As far as concerts go, this one didn't seem to be off to a good start. The genre was already somewhat passé, hard bop being the thing in the East Coast, and cool jazz in the West. The producers did not provide tickets for the entourage, leaving two band members to take the next flight. The concert-going public seemed more interested in the World Heavyweight Championship match being conducted that night (television and boxing both being much more relevant than today), but one could hardly blame them as the trumpeter's attention was also divided. As for the saxophonist, when he was not slipping out of the venue to knock back triple scotches, he tried to show some deference to his audience by introducing acts in French--something probably not very effective in Ontario. The pianist seemed quite focused, but then again, he had just been released--provisionally--from Bellevue after one of many mental breakdowns. After the concert, it turned out there was not even enough money to pay the musicians, who had to settle for the tapes.

Yet, despite these less than propitious circumstances, few would disagree that history was made that May evening at Toronto's Massey Hall in what has come to be widely considered the prototype of a bebop concert. In what is arguably the best jazz line-up ever assembled, Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Bud Powell, Charles Mingus, and Max Roach served as the main act, performing a short but robust set that consisted both of bebop classics such as Salt Peanuts and Night In Tunisia, and standards like All The Things You Are. Marketers like to point out that this set is the last known recording of Bird & Diz, while aficionados talk about Gillespie's performance in Perdido, Parker's Hot House solo, and Powell's demonstration of his ability as a trio leader in his own sub-set. Mingus might have never been a pure bebop player, but had the fiery intensity to meet the demands of such a high-flying group, and of course, Max Roach was quite possibly the most reliable jazz figure of the '50s.

Unless one can invoke sentimentality by actually having been present in Massey Hall that night, the appearance of the concert in all lists of best live jazz recordings can still be quite bewildering. The sound quality is noticeably bad even by 1950s standards. The low notes suffer most, killing much of the impact of the double bass. In a move of comical egotism that will not surprise anyone who has gone through the bassist's rant of an autobiography, Mingus re-recorded the bass lines in studio conditions and overdubbed them on the original, creating, by all accounts, the expected artificial result (modern re-releases feature the authentic bass parts). Moreover, the concert feels rather imbalanced, as the trio set, while excellent on its own, sounds somewhat disconnected to the rest of the performance--something predictable considering that Powell's bebop flavor as a leader veers noticeably from that of the superstar duo. And while there is no denying that Gillespie has some stellar moments, it seems that his jester side had the upper hand that night. Even the historical importance of that evening has some serious contenders these days--obscurists have probably migrated en masse to the excellent 1945 recording in Town Hall, NYC that was released a few years ago.

Given that the position of the concert in jazz lore is not debatable, the question of how it got there becomes even more poignant. The list of star performers is the first obvious answer, especially since there are relatively few recordings of the bebop archpriests with Mingus, who was in the next decade to become a major figure in his own right with a sound that nearly defined its own genre. However, the performance itself does not really fit the bill as there is clearly a plethora of superior options for the casual listener, and the way the music is served does not do it any favors.

In the end, it seems that the fundamental reason Jazz at Massey Hall achieved its canonical status is the way in which it encapsulates post-WWII jazz fans' image of the music as they would like to envision it. The importance of the bohemian imagery of a band of geniuses who are still unappreciated enough by the masses as to have to contend with limited plane tickets and questionable paychecks cannot be easily overstated. The group's ability to deliver dazzling moments of musical creativity and technique while its members were each possessed by their own demons and distractions offered the 60's rock star myth to those who did not wish to follow the pop herds, yet found classical music too institutional, even if in the early '50s it was more likely to be associated with irresponsibility and lack of work ethic. The fact that this freewheelin' all-black ensemble was performing for what one can rather safely assume was practically an all-white and mostly affluent audience that was fighting the intellectual good fight by going out to listen to jazz instead of succumbing to the sirens of mass sports culture, perhaps has an effect as well, albeit probably a more hypodermic one.

Oddly enough, the thing that had the biggest potential of dooming the concert's latter-day fame--the poor recording quality--turns out to work in its favor. This is no Benny Goodman one's grandmother might enjoy, no Kind of Blue one would buy for a cosmopolitan rock-fan friend, no bad Valentine's gift Coltrane for Lovers. Much like many other items of cult status in pop culture, this record asks for more than it gives in return. One has to have a fairly good grasp of music in general and jazz in particular to see the underlying brilliance, and then must suffer through the sound quality, filling in the musical blanks in one's head to get the full effect. As jazz turned into a devotee's game in the second part of its history, such commitment was seen as integral and a recording could demand nothing less if it was to achieve the title of "historical." After all, history, like most human constructs, has the innate tendency, despite the best of efforts, to disregard absoluteness and to eventually form around the narrator's perception of reality.