Expanding on footage of Monk’s 1967 tour shot by Christian Blackwood, Charlotte Zwering (Gimme Shelter) has created the definitive filmic portrait of the master bop pianist-composer. This captivating DVD digs deeper into the life of the famously eccentric pianist-composer than the Ken Burns’s tepid coffeetable documentary Jazz ever thought to.

A few shades different than the Burns film’s monosyllabic, near-silent weirdo, Straight, No Chaser fleshes out Monk’s character considerably - from his harmonic theories to his use of quarter - tones (produced by hitting two adjacent piano keys simultaneously and occasionally even striking the boards with his entire forearm or his foot) to his mysterious relationship with his patron, baroness Nica de Koenigswarter.

“Pannonica,” a lyrical paean to her, is included on the soundtrack. Monk’s music, naturally, is at the center of this canny portrait, giving fans cause to rejoice since most of the movie’s performances had been previously unavailable in any form.

The more interesting excavations include footage of his near-forgotten 1967 octet and rare recordings of club performances and rehearsal takes of Monk standards like “Well, You Needn’t,” “Trinkle Tinkle,” “Evidence,” and the title song. (Barnes & Noble)

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This exemplary documentary about seminal jazz pianist and composer Thelonious Monk reaps the benefits of multiple blessings, including the skilled editorial hand of director Charlotte Zwerin and the patronage of executive producer (and erstwhile jazz pianist) Clint Eastwood.

Most vital is the use of extensive 1968 footage, shot by Michael and Christian Blackwood, documenting the sometimes moody, sometimes puckish Monk in the studio, on tour, and off stage, which on its own would make this essential jazz viewing. In post - World War II America, few cultural upheavals matched bebop for sheer exhilaration.

Spawned by jazz musicians whose paydays typically came with larger swing ensembles, bop was as much bastard as stepchild, refining the technical ambitions of its parent while breaking free of swing’s formalism to play fast and loose with harmony, melody, and tempo. That mercurial spirit made heroes of high-flying, technically flamboyant players like Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Bud Powell.

Monk, by contrast, was as distinctive for his silences, crafting often skeletal melodies distinguished by unexpected, skewed harmonies. At one point dubbed the “high priest of bebop,” he was more Zen archer, threading notes, warping chord structure, or stabbing “wrong” keys with a seeming looseness that in hindsight sounds as precise as haiku. (Amazon)