The Infinity of Jack DeJohnette

The drums are almost beside the point: It was his absolute presence in every musical situation, across a half-century, that made him one of the creative giants of our time

Jack DeJohnette: 1942–2025. Photograph: Isio Saba

Surely, this is the epitome of Jack DeJohnette:

Or no, wait, maybe it’s this:

Actually, hold on a sec:

Sorry, let me just add:

The infinity of this artist, who died yesterday at age 83, is not something I can really comprehend. Most of the greats have one “thing,” a single specialty or area of excellence (which, mind you, is plenty). Or maybe two — someone like Neil Young, say, with his perfectly contrasting and complementary folk and proto-grunge aesthetics. Miles, of course, famously evolved relentlessly.

But the case of Jack DeJohnette — this is something else entirely. This is a person who for around 50 years, dating from his early work with Charles Lloyd and Jackie McLean, circa 1966, up through In Movement, his outstanding final effort as a bandleader, released in 2016, weathered all of the change in and around jazz music (though he was in no way bound by that or any genre) and managed to sound, at every point along this timeline, deeply and restlessly contemporary, forever on the edge.

As an example, let’s pick just one moment in time — his 66th year, when within a nine-month span, between fall 2008 and summer 2009, he recorded the spellbinding free duets with Wadada Leo Smith that would end up on America…

…as well as the consummately swinging Great American Songbook classics released on Somewhere, the umpteenth live album by Keith Jarrett’s so-called Standards Trio.

Every single inventory or summary of his achievement must by nature come up short. All the wondrous output as a bandleader, from New Directions to Special Edition; the underrated material featuring Jack at the keyboard. The Miles, Lloyd and Jarrett documents; the ECMs (dozens and dozens: a musical lifetime unto themselves); Forces of Nature, for God’s sake… It goes on and on.

But what I keep coming back to is: How was it possible to sound so inspired and so engaged in so many settings for so very, very long? To bring fury, a kind of rhythmic molten lava, when the setting required, such as on the very different but equally intense Miles and Metheny tracks above, tracks that are so indelibly stamped with Jack-ness that his name might as well have received top billing. But then there’s this other thing entirely, this whispering uptempo-ride pulse — hurtling along like a current of wind — that he presents on the track with Miroslav Vitouš and Terje Rypdal. Or that grinding, impossibly badass strut that he lays down on “Back-Woods Song” with the mighty Gateway.

It’s all just so goddamn musical. Every great jazz drummer could swing you into oblivion or break your heart on a ballad, but if those are two opposing points on a color wheel, Jack also filled in every single other hue: the inky purple, the shimmering gold, the regal blue.

The drums are, if not irrelevant, beside the point. The central truth was the clarity of this musical voice, and how many different registers it spoke in, and how convincingly it did so. We have our great actors who find their place within the realms of many different directors, with many different sensibilities. But really and truly: inside of music, outside of it, in our time, in another time, I still can’t think of another artist who maintained such absolute presence — as in, the state of being fully present and ready to give of one’s highest, most generous creative self — over such a long period, in so many different settings.

Sure, there are lesser Jack DeJohnette moments (I think even he would have agreed that Compost was one!), but they are massively dwarfed by the stunning successes, the records and documents where to listen feels almost like meditating because every sonic millimeter he inhabits is so suffused with attention and care — with raucous abandon or poetic stillness, as the situation demanded.

Let any of us bring literally any of this spirit to any moment of our lives, creative or otherwise. Jack DeJohnette’s music is infinite, and so is the lesson it contains.

*****

To have spent two days in his presence, talking and hanging out at his home near Woodstock, enjoying his company as well as the kind hospitality of his wife, Lydia, and — on the latest visit — their friend and assistant Joan Clancy, was a pleasure beyond imagination. (The results were this 2024 Times feature and this 2019 episode of my Heavy Metal Bebop podcast.) Jack’s exterior could come off as somewhat gruff, but once he settled in, he was incredibly warm and inviting. Like the music, these moments will be with me always.

Note: I’ve been hard at work on the Times obit linked above so I haven’t had time yet to look around at all the tributes pouring in, but I’ll remedy that in the coming days and share some links once I’ve digested it all.