"Blue Train" (John Coltrane)

The album Blue Train (1957) wasn't John Coltrane's first time as bandleader; he'd recorded his solo debut, Coltrane, earlier that same year.  But Blue Train is where his artistic genius truly begins to shine.  Every solo flows so fluidly, it's as if the music is being poured into his body and is finding its outlet via his horn.  It's where you get the first real glimpse of Coltrane's hotline to the divine.
The album's title track remains one of my favorite jazz recordings of all time.  I first heard it on a Blue Note Records compilation album called The Best of Blue Note (1991), and I loved it from moment one.  As the name "Blue Train" implies, it's built around a basic 12-bar blues structure.  But it's what Coltrane and his band do with that structure that keeps the song from being anything but basic.
In short, the song is a journey of melody and virtuosity.  It's an aural representation of a passenger train trip: the engine easing out of the station and slowly gaining speed as it rolls past the graffitied backsides of tenements before finally rocketing into leafy suburbia, steady on its trajectory to the next metropolis.
It opens with this melancholy, minor-hued riff, which resembles a train whistle.  It remains in a minor key as Coltrane goes headlong into his excellent solo, but then as soon as the locomotive is up to speed, he shifts from minor to major, subtly creating this feeling of propulsion.  A few bars later, drummer Philly Joe Jones abandons his swing for a fast shuffle, which sounds like the click-clack of metal wheels on tracks.  Along the way, Coltrane's consummate sidemen (in order of soloing: Lee Morgan, trumpet; Curtis Fuller, trombone; Kenny Drew, piano; and Paul Chambers, bass) take their turns painting the world that's flying by the train windows.  (If I had to pick a favorite solo, it actually would be Fuller's.  It's mellow yet nimble—more nimble than I ever thought a trombone could be.)