One of the unsung roles of piano playing is accompaniment. With all of the great piano virtuosos capable of breathtaking technical feats, it’s easy to forget that one of the foundations of piano playing in any genre is accompaniment. Not only does it accompany others, but it also accompanies itself. It is the ultimate accompanist instrument after all capable of the complexities and nuances of an entire orchestra.
Jazz as a style evolved out of piano accompaniment. If one thinks back to the early days of jazz, before Papa Jo Jones of Count Basie’s Orchestra shifted the timekeeping to the hi-hat, enabling the ride cymbal swing pattern we know today, the piano was responsible for much of the “swing” in jazz ensembles. Think of Fats Waller playing, “Ain’t Misbehavin’”, James P. Johnson’s “Keep off the Grass”, or Art Tatum’s playing with his ensemble . The piano played the role of time keeper, bass line, and harmonic accompaniment.
As jazz ensemble playing developed throughout the 1920s and 1930s, walking bass lines became the norm, the drums provided the swing, it no longer became necessary for piano players to play in a stride within an ensemble context. Rather than being a demotion of the instrument, this allowed the piano to develop more sophisticated ways of accompaniment.
The piano now provided harmonic complexity as both hands were freed up to create more dense chords. It provided rhythmic counterpoint, playing those chords within the cracks and crevices of the beat. And it also provided a melodic component with how chords were voice led. This developed into what is known today as “comping”.
One of the consummate masters of the art of comping in jazz piano was Thelonious Monk. His way of playing was so unique and singular, it’s hard to imagine that his career intersected with the likes of Luckey Roberts, Jelly Roll Morton or James P. Johnson. Monk took the tenants of stride piano and atomized them into their own constituent parts and molded them into something almost unrecognizable with his use of open dissonant chords, minor second intervals as accents to a phrase, whole ton runs, his jagged sense of rhythm, and pointedly harsh touch. It’s only when he puts them back together in a solo setting such as “Lulu’s Back in Town” from the album It’s Monk Time that one can see the relation with his predecessors.
It’s Monk Time is one of my favorite jazz albums. Something I’d consider quintessentially Monk. While he shows off his solo piano chops early on in that album, for me this album was always notable for Monk’s comping. He puts on a masterclass of comping in the song “Stuffy Turkey”. There are three lessons to take from this song that don’t have to do with specific harmonic voicings or rhythmic patterns: Monk uses melodic figures as the foundation, his comping outlines the form, and he uses silence as a tool.
Starting with the head of the tune, Monk blurs the line between melody and accompaniment. He uses a canon like figure behind the melody played by tenor saxophonist Charlie Rouse. This clearly defines the character of the A section right off the bat. It’s bouncy and melodic. He then defines the B section through silence and accenting. One can easily tell based on Monk’s comping where in the AABA rhythm changes form the song is without having to know anything about rhythm changes.
During Charlie Rouse’s solo Monk takes these ideas and runs with them. Melody is the foundation of the A sections. He plays around with a three note nursery rhyme like motif, putting it in counterpoint with Rouse’s solo. This brings a richness turning a solo into a conversation. He then offsets this in the B sections with heavy rooted chords. This not only provides a contrast to the levity of the A section but also helps to build up anticipation and momentum back to the A section.
The final ingredient that brings everything together is his strategic use of silence. One of the quirks of Monk’s playing, especially in a live setting, was how he deployed silence. He was known for dropping out entirely for choruses on end. To some this might come across as strange. But in music, silence is key. Or rather the space silence provides and the excitement of the return if done right.
Throughout Charlie Rouse’s solo Monk makes use of the regularity of silence. They begin as accented rhythms with spaces in between. They’re also used as part of a musical joke. He incessantly plays the same figure over and over before dropping out completely. Just as you’re anticipating when he’ll come back, the punchline is delivered as he returns with the same figure.
He then inverts the joke by dropping out for both A sections at the top of the AABA form. Now the silence has become the incessant motif. How does he capitalize on the tension created by this? Think back to how he outlines the form. A sections are melodic and the B sections are rooted and chordal. Well right when you’ve been conditioned to expect those heavy chords, what do we get? More silence! The kind of playfulness is befitting of a song with such a silly name as “Stuffy Turkey”.
Monk is conditioning the listener with his motivic use of melody fragments and chords with an expectation of how the song will go. Once those expectations have been set, he subverts them, like any of history’s great composers. That’s ultimately what makes Monk’s comping great. He’s not just thinking of patterns, voicings, and compex harmonies. He’s thinking compositionally, even when he improvises. And that is what makes Thelonious Monk one of the most enduring jazz composers. Every song is an opportunity to compose something new!