Even though it was more than two
decades ago, I still clearly remember parts of the day that I learned Miles Davis had died. I was
a freshman, and that memory starts while I was sitting at a table
having lunch. First, Cathy approached, set down her books, turned to
me and asked “Weren't you talking about that guy Miles Davis the
other day?” By freshman year, I was playing pretty intensely (or
so I thought). I had long since lost interest in the mainstream
sounds of the day, and Miles had become one of my favorite musicians.
“Yeah,” I answered, my voice rising, so as to trail off with a
question. I was surprised Cathy brought him up. “That's what I thought,” she said, her smile melted
into a very different expression. “I heard he died the other day.”
I'm not sure why, but I thought she
was kidding. Cathy said she'd be right back, and hustled off to grab
a sandwich. Within minutes, Cathy's roommate Becky found her way to
the same table and said to me “Did you hear that Miles Davis
died?” I chuckled. I mean, her roommate just laid this on me and
now she was too. It had to be a put on. They had schemed this up to
play a gag on me. I was certain of it.
No sooner had Becky finished uttering her words, when Tom raced over to me. “I've been looking for you everywhere for the last
three days," he said. "Did you hear that Miles Davis died?” “Alright, you almost got me that time," was my reply. "I was starting to believe it. First Cathy, then Becky, and now you." Tom paused, shook his head, and drew in a deep breath. “No, man, I'm serious, Miles died.”
I have been to hundreds of live
performances, but I never got to be in the same room as Miles and
hear that horn. It stung. I had plans, a promise
really, with a musician friend back in Boston – we would hear Miles
on his next tour, no matter what.
That tour never came.
The month of May marks Miles' birthday. May 26. Happy birthday Miles! Thanks for all the gifts. You know, those recordings you left for us.
This June will make 20 years since Davis' last studio album, Doo Bop, has been
released. It was a controversial release, as parts of it were finished after he had passed. Furthermore, the music marked a change in the trumpeter's direction by featuring synth bass, looped tracks, and assorted elements of electronica. In some ways, those sounds seem dated now. In others, they still seem relevant and fresh.
Like a lot of other people, Davis' music was a Gateway of sound for me. On one side stood mainstream music. On the other side, something different. The album that lured me through the portal, the first sounds of Davis' music that I heard were off Four & More. It had Ron Carter on bass, my instrument, and Boston native Tony Williams on drums. I remember Carter's big, round sound; his flowing style. I remember Williams' adaptive playing; his exploratory and rhythmic use of cymbals. I had never heard anything like that music - that was when I discovered jazz.
In the book Jazz Styles, musicologist
Mark Gridley states "Miles Davis is a jazz trumpeter and
bandleader who has played a pivotal role in the history of modern
jazz because he has been deeply involved in according and promoting
several styles well before they became widespread trends. Over a
fifty- year period of productivity, Davis has contributed
stylistically diverse body of music, parts of which defined jazz for
three different generations of listeners. His recordings have won the
near universal admiration of fellow jazz musicians. A significant
slice of modern jazz history is documented in Davis-led recording
sessions because he gathered the key innovators of the day for his
bands. Unlike most artists, Davis never became limited to one
particular band style.”
Gridley also discusses how Davis created an original trumpet style, participated in what writers
called cool jazz, worked with Bill Evans to pioneer modal and
improvisational approaches to music with the Kind of Blue recordings, and combined
elements of jazz, rock, and funk on works such as In a Silent Way,
Bitches Brew and On The Corner (which was recorded 40 years ago this
summer).
In short, Miles was a musical icon. In 1986, the New England Conservatory bestowed an honorary doctorate of music upon him. In 1990, he received the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award.
I never got to hear that horn played
live. I'll have to live with that. It still kind of burns me.
In the 1989 Autobiography Miles, Davis states: "The very first thing I remember in my early childhood is a flame." Ironic, I guess, so I've decided to use this reflection of Miles and his music, the same music that ignited my passion for jazz, as a simple way to begin this monthly blog. Welcome to Hub Jazz.
