This month we feature Wayne Shorter, the iconoclastic composer and tenor saxophonist whose work with Art Blakey, Miles Davis, Weather Report and through his own solo discography has influenced generations of like-minded visionaries to push the boundaries of jazz. Since his death in 2023 at 89, it’s felt like he’s still around. That’s because his music always felt so otherworldly and progressive, as if it were beamed in from outer space or somewhere deep into the future.
Shorter rose to prominence in the late 1950s and early ’60s as a member of Art Blakey’s Jazz Messengers, where his husky and complex sound proved a worthy complement to Blakey’s propulsive rhythms. By 1964, Miles came calling: He wanted Shorter to join his quintet — an all-star squad that included Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter and Tony Williams — but it was no easy sell. Davis “had even gone as far as telephoning Art Blakey’s backstage dressing areas to speak to the saxophonist,” the author Ian Carr wrote in his definitive Miles Davis biography. As a member of the quintet, Shorter once said, “it wasn’t the bish-bash, sock-’em-dead routine we had with Blakey, with every solo a climax. With Miles, I felt like a cello, I felt viola, I felt liquid, dot-dash … and colors started really coming.”
Shorter was thought to be a catalyst for one of Davis’s most fruitful creative periods. “All of us wrote some songs, I wrote a couple of things myself, but the main writer: Wayne,” Hancock told me over the phone recently. “If we were going to go to a recording session, Miles would ask Wayne, ‘Did you bring the book?’ Once in a while, we would play things written by Charlie Parker or Dizzy Gillespie. But most of the things we recorded were written by Wayne.” The quintet broke up in 1968; Shorter worked with Davis until 1970.
In 1971, Shorter helped pioneer jazz fusion, releasing the first album by the group Weather Report with the keyboardist Joe Zawinul. The group created a genre-bending style of music that incorporated jazz, rock, funk and improvised electronic arrangements. By the late ’80s and ’90s, Shorter’s output didn’t slow down, but his focus shifted to deeper spiritual enlightenment, which led to a deeper friendship with Hancock, who was also a practicing Buddhist. In recent years, even though they’d been collaborators for several decades, Hancock and Shorter became best friends.
“He always was a genius, just an amazing human being,” Hancock said. “Most jazz players are composers, too. But I would say that the majority of us who are still living and were around during the major part of Wayne’s life, if we had to pick someone to be No. 1, I think we all would probably pick Wayne.
“Even though I know Wayne passed away,” he continued, “he’s been in my heart for a long time and he’s still there. So in a certain way I don’t see him anymore. But he hasn’t died for me. It’s not gone forever. He’s still there.”
Below you’ll find a sampling of Shorter’s music picked by a mix of composers and critics. You can find a playlist at the end of the article, and be sure to leave your own favorites in the comments.
Dee Dee Bridgewater, jazz singer
“Footprints”
Wayne Shorter’s composition “Footprints,” written in 1966, has always spoken to my spirit. When compiling material for my “Red Earth” CD project in 2006, it immediately came to mind. While in Bamako, Mali, recording, I researched “Footprints” for pre-existing lyrics … none that I found were befitting to the overall theme, so I decided to try my hand. During a rehearsal session, the idea for lyrics manifested. Within 30 minutes I’d formulated my story. I hoped it was close to what had inspired Wayne in composing his beguiling instrumental.
With some trepidation, I decided to call the maestro — he answered immediately. I explained the project, and the importance of including his composition, and then shared that I’d written some lyrics. Intrigued, Wayne asked that I read them. Once finished, he said I’d come closest to what he was thinking of when composing this masterpiece. He gave me immediate permission to record the song with my new lyrics; however, he insisted I change the title to one descriptive of my narrative, which I did. For my “Red Earth: A Malian Journey” album, released in 2007 on my label, DDB Records, it became “Long Time Ago (Footprints).” The song is part of my current repertoire, performed in honor of Wayne Shorter — my humble way of paying tribute to this intrepid human being that I miss dearly.
Esperanza Spalding, musician and composer
“Pegasus”
So much of the totality of his personality is on display in this song — his creative personality, his musical personality, and his character, which, of course, are all intermingled. And to know that this man, who was already 80 when this came out, said, “Yes, that’s how I want my album to start. That is the correct entrance into the world of this album.” And I think of something that he quoted John Coltrane saying, that he wanted the music to feel like someone had opened the door to a place where all the music was already happening. So I mean, imagine how would you be traveling if you were traveling with Pegasus? Are you on Pegasus’s back? Can you also fly? Are you traveling through celestial realms?
The images in the comic book that accompanies this album have you traveling between dimensions, between worlds. And I feel that with this song, the visuals that are stimulated by this music move you through places you’ve never been before. Then again, this song is such a comprehensive portrait of all the facets of Wayne. He leads you up to a culminating solo at the end. It feels like a blues holler that somebody would’ve shouted from the back of the church. This is a song that I go to all of the time, more than anything else Wayne has done, and hope more people will do the same.
Giveton Gelin, trumpeter, composer, and educator
“Sanctuary” by Miles Davis
I first encountered this song through Dayna Stephens, and I was immediately captivated by its opening phrase, unable to stop listening, dissecting and reflecting on it. It struck me like a sorcerer’s incantation or the beginning of a hypnotic trance. The melody itself ensnares you, but it’s the interplay of the bass notes that creates this overall effect. Essentially, the essence of the opening phrase could be reproduced using only two voices — the very highest and lowest notes.
Wayne Shorter’s complete artistry has profoundly inspired me, and his compositional prowess has greatly influenced me. I chose this song because its melodic content, choice of bass notes, and motivic development represent exemplary craftsmanship. Throughout the tune, the melodic undulating patterns gradually build to a climactic moment. The song has been interpreted in many versions, each undergoing a complete transformation.
One of my favorite renditions is Miles Davis’s live performance of this song at the Newport Jazz Festival. In each rendition, Miles typically takes the climactic point of the melody up an octave and repeats the two-note phrase. In this particular version, Tony Williams’s shuffle rhythm completely transforms the song, showcasing how decisions, love, trust and inspiration naturally yield beautiful outcomes — much like how an exhale follows an inhale.
Patricia Brennan, musician
“Face of the Deep”
It’s challenging to pinpoint one specific track in Shorter’s extensive catalog, but one track in particular stands out for me: “Face of the Deep,” a striking ballad full of depth. I believe it is one of the most emotionally complex tracks on the record, “The All Seeing Eye.” It features Shorter’s genius use of space, texture and density through orchestration and improvisation as well as harmony.
It begins with an emotional piano introduction played by Herbie Hancock, accompanied by Ron Carter’s bass. They are joined by horns stating the main theme of the composition, a dense chorale charged with solemnity. This theme, which returns after the solos, is the highest-density point of the piece, featuring masterful harmonic choices.
Hancock’s solo, beautifully accompanied by Carter and Joe Chambers, is the first one featured. It’s a patiently developed statement that paints a landscape of emotions. Shorter’s solo which follows is an invitation to focus on the music happening in between the notes. He highlights the deepness of musical space and the powerful energy carried by sustained sound.
“Face of the Deep” to me represents beauty within darkness. It is charged with emotional and spiritual profundity.
Immanuel Wilkins, musician
“Over Shadow Hill Way”
“Over Shadow Hill Way” is a piece off the album “Joy Ryder,” recorded in 1988. It’s the soundtrack fit for a superhero, or an angel. The piece of music lives in the future in a way that haunts the mind and body, like it’s reaching back for you. Shadow Hill Way is a street in Beverly Hills — a 12-minute drive from the house where I visited Mr. Shorter, two months and nine days before his peaceful journey into the unknown. The view from his window overlooked all of Los Angeles — I wonder if I could see that street from there. Mr. Shorter’s improvisations come to conclusions that are inquisitive; he lives in the here and now — the veil is lifted. Each improvisation calls you to think about what it means to journey into the unknown — to embrace and surrender to the present moment. Compositionally, the song has such powerful thematic material, it becomes stuck in your head in an instant. There’s a great amount of imaginative logic in the composition, with a bass line that walks up a scale and walks down another, and a chant of chords in the melodic register that alter slightly with really close intervals moving. This piece possesses a deep power, yet is harmonically delicate. Deep funk and soul. Also some nostalgia. Maybe I’m projecting. I miss Wayne Shorter.
Rocio (Wyldeflower) Contreras, D.J.
“Witch Hunt”
The first song on an album can sometimes be a navigational tool. For me it usually tends to be one of the strongest tunes, serving as a hook to bring the listener in — a predictive sonic statement preparing you for the ride you’re about to take. Wayne Shorter’s “Witch Hunt” is the first song on the 1966 Blue Note album “Speak No Evil.” It’s an album where each song feels like a full opus, each track with a towering running time. “Witch Hunt” is a hearty eight minutes, embodying a full range of emotional states, starting off with dramatic dark horns, motivating movement, flow and highlighting the sonic conversation between Freddie Hubbard and Wayne Shorter, one that commits to memory easily. The solos that Wayne offers on “Witch Hunt” are masterful, lush and demanding. They showcase his musical foundation and display a preview of what’s to come. The conversation continues throughout with Elvin Jones and Ron Carter holding us down, while Herbie Hancock’s keys adorn the track with gentle but direct notes. “Speak No Evil" has altered my DNA and amplified my ear with every listen. “Witch Hunt” has been my morning coffee and my midnight drive, countless times. It’s a familiar face and a grounding energy; it’s a nurturing road that you know all the twists and turns to. It’s a map to the heart.
Steph Richards, musician
“Smilin’ Through”
Here we drop the needle halfway into the track with the drummer Brian Blade setting up a ferocious undercurrent while Wayne masterfully shapes rolling tsunamis of energy, loosely interpreting this lesser-known jazz standard on soprano sax. Most know and love Wayne for his tenor sound, as dark and deep as the ocean, but the way he shapes his sound on soprano sax, in contrast, is its own kind of creature, bringing a heat that cuts right to the heart. His quartet flies and fires alongside, underneath and above; shifting meters, feels and harmonic spaces all in a free, openly evolving exchange. Blade, the bassist John Patitucci and the pianist Danilo Perez are agile, fierce and masterful counterparts. This track hails from the album “Beyond the Sound Barrier,” featuring a series of live sets recorded from 2002-04. A feeling of brilliant possibility permeates every shifting moment.
I come back to this album time and time again, drawn to the signature concision, beauty and openness of navigating compositional structure that is singular to Wayne Shorter’s playing and writing. My recent record “Power Vibe” is dedicated to Wayne, and his imprint is embedded throughout, both conceptually and sometimes literally (I quote moments from “Over Shadow Hill Way” from this album in my title track). The heart of his music speeds straight through his structures and into another dimension — if one can compose a groundwork for fantasy, freedom and exploration, as Wayne does so masterfully, the music then reveals itself. We end this clip not just on a high note, but a vulnerable one, highlighting one of my favorite aspects of Wayne Shorter: that he is willing to take us to the edge of beauty and peer beyond it into a cosmic unknown.
Marta Sanchez, pianist and composer
“Sweet Pea”
After nearly a minute of a limbo-like atmosphere, as if the band were communing with Strayhorn in his new state (the composition is Wayne’s tribute to Billy Strayhorn, nicknamed “Sweet Pea,” who died a month before Wayne wrote this piece), Wayne Shorter attacks the first note of the melody, almost like howling. That note resonates so deeply that it sends shivers down your spine, then develops into a simple, sad but hauntingly beautiful melody that seems to ache over Shorter’s unexpected harmonies.
Shorter, a transformer of challenging emotions into precious ones, elegantly converts the sorrow of death into the magic of the afterworld. Wayne takes his time, delivering each note with focused intention, and when the melody finishes, plays a few delicate improvised notes before interpreting the melody all over again. Wayne’s own rendition of his tune doesn’t feature soloists (unlike Miles Davis’s earlier version of the same piece). Just the melody played twice, but in such a deliberate way that we wouldn’t have been able to take any more.
Ambrose Akinmusire, trumpeter and bandleader
“Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum”
“Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum,” from Wayne Shorter’s 1966 album “Speak No Evil," holds a special place in my heart for its blend of simplicity and complexity. It’s my favorite song of Wayne’s to play.
I find the melody of “Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum” straightforward, yet the harmonic language feels intricate and unpredictable. The composition seems simple, but it’s actually really complex. In the A sections, Wayne finds a way of weaving something really beautiful and simple through a complex landscape. And the B section is a standard blues form. The macro reflects the micro. The melody is simple, and the chord changes are complex. The A is complex and the B section is simple. It’s like the B section takes the role of the melody. I love that you can find this micro, macro structure in the craft of all his writing.
I also like the tune because of its title. Initially you think it’s about Jack and the Beanstalk, but I think he’s really paying homage to John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps,” and you can see this in the similar harmonic motion. I love how the melody, confined to a single octave — B flat to B flat — feels expansive because of its dynamic expression and rhythmic variations. It’s like he’s squeezing the essence out of everything, out of every chord, every moment. It bypasses the intellectual stuff and gets to the essence.
It reminds me of what it was like to hang out with him and talk to him. One minute he’d be talking about quantum physics, the next he’d be talking about pop culture. I miss talking to Wayne, and playing this particular composition makes me feel like I’m continuing my conversations with him.
Giovanni Russonello, jazz critic
“House of Jade”
Fittingly, the music on “Juju,” Wayne Shorter’s second album for Blue Note, has a dark-arts energy about it. These six tracks can send you spiraling into yourself, sounding out unnamed feelings, lost — but then they’re always somehow liable to bring you back to center and confirm your strength, to leave you feeling fortified. That is partly the work of Elvin Jones’s steady drums: the loping ride cymbal; his judicious, devastating kick drum. Add Reggie Workman’s bass and McCoy Tyner’s piano, and you have a rhythm section entirely associated with Shorter’s mentor John Coltrane. But just as he had learned by now to take only what he needed from Coltrane’s style, as a composer and a soloist, Shorter bends this rhythm section around his own ear. He puts the band to work especially slyly on “House of Jade,” with a sticky and slow-moving bass line illuminating Shorter’s melody from odd angles.
When he recorded this album in August 1964, a 30-year-old Shorter was in the process of joining Miles Davis’s band, on Coltrane’s referral. With Davis’s second great quintet, Shorter would make some of the finest small-group jazz in history, but the commitment kept him from touring with his own groups. As far as hearing Shorter as a bandleader during his historic, blazing run of the mid-to-late ’60s, when he was writing and playing as well as any musician alive, all we’ve basically got is the studio records. And the first spell you should cast for yourself is “Juju.”
George Burton, composer and producer
“Aung San Suu Kyi” by Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock
As someone who’s delved deeply into Wayne Shorter’s entire catalog, the concept of space frequently arises in my thought process, particularly regarding how a musician’s career trajectory often evolves to reflect their perception of music and life. “Aung San Suu Kyi,” written and performed by Shorter, was inspired by the Burmese politician, Nobel Peace Prize laureate and former leader of Myanmar, known for her long struggle for democracy and human rights. In this tune, you can hear various ideas that may correlate to an individual like her, from the simple beauty of the melody to the intense groove it leans against. It also displays a comfort in the unknown, with the notion that we are working together to present this experience.
Shorter’s ability to create beautiful melodies, as seen with “Aung San Suu Kyi,” embodies the essence of artistic expression at its highest form, weaving through the history of Black music. The tone and inflection of his horn, combined with the individualism of each player in his ensembles, demonstrate his deep understanding of sound exploration. From bands with Lee Morgan, McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones to the ensemble Weather Report, and his last band with Danilo Perez, John Patitucci and Brian Blade, Shorter’s music reflects an understanding of changes in not just music but life itself. His compositions are not just tunes; they are narratives that engage listeners, inviting them to explore the depths of musical and emotional landscapes.
Jahari Stampley, pianist and composer
“Infant Eyes”
Captivating. Dreamlike. Inspiring. Controlled. Free. These are some words that would describe my favorite song written by the brilliant composer Wayne Shorter — “Infant Eyes.” Released in 1966 on his album “Speak No Evil,” this revolutionary composition as well as the influential ensemble of musicians on the recording helped to nurture the beginning of my musical lineage. From my mother, who credits Wayne Shorter as being the catalyst of her musical journey as an artist, to my earliest experiences as a pianist, composer and bandleader through my mother, his musical impact has carried throughout generations.
“Infant Eyes” is arguably one of the most beautiful and mysterious jazz ballads ever written — unpredictably formed, enigmatic and melodically haunting. Shorter’s organic & captivating tone flows over each phrase, creating an incredibly emotional impact. The song was dedicated to his daughter, Miyako. And I could imagine him looking into her eyes for the first time.
His ensemble generated a magical synergy. With Herbie Hancock’s understated and skillful piano comping, Ron Carter’s subtle, supportive bass lines and Elvin Jones’s intuitive & perfectly balanced drumming, they seemed to play almost effortlessly, gracefully elevating Wayne Shorter’s melody to the forefront, but in a gentle way. “Infant Eyes”: Wayne Shorter’s timeless gift to the world.
Leo Genovese, musician
“Night Dreamer”
“Night Dreamer” was the first Wayne Shorter album I heard, when I was in Argentina in the mid-90s. In the title track, when Wayne plays you can hear his soul producing value, his sound mission and his life’s determination to be creative at all times.
He was always reaching deeper. He never stopped studying and seeing it all, and making us aware of many things the media and society try to hide or hijack. He wrote music in a magic room, next to a big window where you could see the whole downtown Los Angeles, where you could observe the sky in full form, always ready for a “visit” from something from another place. The room was populated by maybe 300 statues of magical beings, superheroes, dragons and fairies. The TV was always on. Sometimes he had on the news, or some channel with some bad energy. From his desk he was writing the antidote to all those mediocre things portrayed in the media.
He would say, “Commission yourself. Don’t wait on grants, don’t rely on anything. Do the work, just commission yourself and start.” He told me he was going to commission himself to write an orchestral piece for “Night Dreamer,” but I don’t think he got to it.
As he said, he had to go to get a new body to continue the mission.
He’ll be back.
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