RRR002: “Speak No Evil” // Wayne Shorter

Merry Christmas Eve, jazz lovers. I should just say Merry Christmas Eve, Charlie Brawner, as he’s the only person who even might be reading this. And he’s a jazz lover. So consider that a successful venn diagram situation right there.

I used to proudly proclaim Speak No Evil the third best jazz record of all time. That was a different time for me, a time when the only jazz label I recognized was Blue Note and the only artists I recognized were Miles and Trane. (Yes, I get the irony that neither Miles nor Trane were all that heavily associated with Blue Note.)

Now it’s late 2024 and I’ve expanded my palate a bit. I got way, way, way, WAY into Bill Evans this year, and that’s changed my whole jazz situation. It’s opened me up to other labels, hot up-and-comers like Riverside and Verve. There’s a new kid on the block named Orrin Keepnews. He’s one to keep an eye on.

Even in my new jazz world, Speak No Evil holds a place of reverence. It’s the rare jazz record that feels like a cohesive, deliberate statement throughout. Maybe statement is too heavy a word, but it feels like there’s serious intention and urgency underpinning the entire sequence of songs. All six tracks are the same color, the same geography, the same landscape, the same moment. And I mean that in the best way possible.

I heard Don Was say that this is one of his favorite records and that side 2 is something he listens to in times of distress, that it serves as a sort of meditation for him. I get that. I dig that. I dig you, Don Was, you dreadlocked son of a bitch. You look like a man who smells good, something like patchouli but way more expensive and complex. Good work on that. Smelling good, I mean. I like thinking you are stoned out of your skull at all hours of the day. I’ve never seen your eyeballs. Maybe that’s for the best.  

Where was I. This record is gorgeous. I could go on and on about that. But here’s what I actually want to talk about: the sound of this record. It sucks. Yup, I said it. Every time I hear this record, I hear a high pitched (like, really high pitched) ringing. It sounds like a ringing in my ears, but it’s part of the record. Yes, I’ve done some troubleshooting, and guess what, I hear it in streaming digital versions of the record too. So it’s not my copy of the record and it’s not my system. Sometimes I think it’s coming from Elvin’s ride cymbal, as it feels more prominent on the tunes where he’s riding a lot, but I swear it’s there in the non-ride tunes as well.

So that’s always bugged me. But there’s more. Listening today, I’m picking up something I hadn’t noticed before, which is how unbalanced the frequency range is. The bass is low in the mix and tonally thin, as though it’s too far away. This contributes to what I think of as a lack of cohesion to the sound. There’s a big hole where there should be more low-midrange stuff. More fat, more gristle. It needs belly fat, this record. It’s too slender. And then the upper mids feel real harsh to me (“strident” is a word audio people seem to like, so let’s go with that). The overall effect is a weirdly unbalanced, harsh, thin sound.

Now. I don’t think the weird ringing is my record or my system, but the rest of it could be. I don’t have huge speakers, and my amp is not tube-driven, so my sound ain’t as thicc as some. Maybe on someone else’s rig this record sounds like Jabba the Hut’s physique. On mine, it sounds like a plastic spork.

Furthering the weirdness, most of what I hear from Elvin is just that ringing cymbal situation. The rest of his drum kit is there, but just barely. I can intuit what he’s playing but I can’t exactly hear it.

---

I’ve moved on now in my morning listening to another jazz record, one I won’t name because I’m giving it to my brother for Christmas and I don’t to ruin this Very Important Surprise. Here’s what I’m realizing: the ride cymbal might be the most important “instrument” in jazz. This record, too, can sound a bit lacking in certain mid frequencies, until the ride comes in; then, all feels right in the world. So now I’m thinking Elvin was just playing the wrong ride cymbal on the Speak No Evil date. Or Rudy didn’t record it quite right. (Rudy did record this one, yes? If memory serves?) I remember talking to the great Scott Solter when I interviewed him for TapeOp many years ago, and we talked about the insane amount of frequency information that comes from a ride cymbal. You think of it as high frequency, but crazy amounts of low frequencies also radiate from that slab of copper. It’s a wildly complex sound, a magical thing. One of my favorite IG accounts is some guy who sells rare ride cymbals; the IG clips are of him playing the cymbals. I could listen to and watch those cymbals all day long. There are no more seductive words in the universe for me than Zildjian K.  

I’ll keep going. In case you’re thinking Hey Andy, you just don’t like the sound of Van Gelder’s joint, guess what? You’re wrong. I like the sound of that room a lot. And I consider Van Gelder a god. I love the sound of his records. I hear a tight, woody room when I hear his records. No artifice, just great playing in a modest room. Nothing like Kind of Blue, which was recorded in a literal temple of sound. Kind of Blue sounds open and majestic and spacious, and that’s great, but also great is the tight intimacy of Van Gelder’s work.

---

I’ve been inspired by my brother’s approach to his blog. That is to say, I’m inspired by people who actually write on blogs. He writes stuff and then he hits publish. Me, I write stuff halfway and then tell myself I’ll perfect it down the road, and then I see it in a hard drive many years later and hate myself. So, whatever I’ve written above, in all of its dumb incoherence, is getting published today, Christmas Eve, 2024. I hope it doesn’t ring in your ears like the poorly chosen ride cymbal of Elvin Jones on a certain 1964 recording date.