When John Coltrane died 50 years ago this July, the New York Times wrote that he “was considered one of the most gifted modern jazz musicians of this decade.” It was a reserved, careful judgment​—​was considered not was; of this decade not of all time. In the years since, the qualifiers have all fallen away. Rarely is there a word of doubt about Coltrane’s greatness, and for good reason. But could it be that the overwhelming admiration for the saxophonist has been bad for jazz, a choking incense-cloud of reverence that has suffocated others’ efforts? Could it be that Coltrane, most of all, would have had us move on?

Coltrane was only 40 years old when he succumbed to liver failure almost certainly caused by his years of heroin use​—​a habit he had kicked less than a decade before without resort to rehab or benefit of anything less demanding than willpower. But his short life encompassed worlds of jazz.