Taylor still capable of working up a storm that dwarfed the efforts of 99 percent of those who attempted to emulate him.
Looking Solo arrived without fanfare—a live document of Cecil Taylor alone at the piano in Berlin, captured on tape and released on the small German label FMP. It wasn't a major label event. But those who heard it recognized something essential: Taylor at nearly seventy, still dangerous. AllMusic reviewer Brian Olewnick heard it as nothing short of a masterclass, calling it fascinating, exciting, and beautiful. What mattered most to Olewnick wasn't novelty but substance—Taylor had mellowed with age, yes, but that only clarified his technique. The five brief closing pieces stuck with him most, small concentrated studies he compared to rubies.
By 1989 Taylor had spent four decades as a pianist almost no one could categorize or comfortably imitate. This solo performance shows why. Without a band to push against or ground him, Taylor's approach becomes even clearer: torrential runs of notes that sound like controlled chaos, sudden silences that feel purposeful, a physical relationship with the keyboard that refuses every convention about how jazz piano should sit. He was balletic, precise, violent by turns—the kind of player who made everyone else trying the same language sound like they were speaking it wrong.
This isn't the album to start with if you're new to Taylor. But if you've spent time with his group records and want to understand what animates them, this solo performance strips away every distraction. It's Taylor's method laid bare, one man and an instrument, no net beneath him.