Post 156.
A Love Supreme as Spiritual Ascent through Creation, Suffering, Sound, and Silence
The 1965 album A Love Supreme is a radical work of art. Across four movements, John Coltrane purifies bebop language beyond modal innovations toward a singular, freer, relaxed and mystical grammar. The suite is built from simple elements—variations on a four-note motif—communicating structural unity with zealous and unyielding, as well as reflective, consonant and dissonant improvisations. The fourth movement renders a musical narration of Coltrane’s psalm. Printed in the liner notes, the poem begins: “I will do all I can to be worthy of thee, O Lord. It all has to do with it. Thank you, God. Peace. There is none other. God is. It is so beautiful.” As I listen to this album, I resonate with it and hear something akin to Bonaventure’s seven-step ascent toward beatitude in The Journey of the Mind to God: first noticing His vestiges in the universe, then in the sensed world, then His image imprinted on our natural powers, then his Image reformed through the gift of grace—Being itself, which is the divine unity, and the Good—the Trinity, and finally receiving rest. In this short essay, I reflect more deeply on the first two steps and then briefly describe how the rest of the steps are present in this music.
In the opening of Acknowledgement, a gong reverberates with cymbals and piano, without shape or form. Dissonance. The sax cries loudly: disorder. Genesis reads, “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth—and the earth was without form or shape, with darkness over the abyss and a mighty wind sweeping over the waters—then God said: Let there be light, and there was light” (Genesis 1: 1-3). Order materializes from simplicity. The bass, drums, and piano establish rhythm, and Trane begins crying again. Like Genesis, this first movement, in the space of two minutes, provides a vestige of creation—and the fall—condensed and sounded here. Not justified. Just this. It is.
The Lord’s vestiges materialize in the sensed world. The piano, drums, bass, and saxophone shape the motif through improvisation. Trane’s timbral choices are harsh. Listening imaginatively, I hear another story from Genesis. The favored son of Israel, Joseph, was betrayed by his brothers, who plotted to kill him out of jealousy but instead sold him into slavery. Through his intelligence and gift for interpreting dreams, Joseph rose to a position of leadership in Egypt. God used him to prepare humanity for a seven-year famine. When his brothers later approached him seeking food, Joseph spoke harshly to them—and understandably. Trane’s tone color reminds me of Joseph’s voice before reconciliation. And when Joseph learns he has a younger brother, he demands to see him. Finally, when his brothers show remorse, Joseph welcomes them into Egypt. This becomes a home for the people of Israel. Joseph explains, “Even though you meant to harm me, God meant it for good, to achieve this present end, the survival of many people” (Genesis 50:20). The roughness of the saxophone’s timbre emerges from the suffering of Coltrane’s people. After centuries of slavery and Jim Crow, the highest love, which can be harsh, gestures toward hope and a possible future reconciliation. Hope and change begin with a change of spirit.
A Love Supreme’s improvisations reveal the human mind in active imagination. Technique, discipline, and invention become signs of the image of God imprinted on human powers. In Resolution, Coltrane’s saxophone steps forward, gently embodying his psalm with prayerful intention. “God breathes through us so completely, so gently, we hardly feel it. Yes, it is our everything. Thank you, God. ELATION—ELEGANCE—EXALTATION—All from God.” The image is reformed by grace. The music stretches outward while remaining grounded in its simple motif. Multiplicity returns to unity again and again. Being is grounded in this. The Trinity is expressed through distinct voices—saxophone, piano, bass, drums. Unity in multiplicity is sung. “A love supreme; a love supreme; a love supreme.”
Ultimately, the album ends with the Psalm, choosing contemplation and rest—sound and silence at cessation. On a record, the album stops, the needle needs to be replaced. This silence is also part of the music, which resonates in the silent soul who allows it space to do its work.
Daniel J. Shevock (video essay version below)
Link to the image: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:AQC0439_-_C-_minor_-_Reflexions_4_-_By_Arnaud_Quercy.jpg
A Love Supreme as Spiritual Ascent through Creation, Suffering, Sound, and Silence
The 1965 album A Love Supreme is a radical work of art. Across four movements, John Coltrane purifies bebop language beyond modal innovations toward a singular, freer, relaxed and mystical grammar. The suite is built from simple elements—variations on a four-note motif—communicating structural unity with zealous and unyielding, as well as reflective, consonant and dissonant improvisations. The fourth movement renders a musical narration of Coltrane’s psalm. Printed in the liner notes, the poem begins: “I will do all I can to be worthy of thee, O Lord. It all has to do with it. Thank you, God. Peace. There is none other. God is. It is so beautiful.” As I listen to this album, I resonate with it and hear something akin to Bonaventure’s seven-step ascent toward beatitude in The Journey of the Mind to God: first noticing His vestiges in the universe, then in the sensed world, then His image imprinted on our natural powers, then his Image reformed through the gift of grace—Being itself, which is the divine unity, and the Good—the Trinity, and finally receiving rest. In this short essay, I reflect more deeply on the first two steps and then briefly describe how the rest of the steps are present in this music.
In the opening of Acknowledgement, a gong reverberates with cymbals and piano, without shape or form. Dissonance. The sax cries loudly: disorder. Genesis reads, “In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth—and the earth was without form or shape, with darkness over the abyss and a mighty wind sweeping over the waters—then God said: Let there be light, and there was light” (Genesis 1: 1-3). Order materializes from simplicity. The bass, drums, and piano establish rhythm, and Trane begins crying again. Like Genesis, this first movement, in the space of two minutes, provides a vestige of creation—and the fall—condensed and sounded here. Not justified. Just this. It is.
The Lord’s vestiges materialize in the sensed world. The piano, drums, bass, and saxophone shape the motif through improvisation. Trane’s timbral choices are harsh. Listening imaginatively, I hear another story from Genesis. The favored son of Israel, Joseph, was betrayed by his brothers, who plotted to kill him out of jealousy but instead sold him into slavery. Through his intelligence and gift for interpreting dreams, Joseph rose to a position of leadership in Egypt. God used him to prepare humanity for a seven-year famine. When his brothers later approached him seeking food, Joseph spoke harshly to them—and understandably. Trane’s tone color reminds me of Joseph’s voice before reconciliation. And when Joseph learns he has a younger brother, he demands to see him. Finally, when his brothers show remorse, Joseph welcomes them into Egypt. This becomes a home for the people of Israel. Joseph explains, “Even though you meant to harm me, God meant it for good, to achieve this present end, the survival of many people” (Genesis 50:20). The roughness of the saxophone’s timbre emerges from the suffering of Coltrane’s people. After centuries of slavery and Jim Crow, the highest love, which can be harsh, gestures toward hope and a possible future reconciliation. Hope and change begin with a change of spirit.
A Love Supreme’s improvisations reveal the human mind in active imagination. Technique, discipline, and invention become signs of the image of God imprinted on human powers. In Resolution, Coltrane’s saxophone steps forward, gently embodying his psalm with prayerful intention. “God breathes through us so completely, so gently, we hardly feel it. Yes, it is our everything. Thank you, God. ELATION—ELEGANCE—EXALTATION—All from God.” The image is reformed by grace. The music stretches outward while remaining grounded in its simple motif. Multiplicity returns to unity again and again. Being is grounded in this. The Trinity is expressed through distinct voices—saxophone, piano, bass, drums. Unity in multiplicity is sung. “A love supreme; a love supreme; a love supreme.”
Ultimately, the album ends with the Psalm, choosing contemplation and rest—sound and silence at cessation. On a record, the album stops, the needle needs to be replaced. This silence is also part of the music, which resonates in the silent soul who allows it space to do its work.
Daniel J. Shevock (video essay version below)
Link to the image: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:AQC0439_-_C-_minor_-_Reflexions_4_-_By_Arnaud_Quercy.jpg
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