By the time Thelonious Monk touched down in Germany in March 1965, the jazz world already understood he wasn’t just a pianist, he was becoming one of the greatest of his or any era. Europe had fallen in love with the legend years earlier, drawn not only to his brilliance and harmonic wizardry but to the eccentric persona orbiting it. But Bremen 1965, the first official release of this long-rumored concert, reminds us of something else: beneath the myth was a working bandleader in absolute command, riding one of the fiercest quartets of his career into a period of intense artistic heat.

Recorded on March 8, 1965, inside the hallowed Sendesaal / Studio F of Radio Bremen, the performance captures Monk and company early into a world tour that would take them across Europe, Australia, and Japan. It was Monk’s second major European run, but this time the quartet was newly recalibrated. Bassist Larry Gales and drummer Ben Riley, both soon to anchor Monk’s next Columbia LP, had stepped in to replace John Ore and Frankie Dunlop. Their arrival, paired with the ever-loyal tenor saxophonist Charlie Rouse, sparked a combustible chemistry. You can hear it from the first notes.

Drawn from master tapes tucked away for decades in the Radio Bremen vaults, the release arrives with the approval of NDR, Radio Bremen, and Monk’s son, complete with detailed liner notes by historian Bret Sjerven. It’s a snapshot of Monk in transition. Newly signed to Columbia Records, fresh off It’s Monk’s Time, and pushing his quartet through some of the most adventurous playing of their tenure.

The setlist is a dream for long time devotees. Stretch-outs on “Criss Cross,” “Well You Needn’t,” “Epistrophy,” and “Rhythm-a-ning” reveal the quartet’s telepathic interplay with Monk’s percussive keyboard jabs ricocheting against Rouse’s patient fire, Gales’ muscular basslines grounding the chaos, and Riley’s feather-light snap holding everything loosely together. Even the standards like “Sweet And Lovely,” “I’m Getting Sentimental Over You,” and “Don’t Blame Me” feel reborn under Monk’s touch, each rendered with that distinctive mix of swing and skewed angles. What emerges is a portrait of Monk not as the enigmatic genius frozen in jazz lore, but as an artist mid-stride, alive, restless, and joyfully unpredictable.