That marvellous, smoky tune as Monk himself has it - insistent, plugging, dumb - as if deliberately reversing, what's that line from Pound who was born...
...In a half savage country, out of date;
Bent resolutely on wringing lilies from the acorn
Give me acorn from lilies! the delivery says, refusing every solace of the lyric slouch. It is almost military; certainly rebarbative.
It's a fascinating idea resisting the lyric, putting it in its place. All those slurs, as if hitting the wrong notes. Damn you, damn you, damn you! I'm giving nothing to your pussycat, lounge-lizard soul. You'll have to dig for it. Here's the spade. Get your hands dirty!
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