Unveiling the Real Story Behind Keith Jarrett's Legendary 1975 Cologne Concert - "Köln 75"
- Penned by Oliver Creutz
- Approx. Reading Time - 4 mins
Compelled Performance: A Youthful Female's Persistence Leads to Keith Jarrett's Century Concert - Jazz virtuoso Keith Jarrett, known for his youthful charm, performs a captivating piece
When it comes to jazz pianist Keith Jarrett, legend has it that he rarely knew what he'd play during a performance. He preferred to wing it, without a plan or preparation, always embracing freedom. The most infamous example of this alleged improvisational style was his 1975 concert in Cologne, a recording of which earned four million sales. However, the tale of Jarrett being inspired by the gong of the local opera is pure hogwash. A woman, privy to the true account, was there to pull the strings.
At the time, this woman was an 18-year-old student named Vera Brandes, hailing from Cologne and the daughter of a dentist. In overdrive with her passion for jazz, she organized concerts. Her ambition was to bring Jarrett, a highly sought-after name in jazz since the early 70s and a collaborator with Miles Davis, to the Cologne Opera. With the surge in popularity of Jarrett's solo concerts in Europe, it's no surprise that the 1,400 tickets for the Cologne Opera sold out promptly. Unfortunately, Jarrett arrived in the city only to find a subpar piano waiting for him on the stage, a Boesendorfer Imperial replacement with numerous non-responsive keys and a defective pedal. With no intention of performing on such an instrument, he was already on his way out in his trusty Renault 4, that is, until Vera Brandes worked her charm.
The compelling narrative of this backstage drama is unfolding on the big screen in "Köln 75," set to premiere on March 13, 2025, during the 50th anniversary of the concert. The film, directed by Israeli filmmaker Ido Fluk, shrewdly incorporates real-life conversations with Brandes. Alas, Jarrett himself, who has been critically affected by two strokes, opted out of involvement, and he also declined to allow the use of the original music. As a result, a film sans any actual music from the concert is about to captivate audiences.
Certain scenes strike a chord reminiscent of Keith Jarrett's characteristic improvisational performances. One such instance is the encounter between Brandes and Jarrett at his hotel room door, a dialogue conveyed through a closed door. spoke with German magazine stern in an interview, Brandes recounted the exchange: "The conversation consisted of me rambling in my then broken English, not knowing what I was saying." Still, resorting to the vocabulary she'd observed Miles Davis employ on other occasions, she exclaimed, "If you don't play tonight, I am gonna be truly fucked. And I know you're gonna be truly fucked, too."
Jarrett's response was as mystifying as his personality. "There was nothing at first, because, I mean, what are you saying? There's this blonde 18-year-old standing in front of you, looking like Brigitte Bardot's little sister, and she's completely desperate. Then he replied in the same Miles Davis tone: 'Okay, I play, but never forget – just for you.'"
With only a couple of hours to spare, Brandes managed to assemble two piano tuners who reluctantly scrambled to patch up the instrument in a back room while the opera "Lulu" was performing on stage. By the stroke of midnight, Jarrett began performing for an exhausted artist, grappling with back pain. Stunned by the hastily fixed piano, Jarrett improvised, making possibly the magic that transformed that evening into legend. Brandes admitted that, despite the quick fix, "the piano was barely better than a broken pub piano. Jarrett had to improvise."
As Jarrett took his seat and commenced playing, Brandes wasn't even in the hall. Instead, she found a vantage point deep within the belly of the opera house, listening to the first notes and thinking to herself, "Something simply magical is happening in there. I was so happy. I said to myself: Okay, this is between the artist and the audience; what's happening now is for them."
After the performance, Jarrett vanished without a trace, leaving Brandes and his record label ECM with the financial success and Brandes herself with an empty pocket. Brandes later expressed a desire to meet Jarrett again, but he seemed to have donned an impenetrable mask, giving off an impression of aloofness.
Years later, Brandes came across Jarrett at a concert in Vienna and made an attempt to reconnect. However, Jarrett responded coldly, remarking, "Ah, they tell you were the woman from Cologne with the broken piano. I just said: Nice to have met you. Bye."
Feeling haunted by "The Köln Concert," Jarrett confessed that he felt the recording ought to be erased, as he believed that genuine music emerges from necessity, and music, once memorialized, keeps us tethered to the past. Brandes, for her part, tried her best to avoid the album, viewing it as an unwelcome reminder of a chapter she would rather forget. However, as the years passed, the album kept revisiting her from far-flung places, always playing softly in the background. Eventually, Brandes found herself listening to it with newfound appreciation.
"The Köln Concert" has endured as a testament of its time, symbolizing the era of freedom following the tumultuous year of 1968 and leading up to the German Autumn. It stands alongside the likes of Pink Floyd, lava lamps, Suhrkamp edition, and free, easy love as a product of the 1970s. Although it garnered widespread attention and achieved massive circulation, the impact has gradually waned, making it rare these days for audiences to own a copy of the album.
After the premiere of "Köln 75" at the Berlinale, Brandes revealed that the moderator questioned the audience about who owned the album at home. Fewer than expected raised their hands. Upon being asked what the concert held for her, Brandes usually responds, "Someone is narrating a story, not with words, but with notes. And this story is a fairy tale that serves to soothe our worries and fill us with hope. We need such a comforting and uplifting offering like Keith Jarrett's performance in Cologne 1975 more than ever today. We are all in great stress, fear, uncertainty, and such comforting music serves as a healing balm."
And now, dear readers, what was the source of the first notes played that magical evening? What went through Jarrett's mind as he sat at the hastily repaired piano? "It was like this," Brandes recalled. "On our way to the opera, we walked through the Cologne city center, past the 4711 shop. And at the full hour, they always played a carillon there. Around that time, it was late January, they were playing the carnival song of the faithful hussar." With that harmonious melody hovering in his mind, Jarrett began to play, creating a chapter steeped in jazz history.
As the magical evening unfolded at the Cologne Opera, the first notes of Keith Jarrett's legendary performance were inspired by the carillon playing the faithful hussar's carnival song, which they heard in the city center as they were approaching the venue. Later, Vera Brandes, the 18-year-old who had worked tirelessly to bring Jarrett to Cologne, recalled thinking to herself that "Something simply magical is happening in there" as she listened from within the opera house. In the Israeli film "Köln 75," set to premiere in 2025, recounting this pivotal story, Brandes shares real-life conversations that took place during that time, revealing the uncertain and unconventional circumstances that brought about Jarrett's celebrated concert.
