Congeniality

There's a playfulness here so confident it borders on provocation. The soprano of Coleman's alto voice darts and weaves with what can only be described as sociable mischief — this is jazz that seems to enjoy its own company enormously, greeting the listener with extended hands and slightly raised eyebrows. The rhythm section swings with an almost skeletal looseness, the bass walking without rigidity, the drums staying conversational rather than declarative. The melody, if you can call it that, unfolds in phrases that seem to interrupt themselves mid-thought before arriving somewhere entirely unexpected. There's a warmth buried in the eccentricity, the emotional texture of someone who is genuinely glad to see you but communicates it in a language they invented themselves. This belongs to the sharp, revolutionary edge of 1959 jazz — the year the free jazz movement began announcing itself in back rooms in New York. Listen to it early on a weekend morning when the day hasn't settled into anything yet.