There was no speech. No introduction. The St. Louis Symphony Orchestra presented a tribute to John Coltrane and East St. Louis’ own Miles Davis that opened Saturday night with a groove. Guitarist Charles Altura set the tone with a simmering vamp, David Ginyard locked in on bass, and Oscar Seaton laid down a hypnotic pocket on drums. Tom Oren’s keys slipped in masterfully.
They were in tight formation until Seaton snapped the hi-hat open.
It was the perfect cue for Terence Blanchard. The band leaned more funk and R&B than straight-ahead jazz, and Blanchard’s trumpet threaded the jazz vocabulary through it — bending blue notes, stretching phrases, and dropping into rhythmic pockets that flirted with hip-hop phrasing. His trumpet flowed like an emcee riding a beat.
Blanchard and his E-Collective opened the centennial celebration — which also featured John Coltrane’s son, Ravi Coltrane, on saxophone — with his own tune, “Flow.” It was a bold choice, and one that Davis and Coltrane would have appreciated. The song made it clear that this wasn’t a museum-piece tribute. Their music served as the foundation for something new, alive, and unapologetically electric — a point proven even further with the electric bass and synthesized keyboard.
That first groove stretched fifteen minutes. Ginyard and Seaton built a pulse that felt like a heartbeat. After Blanchard’s soaring solo, Altura took the baton and pushed the harmony into modal terrain.
Like Davis, Blanchard wasn’t stingy with the spotlight. Every instrument had room to flex. And the groove never lost its magnetism.
The concert — which featured Blanchard’s E-Collective, but not the orchestra — echoed a trend across St. Louis as the region honored Davis and Coltrane. The musicians refused cookie-cutter tributes in favor of reinterpretation.
“I’m gonna give you the disclaimer right now,” Blanchard told the crowd after “Flow.” “We are not playing any of those arrangements. We feel like it’s more respectful to not try to emulate them, but to let their work stand on its own — and to show them how much they influenced us.”
He meant it. The quintet leaned into a fully electrified sound — synth textures, electric bass, and harmonic layering that nodded to Davis’ fusion era without imitating it. Each chorus built on the last, reshaping the material.
Toward the end of the opener, the band erupted into organized chaos — a controlled burn of polyrhythms and stacked harmonies — before Blanchard returned to close the tune with a crisp, singing line.
“St. Louis. My home away from home,” he said, recalling the years he spent here developing work that would eventually lead to the Opera Theatre of Saint Louis world premieres of Champion and Fire Shut Up in My Bones, which made him the first Black composer presented at the Metropolitan Opera in its 138-year history. “I was scared [expletive-less],” he admitted. “But this city stepped me through the process.”
Still, he made it clear the night wasn’t about him. “We are honoring two of the most influential minds in American music — Miles Davis and John Coltrane.”
Then he brought out Ravi Coltrane.
Ravi — who carries his father’s face but his mother Alice Coltrane’s spiritual calm — sat working through fingerings before he played a note. His tone was cool, centered, and deliberate. Where John Coltrane often played with feverish urgency, Ravi let the notes bloom slowly, leaning into the horn with his whole body. His phrasing carried Alice’s meditative lyricism as much as his father’s fire.
As the band built its soundscape, Ravi listened deeply — choosing his entrances with intention. He wove lines that flirted with dissonance and then resolved with quiet authority. He gave the audience flashes of his father’s relentless drive, but his voice remained distinctly his own.
Blanchard, too, shifted his approach. Known for his broad, orchestral tone shaped by years of film scoring, there were moments where he tightened his sound to honor Davis’ piercing, intimate phrasing. He let the notes breathe — a nod to Davis’ mastery of space — but he would meander back toward the cinematic textures that define his modern voice.
Together, Blanchard and Ravi Coltrane became stewards of the legacy they were honoring — not by recreating it, but by extending it.
“Most of these compositions come from the period where they recorded together,” Blanchard said. “If we were to truly honor them, we’d be here for a month.”
He called the next section a “mashup” — “They don’t call them medleys anymore,” he joked — weaving “Someday My Prince Will Come,” “All Blues,” and “Teo.”
With Blanchard on trumpet, Ravi Coltrane on sax, Oren on keys, Ginyard on bass, and Seaton on drums, the ensemble delivered a tribute that refused nostalgia, particularly with their “Two Bass Hit,” finale. Instead, they offered a living, breathing continuation of the work Miles Davis and John Coltrane began.
Ravi Coltrane honored his father not by imitating him, but by proving — through tone, phrasing, and fearless improvisation — that he has carved out a voice entirely his own.
And Blanchard honored Miles by doing exactly what Miles would have demanded. He pushed the music forward.
Living It content is produced with funding by the ARPA for the Arts grants program in partnership with the Regional Arts Commission of St. Louis and the Community Development Administration.
