Minton jam sessions were swing musicians who struggled with the new form – so the recordings that survived could hardly be described as be-bop.

If you have any love for Monk’s legacy as a composer, performer and cultural icon, you’ll want to add Kelley’s book to your reading list. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this performance of Epistrophy from a taping in Poland, 1966. Listen to Monk’s powerful left hand in the opening… a nod to past masters, like the great stride player Willie “The Lion” Smith? I know there are better performance clips out there than this abbreviated take, but I like how the camera lingers as Monk and band screw around after the abrupt ending…

And here’s a more polished performance of the same tune – filmed live in Japan:

At what point did we know that the box set was deceased?

Was it when the German Bear Family label released a 12-CD collection (with hardcover book) of Pat Boone’s complete ‘50s recordings? Or when America’s leading reissue label, Rhino Records, laid off 20 percent of its staff – resigning itself to the fact that the vast majority of people under 30 refuse to pay for music?

Regardless, it’s been a good run for those of us who like to deep-dive into our favorite artists’ back catalogs. So let’s cherish the digital memories… even as we curse the unwieldy cardboard boxes taking up valuable shelf space in our partially assembled particle-board entertainment centers.

Here’s the rest of the list we started in our last post – five more box sets that you probably don’t have the time to listen to (although one kept me from going insane during a major paint removal project).

Sonny Rollins: The Complete Prestige Recordings… Members of the assembly, have we grown soft worshipping false idols? There is only one Greek god of the saxophone, and his name is Rollins. Let us bow down as he hurls mighty bolts of power and majesty from his throne atop Mount Colossus. Sorry… I get a little giddy listening to the “Complete Prestige Recordings,” which captures the meteoric rise of Sonny Rollins from journeyman be-bopper to one of the true giants of jazz. He was a man of contradictions, a daring soloist who could burn with blazing speed and dexterity but often played his favorite show tunes with great reverence (and maybe just a tinge of irony). And that lyricism often seemed at odds with a sound that was about as bold and muscular as any one man can wring out of an acoustic instrument. There’s a lot of variety in this set as Rollins supports Miles Davis and Thelonious Monk, and even goes head-to-head with John Coltrane on Tenor Madness. But the best tunes are those with Rollins firmly in charge, and the opening to You Don’t Know What Love Is – from his masterpiece, “Saxophone Colossus” – even sets the gold standard for “jazz noir”… You Don’t Know What Love Is

What It Is! Funky Soul and Rare Grooves… Those of you who collect vinyl usually enjoy the act of crate-diving – the thrill of the hunt, as they say. In my younger days, I spent a fair amount of time combing rat-infested record stores. Now I thank god for labels like Rhino Records for doing all the hard work for me and coming up with outstanding collections like “What It Is!” As allmusic.com rightfully points out, “it would cost a fortune to collect these songs in their original form of release.” I say, just bring me the goods – and Rhino delivers. Even hard-core collectors of rare funk and soul give the label credit for digging especially deep to come up with some great hidden gems on this one, although a few of the artists (Aretha, Commodores, Curtis Mayfield) are hardly unknown. In another post, I featured my favorite song from this collection – Fairchild by Willie West. Here’s another standout cut from “What It Is!”… You Gotta Know Watcha Doin’/Charles Wright

Crescent City Soul: The Sound of New Orleans, 1947-1974… In one episode of the new HBO show “Treme,” much is made of an out-of-print box set by famous New Orleans producer, arranger, bandleader and all-around musical wizard Dave Bartholomew (basically, nutjob DJ Davis steals it in an act of revenge). Well, I wouldn’t mind stealing “The Genius of Dave Bartholomew” myself. But in terms of sheer awesomeness, I’d have to give the edge to this 4-CD, 119-song, equally hard-to-find set featuring some of the greatest songs ever recorded in the Crescent City. And yes, Bartholomew has a hand in a lot of them – Trick Bag by Earl King, Stack A Lee by Archibald and Walking to New Orleans by Fats Domino, to name a few. So good, it was named the “official collection of the 1996 New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival.” And so hard to describe in just one paragraph, so I’ll leave you with just two of the many delicious R&B nuggets on “Crescent City Soul.” By the by, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum will honor 89-year-old Bartholomew and long-time musical partner Fats Domino, 82, in its 15th Annual American Musical Masters Series set for this November in Cleveland. I Done Got Over It/Irma Thomas Travellin’ Mood/Wee Willie Wayne

Miles Davis: The Complete Columbia Studio Recordings of the Miles Davis Quintet… Back in the early ’60s, who would’ve thought that Miles Davis could top his legendary quintet with John Coltrane (the one that recorded the classic “Kind of Blue”)? Well, in just a few short years, Miles had assembled a new band that some jazz fanatics simply call “the second great quintet.” Miles, Wayne Shorter on sax, Herbie Hancock on piano, Ron Carter on bass and Tony Williams on drums. It’s no exaggeration to say that hundreds of contemporary jazz acts are modeled after this band. Miles’ new quintet started out deconstructing the same standards that the Miles-Coltrane band perfected – songs like Stella by Starlight and All of You. Then they ventured off into playing original compositions, many by Shorter, that simply served as launching pads for the kind of breathtaking group improvisation heard here… Footprints And toward the end of their tenure, they built the foundation for Miles’ next journey into the land of electric funk… Stuff I’ve listened to this set many times, but I still feel a sense of discovery every time I play it.

Rockin’ Bones: 1950s Punk and Rockabilly… Another fine set from the good folks at Rhino – a wild ride through the many joys of ‘50s rock ‘n roll, hillbilly style. I would’ve been disappointed with another collection of the classic stuff I already own. So I especially like the way this one moves from the familiar (Summertime Blues by Eddie Cochran) to the obscure (Down on the Farm by Al Downing). Of course, rockabilly purists might argue that the set is skewed in favor of the familiar, and some might question the “punk” label being applied to music that appeared some 20 years before the Sex Pistols spat on their first fan (although I’m not sure I can come up with a better label for this next tune, which later was subject to even greater depravity at the hands of psychobilly sickos the Cramps: Love Me/The Phantom). But let’s not pick nits – this is hugely enjoyable stuff. And, since many of the artists are of Appalachian descent, there’s also some first-rate guitar pickin’ throughout. Plus the audio clips from vintage teen-film trailers – like this one and this one – make it even more essential. Play it in your car and obey the speed limit… I dare you. Action Packed/Johnny Dollar

Ten more worth mentioning:

• Joe Henderson: The Blue Note Years… This set features the pride of Lima, Ohio, as bandleader and sideman (with, among others, Lee Morgan, Horace Silver and McCoy Tyner). But it really tells the story of one label’s glory years.
• Sam Cooke’s SAR Records Story… As a label head, Sam Cooke was full of surprises – from the gritty gospel of the Womack Brothers to the juke-joint blues of  Johnnie Morisette.
• Sir Douglas Quintet: The Complete Mercury Recordings… The king of border rock plays some of our farfisa-driven favorites and a whole lot of Texas rock ‘n soul. Plus Mendocino en Español!
• James Brown: Star Time… Still the best funk collection ever assembled. Slap it on at a party and let the games begin.
• The House That Trane Built… Another great overview of a groundbreaking label – in this case, John Coltrane’s last stop, Impulse!
• Cuba: I Am Time… A cigar box that holds the island’s greatest export – a rich musical tradition that contemporary Cuban bands seem to reinvent every day.
• Big Ol’ Box of New Orleans… Some overlap with “Crescent City Soul,” but another outstanding collection of prime R&B from the cradle of American roots music, with more of a modern twist.
• Thelonious Monk: The Columbia Years… An exhaustive set would have many versions of the same composition. Thankfully, this 3-CD set offers a more diverse overview – from solo to big band performances.
• Muddy Waters: The Chess Box… Probably my first box set – a Christmas gift from my mom. She called it “jukin’ music.” I call it the source of all that is good and right in the world.
• Dexter Gordon: The Complete Blue Note Sixties Sessions… A 6-CD meditation on what it means to be “urbane.”

Blues, New Orleans-style… The late, great Earl King at the Chicago Blues Festival, doing that thing that he used to do so well.

The recent reissue of the Rolling Stones’ classic “Exile on Main St.” made me nostalgic for the days when a new Stones album was something worth arguing about…

Beatles or Stones? It’s one of those big questions – Republican or Democrat, paper or plastic, roll from top or roll from bottom (toilet paper, of course) – that supposedly reveal the very essence of your personality. And don’t believe those folks who say “I simply can’t choose between the Beatles and the Stones… they’re both so vital and important.” That simply proves that the person you’re talking to is a) full of shit; b) an inveterate fence-straddler; or c) both.

Put me in the Stones column. Don’t get me wrong – like every other kid on the block, I couldn’t resist the many charms of the Fab Four. I remember sitting on the family room floor with my older brothers and sister, watching the Beatles’ first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964. Can’t say I fully understood what was going on, but judging from the near-psychotic reaction of my siblings, I got the sense that things would never be the same.

But I took a certain amount of pride in telling everyone that I preferred The Dave Clark Five. The band was named after a drummer who played like a caveman, for chrissakes! And I loved the big, stomping, four-on-the-floor beat of their hits Glad All Over and Bits and Pieces… not to mention their singer, Mike Smith (everyman name, everyman voice), who sounded like he’d been thrown out of the Beatles for bad behavior. So maybe the stage had already been set to embrace the sheer, decadent glory of the Rolling Stones.

Although my older brothers eventually became blues hounds and Dylan freaks, they certainly could appreciate the Beatles’ evolution from cute popsters to acid-fueled poets. I distinctly recall one bizarre conversation at the kitchen table that involved Jack and James deconstructing the lyrics to I Am The Walrus. I think they somehow discovered the true meaning of “yellow matter custard dripping from a dead dog’s eye”… only to forget it a few minutes later.

But it was just this sort of blowhardian (is that a word?) nonsense that made me realize I needed the rock ‘n roll equivalent of Muddy Waters and Jimmy Reed in my life. Leave the free word association to the experts, like Allen Ginsberg and Norm Crosby. Give me the primal poetry of Keith Richards’ grinding rhythms: Can’t You Hear Me Knocking

Keep in mind, the album from whence this awesome riffage sprang – “Sticky Fingers” – was recorded the same year that the Beatles finally went down in flames, following several years of sonic excess (e.g. “Sgt Pepper’s”… sure, it was mind-blowing when it first came out, but has anyone listened to it lately?) and other forms of self-indulgence (Number 9, anyone?). Thankfully, they woke up in time to record one minor masterpiece, “Abbey Road,” in ’69… and that was pretty much it, unless you count “Let It Be” (not me).  Before long, Paul had turned into the British dance hall dandy he always wanted to be, crooning strange odes to Uncle Albert and other misguided dreck.

Back to the Stones… At the tender age of 16, I attended my first Rolling Stones concert – at Akron’s unfortunately named Rubber Bowl. I couldn’t believe my parents let me go. Maybe I’d convinced them I was going to watch late-night soap box derby races at the adjacent Derby Downs. It’s hard for me to remember much of what happened on July 11, 1972. I recall enjoying Stevie Wonder’s opening set, until police in riot gear tried to make an arrest on the field (they had to beat a retreat under a shower of flying debris). Then I made my way close to the front of the stage, where I watched what seemed like a sloppy, drug-addled performance of songs from the Stones’ sloppy, drug-addled masterpiece, “Exile on Main St.,” which was released in May of that year. When I first saw the apocalyptic action film “Mad Max” some 10 years later, it reminded me of the Rubber Bowl at the end of the Stones concert – zombie bikers with hollow eyes, stray dogs roaming nearby, small fires burning everywhere… OK, I’m exaggerating (just a little).

The relative letdown of seeing the Stones live didn’t stop me from wearing out my copy of “Exile” that year, just as I did with “Sticky Fingers” the previous year. I couldn’t get enough of the thick, sweaty groove that Charlie Watts and company laid down on this one – a blues that had something to do with the lack of ventilation in the basement of Richards’ vacation rental in southern France, where most of “Exile” was recorded… Ventilator Blues

From a creative standpoint, things seemed to go downhill for the Stones after “Exile.” And the next time their roadshow hit the area – ’75 in Cleveland – my college friends had to drag me to see them. I’m glad they did. They were in great form, much better than the Rubber Bowl show. Although guitarist Mick Taylor was gone, they’d added Ronnie Wood and brought along both Billy Preston and Ian Stewart on keyboards. Preston was amazing… he had scored huge hits over the previous three years with Outa-Space, Will It Go Round In Circles and Nothing From Nothing. So we were more excited about seeing him than the Stones.

Jagger and the boys regained some relevance in ’78 with “Some Girls”… and any band that hires jazz sax legend Sonny Rollins as a guest artist (“Tattoo You” from ‘81) gets a lifetime pass in my book. But I have to admit, I haven’t paid much attention to them since then, except for the occasional remastering of their classic stuff from ’63 to ’72.

I don’t even mind some of the revisionist experiments that Jagger conducted on the bonus tracks from “Exile.” What’s not to like about this one? I’m Not Signifying

But mainly, the “Exile” reissue sent me back to some of my favorite cuts prior to ’72 – including a few of the tunes they recorded as unabashed imitators of their beloved Chicago blues idols. Here’s just a short list of some of the stuff I’ve been digging into from their back catalog…

It used to bother me that the Stones started out as a second-rate blues cover band. Now I can’t help but admire how ballsy these guys were, barely reworking tunes by Muddy Waters and Howlin’ Wolf. Don’t play Muddy’s original right after listening to this one… it would only ruin the moment. I Just Want To Make Love To You

A hidden gem from 1964′s “12 x 5.” This is one of those quintessential Sixties rock songs that make you picture a gang of teenage punks hanging out in someone’s dingy basement rec room – swilling Blatz beer, smoking cigars, shooting pool, busting each others’ chops… No self-respecting jukebox should be without this tune. Congratulations

Anyone who was surprised by the punk-rock attitude of the Stones’ 1978 comeback album, “Some Girls,” obviously never heard this number from “Got Live If You Want It!” A collection of small-club recordings from ’66, “Got Live” is far from essential. But their cover of the Bobby Troup classic has an undeniable edge… I’m guessing subtlety wasn’t a strong point of their mid-’60s shows. Route 66

If the Stones had disbanded right after recording this song, they’d still be considered legends of rock – and the tune’s signature riff remains Brian Jones’ greatest contribution to the form. The Last Time

I love the fuzzed-out bass that opens this very obvious tribute to the home of Chess Records, where this song was recorded in ’64. I’ve heard people say that Jagger’s a poseur… thought that a few times myself… also enjoyed the “rooster on acid” parodies… then I listen to his harp-playing on this tune and give the man his due. 2120 South Michigan Avenue

From “Beggar’s Banquet” – 1968. This may be the most underrated song in the Stones’ catalog. The opening sounds like something The Black Keys would be proud of. Then it builds into this glorious noise of scratching guitars and Jagger’s perfect howls… It’s no capital crime, but it’s still dangerous. Stray Cat Blues

We’ll end where we started – with Keith Richards playing rhythm, the way God and Chuck Berry intended. Listen to how this song breaks down to the brutal riff that kicks it off… then hear Richards answer himself with some tasty slide. Sorry, Beatles fans. This is why the Stones once ruled the world. Monkey Man

Keith Richards and Ron Wood, struggling to film a promo for MTV… I like how they snap into focus and nail it at the end. I’m guessing a few of their recording sessions went something like this.

“This is the story of a love affair between a man and a woman whose backgrounds and experiences, whose cultures and class were so different, that the chances of them even meeting were extremely unlikely.”

So begins the documentary “The Jazz Baroness,” a fascinating look at the 28-year relationship between Pannonica (“Nica”) de Koenigswarter – member of the wealthy and powerful Rothschild dynasty – and jazz pianist Thelonious Monk. Written and directed by Nica’s great-niece Hannah Rothschild, the film was first broadcast on BBC in April 2009 and now is available on HBO On Demand.

As writer Stanley Crouch points out in the documentary, Nica was “a complete European” while Monk, who he describes as “a Country Negro,” was a product of pre-Civil Rights North Carolina and a descendant of West African slaves. How did these two worlds collide?

Nica’s great wealth gave her the freedom to travel the world, but her love of American jazz brought her back again and again to New York City, where she became a friend and patron of the form’s most important artists. One of her oldest friends was swing pianist Teddy Wilson, who gained fame as a key member of Benny Goodman’s small bands.

Nica stopped by to see Wilson during a visit to New York during the late ‘40s. She only planned to stay a few days before heading on to Mexico, where she was living with her husband and family. Wilson told her she couldn’t leave without hearing this new record ‘Round Midnight. In the film, the wonderful British actress Helen Mirren narrates with Nica’s own words: “I couldn’t believe my ears. I’d never heard anything remotely like it. I made him play it 20 times in a row… missed my plane and never went back to Mexico.” She left her husband in 1951 and made New York City her home. ‘Round Midnight

The inevitable meeting of Nica and Monk didn’t occur until 1954, when they were introduced by legendary jazz pianist Mary Lou Williams. In the film’s second narrative, Hannah adds that Nica and Monk were hardly ever apart for the next 28 years.

“The Jazz Baroness” includes interviews with a number of jazz musicians, writers and enthusiasts, including Crouch, Sonny Rollins, Clint Eastwood, Quincy Jones and Gary Giddins, as well as T.S. Monk Jr. and several of Nica’s notable relatives. But jazz drummer and bandleader Chico Hamilton almost steals the show with two gems. First, in just a few seconds of scat-singing magic, he lays bare the difference between swing and be-bop. And in a second clip, he recalls hearing Monk’s bass player offer this observation about his boss’ unique approach: “Man, I’ve played with piano players who played all the white keys, and I’ve played with piano players who played all the black keys. But I never played with no motherfucker who played in between the cracks.”

Here’s Monk, playing in between the cracks: Little Rootie Tootie

Nica was a beloved figure among jazz musicians, especially those who benefited from her patronage. More than 20 songs have been written about her – Nica’s Dream, Thelonica, Blues for Nica, Tonica, Nica Steps Out… but the best belong to Monk. Suitably, his crowning achievement is Pannonica, from his thorny masterpiece “Brilliant Corners.” It features Rollins on sax and Monk on celeste – an odd choice for jazz, but maybe the perfect instrument to capture the essence of a name that Nica’s eccentric father first gave to a new species of butterfly. Pannonica

Thankfully, “The Jazz Baroness” offers nothing in the way of sensational, E! Network-style confessionals about the nature of Monk’s relationship with Nica. Monk would balk at suggestions that they were anything other than close friends. But his son T.S. makes the bold statement that Nica “fell in love with my dad – I have no doubt about that… She was profoundly moved by his music and personality. He was a good-looking cat… She was a hottie…” And that’s about as far as it goes. Obviously, Hannah Rothschild knows how to play in between the cracks too.

In fact, she offers the theory that Monk’s long-time wife, Nellie, might have appreciated Nica’s helping hand in dealing with a full-blown manic-depressive – an illness that only worsened in Monk’s later years. The film claims that Monk was diagnosed as a schizophrenic and received electroshock treatments during a stay in San Francisco.

Nica remained unshakably devoted to Monk throughout the rest of his life. She even took the rap for drug possession ($10 worth of weed) when she was pulled over while driving Monk and sax player Charlie Rouse to a concert in Wilmington, DE. Nica faced a possible sentence of three years in jail followed by deportation, but managed to get off on a technicality. “His protection is at the root of the whole business,” she later explained, knowing that her race and wealth gave her a far greater chance to prevail in court.

Nica’s influence also helped secure a long-standing and legendary gig for Monk at New York’s Five Spot Café. Here’s a 1958 recording from the Five Spot featuring “the Little Giant” Johnny Griffin on tenor sax, Ahmed Abdul-Malik on bass and Roy Haynes on drums: Rhythm-A-Ning

By the 1970s, Monk’s mental illness became far more debilitating.  He eventually moved into Nica’s cat-filled house in Weehawken, NJ, and lived there until his death from a stroke in 1982. During his final years, he stopped playing altogether and spent most of his time in bed, surrounded by books, magazines and records. “He wanted to get well more than anything in the world,” Mirren narrates as Nica. “He cooperated with his doctors 100 percent and tried everything under the sun, but nothing seemed to help. I only regret one thing in my life, and that’s not being able to save Thelonious.”

Hot New Artist: Thelonious Monk

“The Jazz Baroness” wasn’t the only major work about Monk’s life and music that debuted in 2009. We also could feast on author Robin D. G. Kelley’s exhaustive labor of love, “Thelonious Monk: The Life and Times of an American Original.” And I’m digging right in, because 608 pages seems hardly enough to cover one of the most important composers and performers of the 20^th Century.

I’m only about 100 pages in so far, but the book already has debunked several widely held myths about Monk and his music. Here are just a few…

Myth: Monk was an idiot-savant – a jazz “outsider” artist who simply channeled his strange muse and received very little in the way of a formal education in music.

Reality: Monk was well-read, took advantage of the best musical training his community offered, was a master of the traditional “stride” piano style, and could play classical compositions by Chopin and Rachmaninoff. In other words, he worked hard at his craft.

Myth: Monk’s sparse, deliberate style wasn’t a musical choice – he didn’t have the chops to play any faster.

Reality: Monk could play blazingly fast if he wanted to, and would occasionally cut loose with Art Tatum-like passages to prove his point with fellow musicians.

Myth: Be-bop was fully formed during Monk’s stint as house pianist at the famous Harlem nightclub Minton’s Playhouse.

Reality: Many participants in the Minton jam sessions were swing musicians who struggled with the new form – so the recordings that survived could hardly be described as be-bop.

I’m sure I’ll have a few more to add as I continue to plow through Kelley’s book. In the meantime, I’ll leave you with this performance of Epistrophy from a concert in Paris, 1966. Listen to Monk’s powerful left hand in the opening… a nod to past masters, like the great stride player Willie “The Lion” Smith?