Whereas most of these postwar musicians worked out their individual styles through personal explorations within the central modern tradition, the arrival of saxophonist Ornette Coleman and trumpeter Donald Cherry constituted an even more radical break from the recent past. Eschewing conventional key and time signatures, Coleman also abandoned all the traditional jazz forms, arriving quickly at something that was to be called “free jazz.”

Although partially inspired by the Parker revolution, Coleman’s music also harkened back in its linear fragmentation, wailing blues sonorities, and unconventional intonation to a much older, primitive, folklike blues and work song tradition, incidentally more or less cleansed of jazz’s earlier European borrowings. Given Coleman’s abandonment of traditional forms such as 12-bar blues and 32-bar song forms, it would be wrong to conclude that such works as “Change of the Century” (1959) or “Free Jazz” (1960) are therefore formless. Rather, they are simply subject to a new kind of organization where—in “Free Jazz,” for example—the eight players are each assigned “solo” sections accompanied by all the other players, with the various sections partitioned from each other by predetermined, collectively played motivic materials and the overall formal subdivisions thus clearly delineated.

Others who followed in Coleman’s footsteps—for example, the saxophonists Albert Ayler, Archie Shepp, and George Adams—sought to expand on his free-form innovations, introducing such experimentations as distorted sounds or avant-garde and Afrocentric elements.

Creative shifts during the 1970s and ’80s eventually led, on the one hand, to a gigantic eclecticism where no style or conception took priority and, on the other hand, to a profound sea change that dramatically altered the face of jazz. An especially important development was jazz fusion, or jazz-rock, which was more or less announced with Miles Davis’s Bitches Brew (1970), a landmark album that featured electronic instruments and experiments with rock and funk. Others who joined him in exploring this direction were drummer Tony Williams, guitarist John McLaughlin, saxophonist Wayne Shorter, and electric keyboardists Joe Zawinul, Herbie Hancock, Larry Young, and Chick Corea. Notably, Zawinul and Shorter formed Weather Report, a seminal group that initially included the classically trained Miroslav Vitouš on bass and Alphonse Mouzon on drums. Weather Report cycled through various innovative musicians in later years, such as bassist Jaco Pastorius, who lent his virtuoso technical wizardry to live and studio collaborations with Hancock. The two musicians formed a new group, Word of Mouth, with Shorter and fellow saxophonist Michael Brecker, harmonica player Toots Thielemans, drummers Peter Erskine and Jack DeJohnette, and percussionist Don Alias.

By the late 20th century, fusion and free jazz had helped to considerably expand the borders of jazz to beyond the Western Hemisphere. Inspired by the spiritual guru Sri Chinmoy, in 1971 McLaughlin took the name Mahavishnu and formed the Mahavishnu Orchestra, a quintet noted for radically high volume levels, complex textures, and fast modal playing. Later he favored the acoustic guitar for another new group, Shakti, founded with Indian violinist L. Shankar and tabla player Zakir Hussain. Free jazz flourished in Russia, with the folk-infused group The Ganelin Trio, and among South African musicians, with the Brotherhood of Breath incorporating kivela (kwela), an urban dance music. Meanwhile, Japan produced one of the greatest 20th-century jazz artists (and one of the most important women in the genre): pianist, bandleader, and composer-arranger Toshiko Akiyoshi, who moved from bebop and big band sounds to compositions featuring Japanese harmonies and instruments, such as taiko drums.

Jazz at the turn of the 21st century

By the turn of the 21st century, the personal, instantly recognizable distinctiveness of the great jazz players of the past had been replaced by an astonishing technical assurance and stylistic flexibility. Although many younger players in the 1990s may have sounded very much alike to listeners accustomed to the individualistic flourishes of earlier musicians, there were undeniable standouts such as trumpeters Wynton Marsalis, Tom Harrell, Randy Brecker, and Dave Douglas, saxophonists Steve Lacy and Joe Lovano, trombonist Albert Mangelsdorff, pianist Gonzalo Rubalcaba, and bassist John Patitucci. Whereas later players functioned well in any stylistic context—even beyond jazz in global and classical realms—the earlier players, great as they were, could not reach out into other stylistic regions. The players of yore did not—could not, in most cases—go to music schools and were in essence self-taught, having learned on the job and to a large extent from each other and from their elders.

In the wake of these changes, composition moved much more into the front and center of activities—as in the works of Leo Smith, Henry Threadgill, and Dave Douglas—which suggests that the long-standing conflict between improvisation and composition may have finally been resolved. A good part of the reason for this is that most later jazz musicians went to music school—conservatories and university or college music departments—where they took theory, music history, and general music survey courses, and in most cases they also studied with teachers who were themselves major jazz figures. In addition, starting in the 1970s, the enormously expanding number of recordings made available an infinite variety of musical traditions encompassing all jazz styles as well as a rainbow of ethnic, popular, and vernacular musics of all persuasions and philosophies. The younger generations took advantage of this plethora of musical and stylistic resources.

Indeed, the progeny of many earlier musicians proved themselves to be distinctive artists in their own right. Foremost among this new generation were the Marsalis brothers (Wynton, Branford, Delfeayo, and Jason)—who were reared on jazz by their father, the pianist Ellis Marsalis—and singer Norah Jones, the daughter of Indian sitar virtuoso Ravi Shankar.

Other developments at the turn of the 21st century included the emergence of “smooth jazz,” so-called for its polished, radio-friendly sounds and commercial appeal. Its quality ranged from bland “elevator music” to soulful and sublime recordings by such performers as American singers Al Jarreau and Anita Baker and Nigerian-born British singer Sade. Traditional jazz singers whose popularity proved that standards never go out of style included Harry Connick, Jr., and Michael Bublé.

Yet many more continued to experiment with global styles, as with the musical adventurousness of bassist and singer Esperanza Spalding, or branched out into entirely new genres, such as hip-hop and techno. These crossover projects were pioneered especially by Herbie Hancock and producer, composer-arranger, and trumpeter Quincy Jones beginning in the 1980s, carried into the ’90s by the rap groups De La Soul and A Tribe Called Quest, and picked up in the new millennium by rapper Kendrick Lamar.

Where this continuing innovation leaves jazz and where jazz goes in the future—indeed, whether jazz can endure as a distinct musical idiom or language—are unanswerable questions. The one truism about jazz is that it remains distinguishable not by what is played but by how it is played.