It’s a favourite of The Boss’s and he’s glad it did.
It was obvious to him when he first heard it that it was something exceptional — an hour-long performance of totally improvised solo piano, remarkable for its melodic themes and rising tensions, followed by release.
Its first four notes are instantly recognised by those who love it — and dogs who have heard it repeatedly. They have their own story — now coming to light as Koln Concert turns 50 and two films are released about its improbable birth.
By 1975 Keith Jarrett, then 30, was already a sensation in the jazz community. He had performed twice in the early 1970s at the now-demolished Dallas Brooks Hall in Melbourne, having been lured to Australia by the passionate jazz promoter Kym Bonython.
His trio had released multiple trio recordings, and his first improvised solo piano album, Facing You, emerged to acclaim in 1971. But Jarrett was impatient and looking for a wider world stage, which is where an 18-year-old music promoter from Cologne, in Germany, came to his notice.
Vera Brandes was a force of nature, having arranged her first concerts while still at school. She was unafraid of risk or obstacles, and a bold suggestion to the famous London jazz man and club owner Ronnie Scott to run a German tour for him put her — and Cologne — on the music map.
Jarrett had heard about her and agreed to do a late night concert at the beautiful Cologne Opera House — famous for its acoustics — following an evening opera. Jarrett had requested a superb Bösendorfer grand piano for the performance; his friend and record company owner Manfred Eicher of ECM Records planned to record it.
Jarrett had performed in Zurich the previous evening and, while Brandes had sent him a plane ticket to fly to Cologne, he decided to cash the ticket in to save money and travel up overnight in Eicher’s tiny car — in the midst of a harsh European winter.
By the time he arrived, though, he was exhausted and had a bad back. And real disaster confronted him: instead of the magnificent Bösendorfer, the piano he found was a six-foot baby grand practice piano, with numerous stuck keys and a pedal that didn’t work.
Realising the grave mistake, Brandes went into overdrive but it was too late to source, move and settle a Bösendorfer. Fortunately, a gifted piano tuner and his son had time to pull the piano apart, fix its keys and pedal and reassemble it. But Jarrett’s mood hadn’t improved and he only agreed to proceed because tickets had sold out and the 1400 fans coming out on a cold winter’s night would be furious.
Perhaps it was those very circumstances that produced a miracle: as the packed opera house chimed its four-note warning to take their seats, the audience went quiet, then murmured in recognition at similar opening notes from the rebuilt piano: Jarrett proceeded with a soaring piece of improvised imagination as the audience sat spellbound.
Many of those present have spoken of the atmosphere that night and the shared enjoyment of something special, all utterly unaware of the drama that preceded it.
“We immediately sensed that we were experiencing a magical moment here. There was a very special intensity and attention that I have never experienced at another concert," recalls Klaus Erich Haun, now a 71-year-old photographer from Erftstadt, Germany.
The album has sold more than four million copies. While Jarrett has produced a remarkable oeuvre of superb (and better) music, the story behind the creation of Koln Concert has continued to burnish it. Köln 75, released in March, is currently touring the small cinema circuit and The Boss is waiting for it. Woof!
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