R.I.P.
R.I.P.

The jazz pianist McCoy Tyner is now dead. His major contribution to the feel or tone of this civilization is found primarily in his work with John Coltrane. He joined the saxophonist's quartet (also know as the "Classic" Coltrane quartet) in 1960 at the age of 22. At 23, Tyner performed a solo on Coltrane's biggest hit, a jazz interpretation of "My Favorite Things," that is at once a homage to Erik Satie, has the percussive power of an African drummer, has the bigness of an orchestra, and is built like a modernist building—meaning, each level of the solo is exposed, you can hear how its works, how the young Tyner put it together. The beauty in this solo is not mysterious or vaporous; it is simple, limpid, and elegant. This is how I described the solo in my 2005 article, "Last Man Standing":

How could someone so young (23 at the time), whose formal experience of the piano had just reached the decade mark, bring out of this very difficult instrument emotions that very few artists are lucky enough to articulate near the end of a long life. The solo said "autumn in a big city," "falling leaves in a central park," "short and early dusks," "those shimmering stars," and "my lover's grey and brown sweater"—all of these ephemeral things were communicated with impeccable ease. Under his fingers, the wild piano was tamed and seemed to obey the exact course of his musical thoughts. The solo officially announced the arrival of a new genius to the already genius-packed world of post–World War II jazz.

McCoy Tyner also had a productive career in the 1970s (his post-Coltrane period), and released one of his four masterpieces in 1973, Enlightenment.

In 2012, I interviewed him over the phone. He was sounded like a man with a big heart and offered this picture of his childhood in Philadelphia:

[My childhood] was [happy]. My mother was great. She helped me and encouraged me quite a bit. She was a beautician, so my piano was in the beauty shop. It was the biggest room in the house. Sometimes she would have clients and she would be doing their hair while I was playing right there. You know Bud Powell [a major jazz pianist of the bebop era]? He lived around the block. He would walk by the beauty shop and see my mother doing hair and me and my band doing a jam session, and he would stop and watch us.

Goodnight, Tyner. Now there are no more men left standing from the greatest group of musicians that American music has ever known, the John Coltrane Quartet.