Billboard : 03/24/1958

The subtle, imaginative and penetrating work of John Lewis on piano in this new set makes it a standout disk for the jazz market. On this, his first featured album, with quiet backing from guitarist B. Galbraith and J. Hall, plus bass and drum support, Lewis shows off his rare technique that has contributed so greatly to the success of the Modern Jazz Quartet. Tunes include standards and originals by Lewis. A potent package.

-----

Cashbox : 03/29/1958

The waxing is the first issue devoted primarily to the keyboard artistry of John Lewis. Lewis, known best as a member of the Modern Jazz Quartet, displays his smoothly intimate delivery with the aid of Connie Kay (drums), Percy Heath (bass), or either of two guitarists, Barry Galbraith, or Jim Hall. One of the really moving tunes is an opus in two movements penned by Lewis, Two Lyric Pieces: Pierrot, Colombine. Stock for heavy sales action.

-----

American Record Guide
Martin Williams : June 1958

Lewis’ intelligence seldom inhibits. And although it is sophisticated, it soon rejects pretentiousness or academic display because it can bring into form the lyric passion within him. It has led him to discover his own methods, his abilities and limitations, and it leads him to explore the possibilities in the materials at hand. (What an antidote to the “expressionists” to whom jazz is a vehicle for the transient emotions of the moment.) One might say of him that he walks the narrow line not of finding his way within the medium of jazz, but of adapting the medium to himself, with respect for it and perception about it. And the results: well, for example, it would be hard to imagine anyone else making such a very moving and beautiful entity out of such a banality as The Bad and the Beautiful, and its success might, on the whole, characterize the set. It contains four “standards” and four Lewis compositions including an outstanding Harlequin and a blues. His various associates certainly seemed to know how well this was going.

-----

HiFi / Stereo Review
Ralph J. Gleason : July 1958

There are seven tracks to this LP and Lewis is heard in four settings: on one track, Harlequin, he is accompanied only by drums; the accompaniment on the others occasionally includes bass, and always one or the other of the two guitarists. However, the dominating voice is Lewis’s and the bulk of the numbers are his own compositions.

As pianist, Lewis displays that same stately elegance that has become the trademark of the Modern Jazz Quartet. There is the lyricism, the close tie to the blues that Lewis brings to everything he does. I was particularly struck by the similarity in emotional content between Lewis and the guitarists, but it is on D & E, his wonderfully moving blues, that he sounds best in a jazz sense.

-----

High Fidelity
John S. Wilson : May 1958

The austere but kindling piano normally heard laying a foundation for the Modern Jazz Quartet takes the full spotlight here. Lewis is at his most inviting when he is working in what might be termed his MJQ vein — building simple, single-note passages through increasing degrees of swinging fervor to an ultimate level that can be gently but insistently overpowering. He works in this manner on two or three occasions on this disc, but he also indulges himself in some trivial romanticism (Lewis has an odd weakness for the compositions of David Raksin). The most provocative piece in this rather studied set is Harlequin-an odd and extremely effective development of a theme through a broken, stabbing series of suggestions by Lewis’ piano, held together by Connie Kay’s sensitively brush-beaten cymbal.

-----

Jazz Review
Bob Brookmeyer : November 1958

In case the reader has a limited amount of time I shall say initially that, without reservation, this is a superb album, front, back and middle. Well paced, sensitive, subtle, accessible and, befitting its leader, it contains a gentle nobility that seems to pervade the soul of almost everyone who plays with him. The instrumentation varies but the continuity stays for dinner. Participants are Percy Heath, Connie Kay, Jim Hall and Barry Galbraith.

The first piece, Harlequin, appears to be a completely improvised duet between piano and drums and was recorded at the Music Barn (Lenox, Mass.), complete with a few pianissimo cricket chirps. Alternating between a repeated, percussive pair of eighth notes and a rolling, legato phrase, John weaves a totally beguiling composition. Little Girl Blue is done with bass and drums and is almost cameo-like in its simplicity. Opening with a single piano line that sounds very pure, he creates a sympathetic portrait, classic and yet with that joy and wonder toward such a precious thing as music that pervades all of John’s work that I have heard.

The Bad & The Beautiful brings alive an attractive theme, hitherto suffocated in the orchestral masses that the moguls that be see fit to waste upon every movie issuing from Sunland. I noted that on this and the other songs with guitar that John automatically chooses a register that is impeccably spaced with the accompanying instrument — orchestration come alive! It also demonstrates to the hardheads that Jazz can and should be multi-faceted, with a place for chamber groups as well as large and small orchestras. Had Mr. Lewis decided to use 100% of the available and normally used instruments, the total effect would have been much more common and equally less intimate, the necessary quality that must accompany the term “chamber music.”

It Never Entered My Mind and Warmeland also use Barry Galbraith to best advantage and he responds admirably, both in melodic phrases and in some lovely rhythmic strumming. I should say, if asked to be brief, that the chief characteristics of the aforementioned are: very skilful transitions in and out of strict meter; telling use of the single line, both in piano and guitar (normally chordal instruments;) rich, heady voicings in the low register by John and a poignancy that is pathetically rare in these warlike days. In the service of brevity I shall say about D & E, a medium blues, Uh-huh, and Mmmmm.

The Two Lyric Pieces are just that with Jim Hall replacing Galbraith. Pierrot has a beautifully constructed theme and once again achieves a wonderful blend with the rolling, almost lute-like guitar accompaniment. Since Hall tunes his strings down a fourth from the conventional low e, I found the added bass gave John an even better chance to blend and naturally, he ain’t one to pass that by. Colombine has a surprisingly sinister beginning that dissolves into a pastoral, clarion melody that would be quite suitable for some old shepherd to practice on when he feels the need to relieve those lonely hours. Also, it has a good dramatic sense, almost Grecian in its lifelike duality. You could sling verbs and adjectives around for weeks if you had a mind to, but as I said in the beginning, if you haven’t heard it, it’s your loss.

-----

Kansas City Star (Kansas City, MO)
R.K.S. : 04/06/1958

The pianist who wins the prize for playing the fewest notes per bar is John Lewis, a member of the Modern Jazz Quartet. Lewis seems reluctant to make any great amount of noise at any one time. As a result, the listener finds himself hanging on each note, and in the end remembering the Lewis music more than that of a polished keyboard technician.

For some time after he began playing with the MJQ Lewis refused to play a solo of any length. Now he has deigned to make a solo album, The John Lewis Piano, on Atlantic (1272). People who expect a piano player to produce a conventional amount of trills and runs won’t like this music, but musicians and those who have become enthused about the quiet, restrained, purified jazz of the MJQ will think it’s splendid.

There is a poignancy in these sounds. Virtually every note is allowed to vibrate alone. With every phrase hanging there for a moment’s study, the listener gets an idea of why the music is constructed the way it is. Two guitarists, Jim Hall and Barry Galbraith, bassist Percy Heath and drummer Connie Kay join Lewis in varying combinations on the eight tunes included, tunes like Little Girl Blue and It Never Entered My Mind.

-----

Miami Herald (Miami, FL)
Fred Sherman : 04/20/1958

Mark it down now. When the votes are counted to pick the best jazz of 1958, near the top of the list will be an album called The John Lewis Piano (Atlantic 1272).

You have to go back to the spring of 1956 for a comparable session. Then it was Atlantic’s album by Lennie Tristano. Now, emerging from the smooth context of the Modern Jazz Quartet, Lewis demonstrates a solo talent soulful and statuesque.

I hope your sound rig is a good one to provide the full warmth and fatness of his piano touch. Lewis’ own composition, Harlequin, gets the album off to an exciting start. Here are the blues outlined against a shimmering curtain of high sound woven by Connie Kay with the cymbals.

There are eight tracks in all. On two, Lewis is accompanied by Kay and bassist Percy Heath, both of the Jazz Quartet. On the others, Lewis is subtly backed by a guitar; three with Barry Galbraith and two by Jim Hall. The Lewis-Galbraith blendings on The Bad and the Beautiful and on It Never Entered My Mind are greatness in modern music.

-----

New Pittsburgh Courier (Pittsburgh, PA)
Harold L. Keith : 03/29/1958
Four stars

A sobering work of art has been presented on Atlantic 1272 by jazz impresario John Lewis, who shows here just why the Modern Jazz Quartet has been making such a tremendous contribution to contemporary music.

A dedicated pianist, Mr. Lewis proceeds to caress a series of lovelies which are capped by Two Lyric Pieces: a. Pierrot, b. Colombine, all done up in a classical vein. On Harlequin in particular is noted Mr. Lewis’ propensity to depict moods.

Here his piano speaks of tricks and drolleries in sprightful manner, all of which proves our point that John Lewis is one of the great, in that he does not dull one’s sensibilities with overpowering techniques but is, instead, as deft and surehanded as a surgeon on the keys.

-----

Norfolk Virginian-Pilot (Norfolk, VA)
R.C.S. : 06/08/1958

Listening to John Lewis, you can’t help but feel that he represents the flowering of a jazz tradition, a distillation of what has come before into something at once old and new. In temper and concept he must be regarded as a modern; yet the restlessness of the modern experimentalists is missing from his playing; in its place is a placid ordering of experience into what seems to be the only possible style for him. Waller and Basie and Ellington and Monk are understood and fused: Lewis is what had to happen sooner or later.

One reason for this is contained in a quote on the blurb Atlantic LP 1272, The John Lewis Piano. Writing of his playing, Lewis says: “The major influence on my piano playing is the fact that the way I play hasn’t been especially influenced by piano players. Maybe it was because I wanted to be a composer.” Certainly, the composer’s view of the piano is most adaptable to the role of the eclectic who chooses the best of what he needs to build a style. And if Lewis hasn’t been influenced by specific piano players, he has been influenced by every bit of good jazz produced in 25 years. He says that his piano style has not changed much in the past 10 years and early recordings bear him up; once again it is the “end product” type of musician who has the earliest command of his aspirations.

The John Lewis Piano is, unqualifiedly, a superb album. As a foil for the soft dynamics of Lewis’ style, guitarists Barry Galbraith (a fine accompanist) and Jim Hall alternate. On a couple of bands, Connie Kay’s drums are used against the piano. The choice of tunes is fine, particularly Lewis’ Harlequin and It Never Entered My Mind, which gets a taut, but effectively poignant treatment.

-----

San Francisco Chronicle (San Francisco, CA)
Ralph J. Gleason : 04/06/1958

A series of tracks showing Lewis with either a trio (bass, piano and drums) or duet between guitar and piano. Every second of it is laden with the superior musical conception and elegance of execution that Lewis has made his trademark. It is never deep or heavily rhythmic jazz, but it is a distillation of the blues and other jazz influences in most impressive, adult renditions.

-----

Down Beat : 06/12/1958
Don Gold : 4.5 stars

Although John Lewis is not a newcomer to jazz, this represents the first effort he has made, at LP length, to perform as a solo pianist. As leader of the Modern Jazz Quartet, he has accomplished a good deal for jazz, for the group, and for himself. Here, however, he is faced with a new challenge — that of sustaining his pianistic strength for an entire LP, without — for example — the aid of a Milt Jackson.

Composer Gunther Schuller, discussing Lewis in the liner notes, states, “… He’s not a ‘brilliant’ pianist in the many-noted sense, but he’s a very honest and moving one.” As pianist Dick Katz adds, Lewis achieves poise and grace through control.

It is this near-flawless control, this meticulous concern for exactness, within an awareness of both limitations and goals, that lends value to Lewis’ playing. He is not an illustrious technician in the sense that Tatum was. He is, however, a perceptive, analytical student of jazz and a pianist of striking communicative power, power based on simplicity (actually, it’s apparent simplicity) and content. It is such power that I find lacking in many of the many-noted pianists now scattering notes through the world of jazz.

It is incorrect to state that what Lewis sacrifices in technique he acquires in conception. Inadequate technique cannot be a means to an elaborate end. Lewis manages to utilize his technique to interpret successfully the concepts he wishes to express. He is not a Tatum or a Gilels, in the sense of possessing nearly unlimited keyboard facility, but he is a vividly illuminating pianist, and the insights he provides into life through jazz are well worth absorbing.

He begins this LP with a fascinating, economical statement of his own Harlequin. His Little Girl Blue is genuinely moving and buoyant as well. The Bad and the Beautiful, an easy victim for a sentimental attack, becomes subtly disciplined by Lewis. DGE features three members of the MJQ in a Milt Jackson, blues-rooted groove. Mind is treated wistfully, yet directly. Warmeland, known to many as Dear Old Stockholm, is a probing, moody interpretation. The concluding Two Lyric Pieces are fascinating originals. Pierrot is a lacework gem. Colombine is characterized by a moving, pastoral quality.

The support, by associates Heath and Kay and guitarists Galbraith and Hall, is indicative of the respect Lewis inspires and the rapport created by his efforts. It is excellent throughout.

Lewis has ascertained that he has roots in jazz tradition. He has indicated, too, that he is a significant composer. As a major force in the direction of the MJQ, he has shown that a group can speak eloquently without succumbing to stridency. Now, as a solo pianist, he manifests fully the life and thought of a major jazz figure.

-----

Liner Notes by Nat Hentoff

This is the first album devoted primarily to the solo piano of John Lewis. Even among a number of the Modern Jazz Quartet’s more devoted partisans, the expressive power and unique cantabile quality of Lewis’ piano is apt at first to be somewhat underestimated. Gradually, as one listens more fully and actively to the MJQ, there is usually an awakening to the penetration of the Lewis piano. Johnny Dankworth, for example, one of the more skilful and oriented British jazz player-leaders, reported a year ago after hearing the Modern Jazz Quartet in Paris: “Until then, John Lewis was a gifted composer who also played piano so far as I was concerned. He contributed in Ralph’s New Blues, however, one of the most moving solos I have ever heard.”

A musician who has long been aware of the luminosity of the Lewis piano is Dick Katz, a close friend of Lewis and himself a lyric pianist in an era devoted largely to more aggressive approaches to the instrument. “John,” begins Katz, “is one of the only jazz pianists who sings on the instrument. He gets a singing tone and he phrases in a very musical manner which may escape at first all but the most sensitive ears. His playing in addition seems to me to be of a timeless quality. I mean it wears well over the years and is not a fad-type of playing. I’d end this preliminary summary by also pointing out that there is nothing superficial in his playing. I doubt if he ever played a note in his life that didn’t mean something to him.”

Katz elaborated on several of these points, and added others: “The playing of the majority of the musicians I admire, including John, is characterized by there being no waste motion in what they do. I’m thinking of Miles, Bird, Dizzy, J. J. There’s not even any superfluous movement of their bodies; all seems to be concentrated into the instrument. There is an equilibrium, a sense of rightness. With a superior player, the music is never forced, because if it does become forced, it tends to break down and be awkward. If you don’t have control and press too hard, your playing becomes awkward, choppy and you’re in trouble. Through control, a player can achieve poise and grace; and much of the best of jazz has had these qualities, including some of the fiercest jazz. Bird at his most intense was a model of poise and grace because there was no awkwardness in his playing.”

“John has this control and through it, possesses a beautiful sense of tension, of tension-and-release. He knows just when to build a certain degree of tension and then just when to let it go. There are other players who can build but sometimes get stuck in how to release tension. And as I said before, he also actually plays like a singer. He sings on the piano somewhat like a good Chopin player but he never goes past that line where it gets sentimental, hammy. To be able to do this kind of singing is another result of unusual control over the instrument.”

“He particularly has a finely developed technique,” Katz continued, “with regard to the shadings, the varieties of tone, the different touches he can achieve. In order to attain this skill, he has had to sacrifice a degree of velocity: but very swift, many-noted playing isn’t natural to his temperament anyway. The only other player in jazz I know with as much control as John over touch is Ellis Larkins, but he uses it differently since he is not primarily an improviser.”

“As for his beat,” Katz concluded, “John’s rhythmic concept is quite paramount in the way the Modern Jazz Quartet as a whole swings. To me, this type of pulsation is a direct extension of the Kansas City rhythmic flow. John himself swings like an old time player, but with the finesse of a modern player. Swinging I feel, is, to a large extent, a matter of controlled intensity; and subtlety is much more a part of swinging than some listeners — and musicians – realize. Like with the great drummers, Kenny Clarke, Jo Jones, etc. – every little movement is important.”

Jim Hall, who is heard with John on Two Lyric Pieces, comments: “John and Jimmy Giuffre are alike in that they have extreme sensitivity to their musical surroundings; they’re listening and reacting constantly to what the other musicians with them do. John plays with such clarity that the performance becomes a duet, the texture is so clear; and the clarity allows for that inner reaction on the part of both of us. It’s a little bit frightening to be that exposed; it’s sort of like walking on eggshells. All you have to do is put your finger on the guitar string, and it comes out on the record. Before working with Jimmy Giuffre and on this record with John, I’d been accustomed to groups in which a lot of things were covered by drums.”

Hall denies that Lewis’ solos are occasionally “too deliberate.” “Oh, no, it’s exactly the opposite. Maybe some listeners mistake deliberateness for the fact that John is so careful to make what he does an immediate reaction to what’s going on around him. There were three or four takes on these, and he sounded completely different on each, including the introductions. He’s careful and controlled, but he’s not at all contrived. In a group, listen to how he uses his left hand in relation to what’s going on around him. If he hears the bass play a note that he accordingly doesn’t need to fill in, he’ll just leave it out. John hears all the instruments in any given context and hears himself in relation to them.”

Guitarist Barry Galbraith, who is heard on three of these tracks (including Warmeland, or Dear Old Stockholm in its urbanized titling) begins his appraisal of Lewis as pianist with his conviction that “John is more profound than most people, and his whole background is so complete that whatever comes out of him is usually a story. He’s like Lester Young or somebody like that. He’s not just dabbling. He’s very thoughtful in everything he does. He doesn’t play patterns as so many of us are likely to do. He’s not just killing time; you can’t say that about too many people.”

“About his being economical,” says Galbraith, “it’s been a development with him. Listen to some of the early Birds on Savoy with John. John wasn’t as economical then. John now is almost like Bartok’s Mikrokosmos in the degree of economy he uses. About his touch, everybody has his own sound and it’s pretty hard to differentiate between these various sounds in words. But I’d say John is in a way something like Claude Thornhill in that like Claude, he can get a different quality out of a piano than most piano players as such. Most pianists get pretty much the same sound; but both Claude and John were able to get a very distinctive, you could almost say a thoughtful sound. Horns obviously can be sounded in many different ways, but it’s so much more difficult with the piano. Yet those two seem to be able to get different timbres out of the instrument than anyone else.”

“As for playing with him,” Galbraith ended, “because of the spare way he plays, you don’t have a bunch of notes to hide under. If you goof with him, it’s a big goof because there’s no place to hide. It’s a lot of fun working with him. You have to use your brains more with him than with most musicians, because of all those spaces.”

Another close friend and frequent musical associate of Lewis is Gunther Schuller, a superior contemporary classical composer; first French horn with the Metropolitan Opera; an occasional participant in jazz recordings and concerts; and in many ways, the best jazz critic I know, although he does not function as one. “The main point about John as soloist,” notes Gunther, “is that he is a musician’s pianist more than a pianist’s pianist. In other words, he doesn’t employ the technical bravura aspects of piano playing. He relies very little on the pianistic clichés which the average pianist picks up during years of practicing scales and other exercises. The average pianist, when stuck, is likely to throw in one of these clichés — arpeggios or whatever. With John, when things aren’t going right in a solo because of the drummer or the audience or some other factor, he’ll just suffer through rather than fall back on these easy pianisms. This is a direct result, of course, of his personality — a personality that is ruthlessly honest and modest besides being musical. Very few other pianists — or people — are as scrupulous as he. So he’s not a ‘brilliant’ pianist in the many-noted sense, but he’s a very honest and moving one.”

John himself, in talking of this session, made a comment about Galbraith that also applies to his own work: “Barry is a great accompanist. You’ve got to be a magician, I guess, to know when to do something and when not to and to have your instrument at your command to execute what you have to do. As an accompanist, and that’s something I like to do too, you have to guess where the others are going; and if you have to, you have to make them go places where you know they have to go.” As for Jim Hall, John noted: “He has a wonderful feeling for his instrument. He’s a guitar player; he plays the right instrument for himself. He projects a great deal of understanding of jazz.”

And finally, John, with characteristic reluctance to verbalize about music in general and himself in particular, talked of his own playing: “The major influence on my piano playing is the fact that the way I play piano hasn’t been especially influenced by piano players. Maybe it was because I wanted to be a composer — I’m not sure why — but I liked more what other players than pianists were doing. Like Lester Young, Coleman Hawkins, and others. And bands influenced me – Duke and Basie especially. I imagine my approach to the piano hasn’t really changed in the past ten years except for the increased physical ability to play what I want. I learned how to play for my needs, partly from studying at the Manhattan School and partly from a fellow student at the school who was able to communicate a lot of things about the piano to me.”

British critic Alun Morgan began to see, although only obliquely, the essence of Lewis’ intently personal way of playing piano when he wrote: but if you listen to the pieces on this recording over and over, you’re apt to find that what he actually does play is unusually arresting and stimulating to the more subtle recesses of the mind-imagination; and of course, the silences and their subtly gradated implications are an ordered part of the music as a whole, and cannot be judged apart from what is explicitly stated. John knows what to leave out, the hardest lesson for any artist, particularly an improvising one.

As a listener, I am often intensely moved emotionally by John’s playing, particularly so in places in this album. John illuminates a considerable range of feeling, and there are especially telling moments in his work that remind me of a line in drama critic Walter Kerr’s review of a performance by Eileen Heckart. Kerr noted that she “can bring tears by the harsh expedient of cutting off her own.”