The greatest lost concert in American history almost never happened. It was on October 27, 1968, in Palo Alto, California, where a 16-year-old named Danny Scher was anxiously pacing outside his high school, waiting for his idol, the legendary jazz composer and pianist Thelonious Monk, to arrive. Scher, a jazz enthusiast with a bushy head of hair, had claimed to have booked the enigmatic musician for an afternoon performance, an almost impossible feat considering the racially charged atmosphere of the time and the predominantly white audience at his school. The community was embroiled in a Civil Rights battle, with East Palo Alto's Black residents working to rename their town “Nairobi.” Yet, the diverse crowd gathered outside the school proved that music could unite people.
Scher reminisces, "It was really the only time I ever remember seeing that many Black people." The event showcased how music transcended racial divides, as Scher successfully brought together a mixed crowd to watch Monk perform. His journey into the world of music promotion eventually led him to work with famed concert promoter Bill Graham, creating the iconic Shoreline Amphitheatre in San Francisco. However, this pivotal moment in Scher's life—a concert he orchestrated before he could even drive—holds a powerful, untold story about how the same establishment that marginalized Monk also nearly silenced his legacy.
Thanks to a high school custodian who recorded Monk's performance, this historic concert was preserved for future generations. When the recording was finally released five years ago, it received rave reviews, with Rolling Stone naming it one of the top reissues of 2020. The album quickly climbed the Billboard jazz charts and seemed poised for a Grammy win. However, the behind-the-scenes battles were more complex than anyone could have anticipated. Scher asserts, “Record companies are still taking advantage of musicians,” a sentiment echoed by Monk's son, T.S. Monk, who stated, “They messed him over.”
Through a dusty reel-to-reel tape, a teenager's dream, and a family's relentless fight for justice, Monk's music and legacy prevailed. It all began when Monk arrived at the school for the performance. Scher felt a wave of relief when his older brother, Les, pulled up with Monk and the band in their parents’ car. Monk looked impeccable in his dark suit, white collared shirt, and checkered newsboy cap. It was time for the show to begin.
The only other time Monk had played at a high school was to support T.S., his son, during his time at a prestigious boarding school in Connecticut. Monk wanted to protect T.S. from discrimination as one of the few Black students there. After being hailed on the cover of Time magazine, Monk took it upon himself to perform at the school, ensuring that no one would dare expel his son. Despite his father's efforts, T.S. faced challenges, including a suspension for sporting an Afro, but he fondly remembers Monk's determination to stand up for him.
By the time of the Palo Alto concert, Monk had been a prominent figure in jazz for over two decades. His groundbreaking debut album, The Genius of Modern Music Vol. 1, had already garnered international acclaim. Musicians across genres owed a debt to Monk's innovative style. As Jon Batiste articulates, Monk was “decades ahead of his time,” pushing the boundaries of musical composition. Described as a “mad genius,” Monk's unique approach to music was methodical and deeply rooted in a tireless work ethic.
Despite his creative brilliance, Monk faced personal challenges that few understood. His sensitivity to loss and mental health struggles, which went undiagnosed, often isolated him. T.S. recalls a moment when he found his father staring blankly at the ceiling, seemingly lost in another world. “I didn’t know what the hell was going on. I was terrified,” T.S. admitted. The family soon realized that Monk needed support, as mental illness was not a priority in America, particularly for African Americans.
As Monk's health declined, so did his financial stability. Changes in musical tastes left him in debt to his label, Columbia Records, and the industry often exploited his image. Monk's family believed his acceptance of Scher's invitation to perform stemmed from a genuine desire to help a young fan rather than for financial gain.
For Danny Scher, Palo Alto had always been divided along racial lines. The community was predominantly white on the west side and mostly Black on the east. Scher was determined to bridge that gap. Despite warnings from peers, he actively sought out opportunities to foster community through music. When planning the concert, Scher drew on his experiences as a young jazz enthusiast, even going so far as to impersonate a booking manager to gain access to jazz clubs.
Motivated by his passion for music, Scher took on the ambitious task of booking Monk, culminating in a thrilling October day. He raised $500 through student activities and ads, and after securing a contract with Monk's manager, he faced the daunting task of selling tickets. Many doubted that Monk would actually perform, but Scher's dedication paid off as the event sold out, bringing together Black and white students alike.
When the day of the concert arrived, Scher felt the pressure mounting. After confirming details with Monk's manager, he was stunned to learn that Monk was unaware of the gig. Fortunately, Scher's brother Les was able to transport Monk and the band to the venue. The high school custodian, a fellow jazz fan, arranged to record the concert, ensuring the performance would be captured for posterity.
As Monk took the stage, he delivered an extraordinary 47-minute set that showcased his immense talent. Scher recalls, “Everyone was thrilled.” The performance concluded with Monk thanking the audience and expressing his intention to return for another show. Scher managed to capture the moment, asking Monk for an autograph—a rare gesture for the elusive musician.
Though the vote to rename East Palo Alto as Nairobi ultimately failed, the concert succeeded in uniting the community. Scher preserved the recording in a box, and it lay dormant for 50 years until he decided to digitize it at the urging of friends. Upon listening to the tape, he was filled with nostalgia and excitement, realizing it had to be shared with the world.
However, when Scher approached T.S. Monk about the recording, he faced skepticism. T.S. was accustomed to opportunists seeking to exploit his father's legacy. Yet, after hearing the recording, he recognized its significance. “This was no ordinary gig,” he said, and he agreed to work with Scher to release the concert.
The album, Thelonious Monk: Live at Palo Alto, was slated for release, but just weeks before, a dispute arose with Sony over the tape's ownership. The legal battle threatened to derail the project, leading to delays and uncertainty. Ultimately, T.S. and Scher were able to confirm that Monk's contract with Columbia had expired before the concert, leading to the eventual resolution of the dispute.
In September 2020, the long-awaited album was finally released, showcasing Monk's genius and the remarkable story behind the concert. Despite the obstacles, Scher and T.S. felt a sense of triumph, knowing that Monk's music would continue to resonate with audiences. As T.S. reflects, “His music does the same thing to me as it does to everybody else.”
For Scher, the legacy of that unforgettable concert remains alive. “I hear Monk every day,” he concludes, reflecting on the profound impact Monk had on his life and the world of jazz.
