When a John Coltrane recording from his final years comes on the radio, I have to either stop everything and listen or turn off the music. His saxophone has a brittle edge but a powerful body. The playing is searching and sophisticated, capturing my attention like a short story I must follow to the end.

Coltrane's last few recordings pushed far into the avant-garde, but his masterpiece, A Love Supreme (1964), struck a balance between the unbriddled freedom of his final records and the structured jazz that had precede him. In a A Love Supreme, a man struggles for enlightenment--musically and spiritually--in a structure as organized as a symphony.

At first, Branford Marsalis' new recording of A Love Supreme (2004) seems foolhardy. Coltrane's work is embedded in a specific moment both of jazz history, the point where bebop gave way to the avant-garde, and in the life of Coltrane as he overcame his addiction and his demons. But if Coltrane's work is to live in the present, it must survive as a composition and not just a single performance.

Marsalis begins "Acknowledgment," the first movement, with a extended filigree of delicate notes. Coltrane's original offers only a handful of grace notes before launching into that menacing, chanting bass line--"a love supreme, a love supreme." Coltrane opens a window onto the deliverance he seeks before diving into the turmoil. Marsalis plays from the first note like a man who has always been at peace.

This is the problem with Marsalis' interpretation of A Love Supreme, he can create the bright light of salvation but can't evoke the shadows of the sinner. Marsalis blazes through "Resolution," the second movement, with a bright intensity. The playing is impeccable, full of bravado and intelligence. His brighter mood allows for playful improvisations, even breaking into a swinging dance at points. This track alone justifies the entire project.

Marsalis doesn't embarrass himself by any means. In fact, I came away from this recording more impressed with the saxophonist than I had been before. At the same time, he doesn't seem up to the challenge of rerecording the Coltrane classic. I don't believe a musician needs to drag himself through the hell of heroin to tackle A Love Supreme. The darkness, though, is an integral part of the work as Coltrane performed it. A less reverential player than Marsalis could find a way to fully reimagine Coltrane's masterpiece, breaking it loose from the moment of its conception and making it a classic composition instead of just a classic performance.

Marsalis released this performance as both a CD and a DVD, and it's difficult to see the value of the video. Unlike rock and roll, jazz has never been a theatrical genre. Plenty of fine musician stand still for two hours while improvising unbelievable music. Thankfully, though, jazz musicians mainly perform in small venues. There are no colored lights, video screens or smoke machines. In exchange, the close quarters allow you to watch the pianist ripple across the keyboard or the bassist's face grimace as he listens to the high glissando notes of his solo.

Moment's like this occur on the DVD, but I found myself frustrated that I had to watch the drummer when I would rather see the pianist. Or that the camera panned out when, if I were in the room, I would have leaned forward for a better look. The CD I'll listen to again, but I don't imagine I'll want to watch the performance more than once.