It's interesting, then, that pianist Keith Jarrett -- one of the more unusual talents in the past 35 years of the music -- now finds himself in his most creative phase playing almost nothing but classics. Since forming in 1983, his trio with drummer Jack DeJohnette and bassist Gary Peacock has staked a claim as the preeminent jazz group interpreting standards; it's probably the closest a piano trio has come to the Olympian heights of the late Bill Evans' trios. At the piano, Jarrett, 55, has an improvisational zeal matched by a technique that is equal parts meditation and explosion. He is one of the few living jazz pianists with an instantly recognizable sound.

Little in his background suggests that standards would be his ultimate creative ticket. Growing up in Allentown, Pa., he was a prodigy, performing original pieces publicly while in grade school and gigging in jazz clubs as a teenager. Drummer Art Blakey claimed him as a member of his band, the Jazz Messengers, for a brief period in the mid-'60s, after which saxophonist Charles Lloyd introduced him to huge crowds with a group that featured DeJohnette.

Jarrett joined Miles Davis' groundbreaking DeJohnette-propelled electric group in 1970, and soon after launched a solo career that would take him in various directions. There was Jarrett the classical recording artist, Jarrett the leader of two separate jazz quartets and Jarrett the huge-selling solo-piano improviser.

He has recorded around 75 albums, performed with top symphony orchestras around the world, rounded up numerous Grammy nominations and received a steady stream of awards and honors from governments and the press. Four years ago he was stricken with chronic fatigue syndrome -- an enervating malady which the medical establishment scarcely comprehends -- and was unable to play the piano for nearly two years. During his recovery an artistic breakthrough came: an album of solo piano, recorded in his home studio, called "The Melody at Night, With You." For this 1999 release, Jarrett leaves behind his trademark effusion to focus intimately on the songs' melodies. Ethereally delicate and almost unbearably intimate, it's a love letter to his wife, Rose Anne, to recuperation, to the jazz repertory and to the piano.

Last year Jarrett returned to touring with the trio -- albeit gingerly -- recording in Paris the just-released double CD "Whisper Not," his 12th album with the group. Last summer he played select dates with the trio, most recently closing the San Francisco Jazz Festival.

Jarrett spoke with Salon by phone from his home in rural New Jersey.

The playing on "The Melody at Night, With You" is pared down to the essence of the songs. The new live CD, "Whisper Not," also sounds more stripped down than anything you've done before with the band. How did these developments come about?

Well, because of this illness, I was forced to look at what I was doing as if it would be the last thing I would ever do. I had to stop playing, because of this illness ... there was no solution to this thing. I wasn't able to play for two years. And when I started to recover, I realized that the time off I had wasn't such a bad thing. I realized that improvisers should probably always have time off. But musicians are always gigging and never have a chance to stop for a minute -- unless something drastic occurs.

So when I started recovering, I said to myself that I'd better be my own worst critic. I didn't know if I'd keep recovering; I thought I might relapse and never be able to play again. I would listen to stuff I'd recorded and a lot of it I didn't like. I realized I didn't like the long intros. I didn't like digging into the keyboard so much. Because when you do that the piano doesn't open up as much. I decided to pare things down. I wanted to get to the heart of my playing, and to do that I really had to slice away. That's what happens to mature artists. But it does not happen without reflection.

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