Ornette Coleman and his quartet were playing at the Five Spot. You might think the man who dislikes hard bop would run screaming from free jazz, but Ornette Coleman circa 1959 was a far cry from the Noise Ensemble of Chicago. Hard bop improvisation is a Benzedrine-stoked typist running the changes, ugly speed chess like a thin membrane of play stretched over actual bloody war. Ornette Coleman’s was like the sound of the human voice, like listening to a soulful Russian poet reciting his verse and you’re hanging on every word, even if you haven’t a clue what it means. I left the club utterly electrified.