I recently listened to the BBC Radio 4 Artworks programme on "50 Years of the Köln Concert" which had the subtitle: "Fifty years after Keith Jarrett's Köln Concert enthralled a sellout crowd, Kevin le Gendre explores the album's enduring appeal and how a gig nearly cancelled led to a new sound world." I hadn't heard the Köln Concert for such a long time, many years ago, so it was good to catch up!
Keith Jarrett’s The Köln Concert is one of those rare recordings that feels almost mythical, not just because of the music but because of the story behind it. It wasn’t supposed to happen the way it did. In fact, it almost didn’t happen at all.
On January 24, 1975, Jarrett arrived at the Cologne Opera House exhausted, sleep-deprived, and suffering from back pain. To make matters worse, the piano provided for him was completely wrong—a small, poorly maintained instrument with weak bass notes and uneven tuning. It wasn’t the concert grand he was expecting, and for a pianist like Jarrett, who thrives on the full expressive range of the instrument, it was a disaster. He nearly walked away.
But something made him stay. Maybe it was the insistence of the young concert promoter, Vera Brandes, who had worked so hard to organize the event. Maybe it was sheer determination, or maybe it was that strange magic that sometimes happens when artists are forced to work within limitations. Whatever the reason, Jarrett sat down at that inadequate piano and started to play.
What came out was unlike anything else. Because he couldn’t rely on the deep resonance of a proper concert grand, he leaned into rolling left-hand patterns, hypnotic rhythms, and shimmering, gospel-like harmonies that made the most of the piano’s midrange. The result was a performance that felt intimate yet expansive, structured yet free, deeply personal yet somehow universal. There are moments of quiet reflection, moments of soaring joy, and stretches where you can hear him losing himself in the music with libidinal grunts and groans. The result is a powerfully spiritual, transcendent and life-affirming performance.
The recording went on to become the best-selling solo piano album of all time, a landmark not just in jazz but in improvised music as a whole. And yet, when you listen to it, none of that history really matters. What matters is the sound of an artist surrendering to the moment, finding beauty in imperfection, and turning what could have been a disaster into something timeless.
Lets see how long this Youtube remains active until it is pulled by copyright:
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