Dexter, Monk and Miles in All Their Unedited Glory

Jazz can be, and has been, defined in many ways. But each definition, in one way or another, has to include the concept of spontaneity, of jazz as an extemporaneous encounter between the musician and the music.

Given the importance of spontaneity, it is remarkable that so much remarkable jazz has been produced in studio environments--surely among the least spontaneous arenas imaginable. But it also is true that most jazz artists have done their finest work, not in the relatively sterile atmosphere of the recording studio, but in the wide-open, anything-goes, no-limits ambience of live performance.

These newly released CDs are compilations based upon previously issued albums, including unreleased material, tracks restored to their original lengths and the correct sequencing of songs. And the consistently high quality of the music testifies to the beneficial effects that can accrue when world-class jazz artists have an opportunity to exercise their spontaneity to the fullest.

Gordon’s album traces to a 1978 Carnegie Hall concert, recorded shortly after the tenor saxophonist returned from a 14-year European residence.

Two of the tracks from the concert--rip-snorting tenor battles with Johnny Griffin on “Blues Up and Down” and “Cheesecake”--have been previously released. But the balance of the album--three lengthy performances (on “Secret Love,” “The End of a Love Affair” and “More Than You Know”) in which Gordon works with his then-regular rhythm section of pianist George Cables, bassist Rufus Reid and drummer Eddie Gladden--amazingly has not been available.

Gordon is in superb form, his magisterial sound and declamatory style solidly anchored in the jazz mainstream at a time when the music was coursing in many new directions.

The two-CD Monk recording clears up some confusion surrounding the original LP release “Live at the ‘It’ Club,” adds some unissued tracks, restores some previously edited tunes and includes virtually everything played during the two evenings of performance at the now-defunct Culver City venue.

Two tunes, “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You” and “All the Things You Are,” identified in their 1966 release (on “Misterioso”) as live recordings from San Francisco’s Jazz Workshop, are placed in their correct order as part of the “It” Club performance. “Teo,” “Bright Mississippi” and “Just You, Just Me” are unreleased takes, and virtually every other track can now be heard in its original length.

But the restoration and restructuring are not simply historical nit-picking. They are eminently worthwhile because they supply a fully defined view of Monk at the height of his mature skills, playing some of his finest solos, and leading a group capable of laying down the essence of his music.

Equally important, the unedited tracks, some of which seem to run on with long stretches of open space in which bass and drums walk in solitary fashion, afford accurate perspectives on Monk’s loose, often disjointed method of live performance.

The Davis/Gil Evans concert, recorded at Carnegie Hall in May 1961, has previously been released--in nonsequential fashion--on two separate albums. This two-CD set is their first availability in the original, as-performed sequence, without editing or dubbed applause.

The Davis quintet of the period--with tenor saxophonist Hank Mobley, pianist Wynton Kelly, bassist Paul Chambers and drummer Jimmy Cobb--is generally considered a transitional group. Yet Davis sounds both strong and aggressive, reaching for high notes, popping out fast note runs, trying out some of the trumpet effects that would emerge in later years, and generally playing with a heat that transcends his then cool, detached image.

The tracks by both the quintet and Evans’ large ensemble have their share of missed notes--the sort of mistakes that would have called for retakes in studio dates. But the intensity of the playing, and the opportunity to hear Davis working within the remarkable Evans charts on “The Meaning of the Blues”/”Lament,” “New Rhumba” and the adagio from the “Concierto de Aranjuez” more than compensate for passing errors.

In its entirety, the Davis record, like the Gordon and Monk CDs, affords perfect evidence of the great value of spontaneity and live performance.

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