In October 1955, Chet Baker and his Quartet were to give a series of concerts, notably in France. Many French people expected a playboy and dilettante trumpeter to get off the plane; the man who arrived was someone who lived only for, and by, his art. A first album recorded in Paris placed him in the jazz avant-garde; the series of recordings that followed formed the private journal of someone so incapable of hiding his emotions that he sublimated them in the only way he knew: in music.