Jazz pianist Chick Corea’s 1971 solo recording Piano Improvisations Vol. 1 marked a turning point in his career—one defined by a conscious move toward accessibility after a period of avant-garde experimentation. In a statement originally featured on the album’s back cover, Corea wrote that the music was created from a desire “to communicate and share the dream of a better life with people everywhere.” Though simple on the surface, this message carried deeper meaning at that moment in his musical journey.
Prior to recording the Piano Improvisations, Corea had been performing with his experimental ensemble, Circle, alongside Dave Holland, Barry Altschul, and avant-garde luminary Anthony Braxton. Circle’s performance of “Nefertiti” on the Paris Concert album (recorded February 21, 1971) showcased Braxton’s intense, freeform soloing—abandoning chord structures for shrieking and angular phrases. Although thrilling and daring, this kind of expression marked a stylistic direction Corea ultimately chose to leave behind. He dissolved Circle shortly after, citing his desire to pursue music that was more relatable. Braxton reportedly accepted the decision, though he regretted the band breaking up while in California, as it left him to find his way home independently. Circle’s final recording took place on May 17, 1971.
Before that final session, on April 21 and 22, Corea had entered a studio in Oslo to record the improvisations that would later become Piano Improvisations Vol. 1 and Vol. 2. These sessions were initiated by ECM producer Manfred Eicher, who extended solo recording opportunities to Corea, Keith Jarrett, and Paul Bley. Corea was the first to accept.
The recently reissued Volume One omits Corea’s original back cover note but includes an insightful essay from the pianist himself. He reflects on the period as one of profound discovery, describing the solo recordings as his responses to life’s questions. “The Piano Improvisations were made spontaneously in the studio,” he explained. “I took the next idea that came to mind and played it down.” The titles were added afterward.
From the outset, Corea’s confidence is evident. The album opens with “Noon Song,” an assertive and lyrical piece that feels as though it begins mid-conversation. A melodic phrase from his right hand initiates the flow, and the music evolves gracefully from that line. During the four-minute piece, Corea explores changes in tempo and touch, embracing the freedom that solo playing allows. Notably, about two minutes in, he introduces a sudden, buoyant rhythm.
Many tracks on the album are dedicated to women. “Song for Sally” evokes elements of Corea’s later Spanish-influenced style, while “Ballad for Anna” feels introspective and questioning. These pieces suggest a narrative or emotional link to their namesakes. “Sometime Ago” starts with a delicate melody from the right hand, accompanied by a rhythm that hints at erupting into a dance-like passage reminiscent of My Spanish Heart.
The entire second side of the album features an eight-part suite titled Where Are You Now? A Suite of Eight Pictures. These vignettes vary in tone and texture. “Picture Three” is especially striking: Corea explores the high treble register with darting figures and soft tinkling sounds from a prepared piano. The piece avoids the instrument’s mid and bass ranges altogether. In contrast, “Picture Four” offers a warmer mood over a restless pulse. “Picture Eight” begins with somber chords and gradually dissolves, serving as a quiet epilogue to the series. Throughout the suite, Corea’s ideas unfold logically, though not predictably, as he juxtaposes contrasting moods and textures.
Jazz writer Michael Ullman first heard Corea live during a remarkable afternoon event at Sandy’s Jazz Revival, a club on Boston’s North Shore. Likely in the late 1960s, the performance featured solo sets by Earl Hines, Jaki Byard, and a young Corea. Introduced by Hines biographer Stanley Dance as an emerging talent, Corea’s performance made a lasting impression—Ullman felt the pianist had already arrived.
Michael Ullman has contributed to Fanfare Magazine for over 30 years with a regular jazz column and reviews of classical music. He holds emeritus status at Tufts University, where he taught English and Music for 45 years, with a focus on modernist literature and jazz/blues history. He studied classical clarinet and has authored or co-authored two jazz books. His writing has also appeared in The Atlantic Monthly, New Republic, High Fidelity, Stereophile, Boston Phoenix, and Boston Globe. He also plays piano—albeit modestly.
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