I want to like Keith Jarrett. I do. He may be the best pianist of our time — certainly he is top five — but his histrionics are difficult to ignore. To be more specific I do like his playing. What’s not to like? It’s the baggage I could do without.
Most notable is the animal groan that emanates from him at seemingly random times. Ostensibly, I suppose,this is supposed to signal that something deep is going on. I would give him a mulligan on this since other great pianists have famously made noise. Errol Garner, and my favorite, Bud Powell come to mind. Attend one of Keith’s concert’s, however, and you will see a vocal mic. C’mon! If I wanted to hear a cow in heat I would go to a farm, not Carnegie Hall.
Finally, I have a beef with Keith’s record producer. I was listening to one of Jarrett’s live records and after the last song concluded I was treated to no less than one minute of vigorous applause. Hey Manfred Eicher, we enjoy the music just fine. We don’t need some European audience rhythmically applauding to cue us in to the greatness of your delicate genius artist.
