Kind of blue booklet

MILES DAVIS Kind of Blue ➤

THE LAST KING OF AMERICA: HOW MILES DAVIS INVENTED MODERNITY

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We shall not cease from exploration —T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”

I

i

I’m not thinking about anybody but myself when we play. I mean, how is my audience gonna move me? I know that if I don’t move myself, then it’s no good. —Miles Davis, 1973 ii

By 1959, the year when the album Kind of

peramental, seemingly evil-minded artist: Lord

tertain his audience in the way a tap dancer, a

Blue was recorded, trumpeter Miles Davis had

Byron on a bandstand. (Both Davis and Byron

magician, or an acrobat might. How Davis’s de-

become one of the most famous jazz musicians

liked boxing and both were cruel to women.)

mand for dignity struck the public beyond the

of his generation (post-World War II), a cele-

This was clearly at the time a remarkably new

fact that many people were intrigued or even,

brated and singular personality in his culture

public persona for a black man to assume but

horror of horrors, “entertained” by it is unclear.

and in a profession where unusual and uncon-

Davis, undaunted by its daring, wore it with the

Some surely thought he was a snob, others that

ventional sorts were the rule, not the exception.

panache of swashbuckler.

he was overly sensitive (a common charge

He stood at a pinnacle, at a moment of mastery

“I’m a musician, I ain’t no comedian,” he

against a member of a persecuted minority who

not only of his music but also of his moment.

once growled at nightclub owner Max Gordon,

gets prickly), and still others probably thought

This was no small achievement as the jazz per-

“I don’t smile, I don’t bow. I turn my back . . .

he was simply engaging in an especially ornery

former is driven equally by talent; insufferable

The white man always wants you to smile, al-

form of special pleading. It is little wonder that

ego; obsessive, insular training and focus;

ways wants the black man to bow. I don’t

Davis emerged as a public figure at the same

blind confidence; self-destructive habits; and

smile, and I don’t bow. Ok? I’m here to play

time as novelist/essayist James Baldwin. De-

the abject fear of creative failure. Any sus-

music. I’m a musician.”iii These barks of artis-

spite the considerable differences between the

tained imbalance of these elements, a precar-

tic grouchiness, minor enough in most re-

two men, their upbringing, their temperament,

ious alchemy at best, will not produce anything

spects, were nearly revolutionary in the 1950s:

they served the same needs for both their black

but an artist who never realized or only dimly

first, Davis was insisting that as a black man he

and white publics—pride and racial break-

saw his or her gift, the stillborn genius or the

was entitled to be respected on his own terms

through for blacks, encounter and racial re-

anguished one-work wonder. Davis had his fair

for the performance of his craft; second, Davis

thinking for whites. (The two men were also

share of all these qualities and attributes, as

was insisting that being a musician, always a

alike in two important respects—they were

uncertainly poised as molecules in a volatile

suspect profession in the United States, was

small men with artistic bents who were the old-

formula. He played upon his strengths and

worthy of respect and was quite different from

est sons in their families.) Davis changed his

weaknesses and bedeviled his audience with

being an entertainer. (Davis had nothing per-

culture by changing how whites saw black

them for adulation as much as those strengths

sonal against entertainers and often went to

artists and how whites and blacks understood

and weaknesses played upon and bedeviled

see them perform. He just wanted to make it

jazz. He was not alone in doing this but he was

him. He was both feared and admired, and ad-

clear to the public that he was not one of

a major figure in transforming America.

mired for being feared as an imposing, tem-

them.) Davis never thought he was there to en-

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II

Having money has helped me once in a while, but I’m not looking for help. I’m even the one that’s the

helper, helping people by playing my music.

—Miles Davis, 1972 iv

What made Davis extraordinary was that by the

1. The music itself, as nearly every commenta-

which it was generated. Davis did this in Kind

end of the 1950s, he gave every impression to

tor has pointed out, was built on scales and not

of Blue without any sense of self-conscious-

the public of being a highly exploratory, prob-

chords, as was traditional for the jazz performer

ness that what was being done was new or the-

ing musician while never seeming at all outside

who needed chords (and fake books) as the

oretical, unlike Coleman, which is one reason

the mainstream of what jazz was becoming or

building blocks for solos. But what has been

why Davis’s album became so popular and be-

had become since World War II. The great

less noticed is that the intention of moving

came, not a signifier of the new or the revolu-

achievement of Kind of Blue was that it was an

away from chords was to free both the soloist

tionary, which would have dated it, but rather,

experimental record, experimental music, that

and the music itself from being over-deter-

more strikingly, a signifier of the hip and the

never seemed at all experimental. Ironically,

mined and predictable, to make the music

cool, which made it timeless.

what made the music seem so fresh and ap-

more spontaneous and instinctive and not a lot

pealing to listeners, even to people who dis-

of virtuosic strategizing about running through

2. Kind of Blue harkened back to Davis’s Birth

liked jazz, was that all of it seemed so familiar.

a set of chords; in short, to make jazz less bor-

of the Cool sessions of 1949 and 1950 in

The music never put you on the spot as a lis-

ing as instrumental music. This is exactly what

being a very self-aware collaboration between

tener by revealing your inadequacies to appre-

Ornette Coleman was doing in 1959 with his

black and white musicians, a stylistic and cul-

ciate it. This is usually how many of the most

album, The Shape of Jazz to Come, and with

tural fusion, in much the way his Columbia

significant artistic innovations have worked:

his controversial gig at the Five Spot the same

Records orchestral collaborations with arranger

the audience is taken somewhere it’s never

year, albeit with a different theory. The aim was

Gil Evans were. Clearly, white pianist Bill Evans

been while passing a lot of well-known

the same: to free the soloist and the music

was central to the concept and success of Kind

signposts. Kind of Blue was experimental in

from routine and to re-establish the rigors of

of Blue, which is why Columbia had him write

several ways:

creating improvisational composition by re-cre-

the liner notes, although he was upset in later

ating the conventions of the discipline within

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THE PLAZA, NYC, SEPTEMBER 1958

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years that he did not get as much credit for his

standard small group jazz album of the day

collaboration as he should have, especially

was. Kind of Blue was one of the few jazz

monetary and composer credit. (Composer

records of its time that had a sense of narra-

theft in jazz was quite commonplace. A musi-

tive, a cohesive inter-relation between the

cian had to watch his tunes as much as he did

tunes. It was a work, not a bunch of disparate

his money. Did Davis really write “Blue in

tunes used to pace a small group jazz album:

Green” or “Flamenco Sketches”? Did Davis re-

one fast-tempo piece, one ballad, one blues,

ally write “Nardis” or “Milestones”? We will

one or two standards, a bop-oriented original.

never really know for sure.) Davis himself over

The sense of the album as an organic whole

the years had mixed feelings about his collab-

added to its appeal.

orations with white musicians. In an interview with Nat Hentoff published in 1958, he said,

4. Kind of Blue, its sonic accessibility, its mod-

“Boy, I’ve sure learned a lot from Bill Evans.

erate-to-slow tempi, its inspired but tempered

He plays the piano the way it should be played.

performances, was an album that was tailor-

He plays all kinds of scales; can play in 5/4;

made for the Columbia House Record Club,

and all kinds of fantastic things. There’s such

started four years earlier (1955) as a way to

a difference between him and Red Garland

generate a mail order business for LPs. Here

whom I also like a lot. Red carries the rhythm,

was a jazz album that would appeal to both

but Bill underplays it, and I like that better.”v

Middle America as a kind of hip mood music as

In a 1973 interview, at a time when Davis

well as to jazz fans and purists as state-of-the-

spoke more harshly about whites and about

art, uncompromised jazz: non-commercial jazz

race, he said, “Let them [the critics] say it. I

for commercial or aspiring taste. Kind of Blue,

don’t care what they say. As long as I been

in other words, was one of those records, along

playing they never say I done anything. They

with Dave Brubeck’s Time Out, another Colum-

always say that some white guy did it.”vi But

bia jazz record released in 1959, that made

the blending of black and white jazz is key to

jazz a middlebrow music, a respectable music

the mystique of the album.

for middle-class, educated people who felt they

3. Kind of Blue would not have been possible

tant for Davis both commercially and artisti-

had refined taste. This was enormously impor-

if the LP did not exist. It was jazz conceived

cally for the rest of his career. As jazz ceased

for the record album, not only because of the

to be dance music, it needed middlebrow sta-

playing times of the tunes but also because of

tus in order to survive as art music. Davis was

how the album creates an overall mood. Kind

essential in making this transformation possible. NEWPORT, JULY 1958 Miles and Guests

of Blue is not simply a series of tracks as the

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III

Yeah, you have to come up through those ranks. They can always do that; but you don’t hear anybody doing that old shit with me. You know, some guys are still playing all that shit we did years ago, things I did with Bird and stuff; they’re still using those clichés and calling it jazz. Black guys as well as white guys. I hear it over and over again—shit I’ve even forgotten. —Miles Davis, 1972 vii

What drove Miles Davis? In part, the masculine

Davis’s contemporaries like Dizzy Gillespie,

sense of competition that always characterized

Chet Baker (the blonde bombshell, the James

the life of the working jazz musician who

Dean of jazz, who could also sing languid bal-

wanted more than just a gig at the corner bar.

lads), Shorty Rodgers, Maynard Ferguson, the

The jazz musician had to have his own voice,

teenage wonder, Lee Morgan, Booker Little,

survive jam sessions and cutting contests, tol-

Kenny Dorham, Donald Byrd, Freddie Hub-

erate long trips on the road and playing in un-

bard, and the ghost of the recently and tragi-

congenial, sub-standard venues, and endure

cally deceased Clifford Brown. By the end of

withering criticism from colleagues and critics

the 1950s, Davis eclipsed them all, had thor-

without being fazed by it. In short, a successful

oughly stamped the age of post-war jazz, had

jazz musician with a national reputation had to

made himself a leader in the way the other

be a fairly tough or fairly stoic s.o.b. (More so,

great trumpeters, indeed, other jazz musicians

if a woman.) For Davis in 1959, for instance,

of comparable skill, had not: as a virtuoso who

was surrounded by more living and working

did not have the skills of the virtuoso but had

jazz musicians than any comparable figure is

the virtuoso’s feelings, sense of flair for the

today, if only because jazz is less listened to

dramatic, sense of risk and brinksmanship. He

and less performed today and fewer people,

was also, by 1959, the hero and the villain of

from necessity, practice the craft as once did.

his own self-constructed myth: the bad, uncouth

But in the late 1950s, old heads from earlier eras were still around and still playing well and working regularly like Harry James and Henry

BIRDLAND, NYC, 1959

“Red” Allen. The great Louis Armstrong, the inventor of modern jazz trumpeting and modern jazz singing, had released two years earlier his “Musical Autobiography,” which revealed that Pops was still the master of the realm and remained an extraordinarily compelling soloist. There were Davis’s influences and teachers like Clark Terry, Roy Eldridge, Ray Nance, and Buck Clayton, still alive and kicking. There were

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black man and the brooding black genius. That

shocked the nation in the way no other racial

Pulitzer Prize in 1950 for Maud Martha,

he was able to do this as a black man was a

lynching had. The southern white reaction to

novelist Ralph Ellison won the National Book

sign of his will and a sign of the changing

the integration of Central High School in Little

Award for fiction in 1952 for Invisible Man,

times.

Rock outraged even Louis Armstrong, not

and playwright Lorraine Hansberry won the

The idea that the 1950s were some tran-

known for public expressions of militancy or

Drama Critics’ Circle Award in 1959 for A

quil time of We Like Ike and the white subur-

racial displeasure. Blacks were now actively

Raisin in the Sun. In other realms, Dorothy

ban pastoral, of the nuclear family and

and publicly protesting their second-class sta-

Dandridge was nominated for an Oscar for

traditional values, is largely a thought cliché. It

tus. But it was also the time of stunning

playing the title role in Carmen Jones (1955);

was more a time of jittery transition: a bloody

crossover for blacks as their talents for the first

singer Nat “King” Cole had a television show

three-year war in Korea that ended in a stale-

time were recognized by the guardians of high

(briefly); and blacks organized to have the tel-

mate opened the decade (and lasted nearly as

culture: poet Gwendolyn Brooks won the

evised version of the famous radio program

long as our time in World War II); McCarthyism cast a long shadow of fear, loathing, and mistrust over the land and made “un-American” a common expression in our language; Atomic bombs were tested in the desert as nuclear war seemed imminent; the Russians launched Sputnik in 1957 and started the space race; Fidel Castro seized Cuba in 1959 and for the next several years the United States tried unsuccessfully to assassinate him as it fought communism with a half-crazed foreign policy; and juvenile delinquency raged across the nation. Race relations began to change as both blacks and liberal whites challenged Jim Crow segregation and the state-sanctioned political and economic degradation of blacks. Just five years before Kind of Blue was recorded, the United States Supreme Court declared statesponsored segregation unconstitutional in Brown v. Topeka Board of Education. The Montgomery bus boycott of 1955-56 made Martin Luther King, Jr. a household name and was the beginning of the end of white southern privilege. The horrific murder of 14-year old Emmitt Till in 1955 galvanized blacks and

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54th PRECINCT, NYC, AUGUST 1959 Miles Davis with wife Frances Taylor

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“Amos and Andy” taken off the air. Miles Davis

Kind of Blue was recorded in two sessions:

i

T. S. Eliot, The Complete Poems and Plays,

emerged as a national figure during this time

March 2 and April 22, 1959. It was released

1909-1950, p. 145

as something like a militant race man but also

on August 17. A week later, on August 25,

ii

a firm integrationist. And he was never, fortu-

Davis was beaten and arrested by white New

ion: Four Decades of Commentary, (New York:

nately, a doctrinaire leftist but he shrewdly cul-

York City policemen while standing around in

Schirmer Books, 1996), p. 153

tivated an image of himself as something of an

front of the nightclub where he was playing,

iii

iconoclast who valued establishment, Playboy

enjoying a cigarette between sets, after escort-

ion: Four Decades of Commentary, p. 94

magazine-type ideas of masculine success: a

ing a white woman from the club to catch a

iv

nice home with modern art and more modern

cab. This made him an instant civil rights hero

ion: Four Decades of Commentary, p. 122

gadgets; lovely women as trophies; expensive,

and, as much as anything, legitimatized him

v

well-tailored clothes, and fast, foreign cars.

with blacks and with the young as something of

ion: Four Decades of Commentary, p. 89

Davis was always a man who was fascinated by

a rebel with a cause. That image of himself

vi

his own hunger, as he fascinated the public

may have been tarnished and a bit battered

ion: Four Decades of Commentary, p. 155

with how he fed his appetites and rages. He

over the years, but Davis was never to lose it.

vii

had no sentiment. He had no nostalgia. Noth-

GERALD EARLY, June 2008

ing he had done would ever be a reference for

Gerald Early is the Merle Kling Professor of Modern Letters at

what he would do: that was the definition of

Washington University in St. Louis. His liner notes have been nominated twice for Grammy Awards. He is currently the series

posed to be. Nothing more, nothing less.

editor for Best African American Essays and Best African American Fiction. Both volumes will debut in the spring of 2009.

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modernity and that was what jazz was sup-

➤

Gary Carner (ed.), The Miles Davis Compan-

Gary Carner (ed.), The Miles Davis Compan-

Gary Carner (ed.), The Miles Davis Compan-

Gary Carner (ed.), The Miles Davis Compan-

Gary Carner (ed.), The Miles Davis Compan-

Gary Carner (ed.), The Miles Davis Compan-

ion: Four Decades of Commentary, p. 120

BETWEEN THE TAKES ➤

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T

oday at Sony, an official re-

star cast of improvisers. The cool confidence

quest to review the reel-to-

of a star bandleader.

reel tapes from the typical,

To Miles and his men in 1959, Kind of

late ’50s session at 30th

Blue was another day at work. The closest we

Street Studio—Johnny Mathis

may come to witnessing such a melodic, mas-

or Doris Day, Duke Ellington

terpiece of a workday follows.

or Miles Davis—brings up boxes upon boxes of reels. But the Kind of Blue sessions hardly dented the tape budget. Three reels of Scotch 190, at the time a workhorse product of the recording industry, hold all that was recorded at those two historic dates in 1959. One reel is the assembled master, spliced together from two master session reels to create the original release of Kind of Blue in its familiar sequence. It is this reel from which successive editions of the album were created for almost forty years; despite the estimable shelf life of the tape brand, it was retired as splices fell apart and the tape began to deteriorate. Then there is a safety master from each of the sessions. It is on these two reels that one can hear what is normally dismissed as record-

ing detritus: a few false starts, a number of take breakdowns, and the studio chatter that took place when the record button was lit. It’s not much, but it reveals a lot. Beyond the mere novelty of hearing Miles Davis’s hoarse voice, much can be gleaned through focused listening: the innovative methods used to create the unusual styles and exceedingly simple structures on Kind of Blue. The analog recording process in the heyday of high-fidelity. The camaraderie and comedy shared by an all-

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FIRST SESSION—MARCH 2, 1959—2:30 PM FREDDIE FREELOADER – studio sequence 1

enough to bring even the most laid-back band-

Freeloader,” which effectively creates an en-

leader to a boil. Miles Davis’s short-fuse repu-

ergy-shifting buffer between the cycle of solos

tation was well established by 1959, yet from

and the closing theme of the tune.

Irving Townsend: The machine’s on . . .

the outset of the first of two sessions that

In choosing to first record “Freddie Free-

Miles Davis: Him, me, him, you . . .

yielded Kind of Blue, all seems easy-going and

loader” that afternoon (it would become the

IT: Here we go: CO 62290, no title, Take 1 . . .

. . . fun. Out of the public eye and in his

second track on Kind of Blue) Davis even

Unidentified: . . . B-flat on the end?

circle—among familiar sidemen and studio

seems mindful of his sidemen. It would be the

MD: Hey Wynton, after Cannonball, you play

staff—Davis was in his element. He and the

sole album track featuring Wynton Kelly, who

again and then we’ll come in and end it.

producer Irving Townsend share a laugh when

was then holding the piano chair in Davis’s

he moves a microphone, both Adderley and

group vacated the previous November by Bill

“Freddie Freeloader,” Take 1—Davis whistles

Townsend pointing out that maneuvering

Evans.

after the eighth bar, cutting off the take.

equipment in Columbia’s studio was exclusively a union responsibility.

Kelly had been informed of the recording session, but not that his predecessor was play-

MD: It was too fast.

ing on most of the tracks. “Wynton used to

IT: Miles, where you going to work now?

come to the gigs from Brooklyn by cab because

MD: Right here.

he couldn’t stand the subway,” Jimmy Cobb re-

IT: OK, ’cause if you move back we don’t get

members. “So he saw Bill sitting at the piano

you. You were right when you played before . . .

and was flabbergasted! He said, ‘Damn, I

MD: When I play I’m going to raise my horn a

rushed all the way over here and someone else

little bit. Can I move this down a little bit?

is sitting at the piano!’ I said, ‘Hold it before

(moves microphone)

you go off, you’re on the date too.’”

Cannonball Adderley: The union’s gonna bust

Whether to minimize Kelly’s time at the

you.

session, reassure him of his continuing posi-

IT: It’s against policy to move a microphone . . .

tion at Davis’s side, or both, Davis helped mat-

(laughs)

ters by calling on Kelly first. When the clock is

Fred Plaut: Just remain . . . (Townsend releases

ticking, a smart bandleader knows the value of

the talk-back button, cutting off the engineer’s

avoiding drama—or of fueling it, as Davis was

German-accented remark)

also wont to do.

IT: Here we go. Ready? Number 2 . . .

Davis’s dialogue also revealed a flexibility in restructuring music in the moment. As the

FREDDIE FREELOADER – false start

Between production budgets, the studio clock,

tape started rolling, Davis was caught instruct-

Take 3 of “Freddie Freeloader” makes it

technical snafus, and other unforeseen pres-

ing Wynton Kelly to return for one chorus after

through the familiar theme (loosely based on

sures, recording sessions can be intense

Cannonball Adderley’s statement on “Freddie

the melody of “Soft Winds”) and makes it into

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Wynton Kelly’s solo. Before the second chorus

muffled voice: . . . last 4 bars?

of the piano ends, Miles whistles off the take.

MD: No. Wait a minute . . . it’s the last 12 bars.

MD: Hey look Wynton, don’t play no chord

Chambers solos for one chorus, and the horns

going into the A-flat . . .

join in for the closing theme.

ing, he was all for it. This is the first time the only Insert take for “Freddie Freeloader” has been available.

SO WHAT – studio sequence 1 The door to the control room closes and foot-

Three points of interest here: first, even after

MD: All right?

the third take of “Freddie,” Miles is still tin-

IT: Yeah.

steps approach the talkback microphone.

kering, making small structural changes after

MD: Let’s hear a little bit of it.

IT: Here we go.

calling off the performance with a whistle

IT: Right.

MD: Wait a minute.

Yes, in the studio or on the stage, Davis fol-

MD: Wait one minute

rather than a shout (made necessary by the permanent damage he caused his vocal chords

IT: CO 62291, number 2, Take 1.

in 1955 after getting into a shouting match

lowed a “first idea, best idea” philosophy. He

Cannonball Adderley: One short second . . .

with a club manager).

once famously admonished George Coleman,

PC: Gimme a D, Bill.

Second, despite Davis’s general compul-

one of a string of renowned saxophone players,

sion to simplify harmonic rigidity using a modal

when he heard him practicing in his hotel

Bill Evans plays a note on the piano to help

approach on most of Kind of Blue, he was still

room; the bandleader wanted him to save his

Paul Chambers tune his bass, which he

a stickler for structural precision—willing to

freshest ideas for that night’s gig. Of more than

checks, playing with the bow.

call off a take as Kelly misses an unusual, but

30 albums in the Davis discography, Kind of

significant structural twist during his solo.

Blue is one of the strongest examples of that

Davis created “Freddie” as a 24-bar blues—

aesthetic.

rather than the standard 12-bar form—and he wanted that form followed.

IT: Number 2, Take 1.

Yet, that Davis felt the need to rerecord

Chambers plays the opening sequence to the

the closing theme of “Freddie” with the intent

“So What” prelude and Evans answers with a

And third, as a bandleader, Davis gave

of later splicing it onto the end of the first com-

series of haunting chords. A voice calls off the

minimum instruction. “He never told anyone

plete take (hence Townsend dubbed it an “In-

take in the studio.

what to play but would say, ‘Man, you don’t

sert”) shows Davis also felt a priority in the

need to do that,’” Adderley recalled in a 1972

final product. He was never the purist—neither

radio interview. “Miles really told everybody

in jazz styles nor record making. Tape splicing

what not to do. I heard him and dug it.”

created almost all of the tracks on Miles Ahead, his first collaboration with Gil Evans,

FREDDIE FREELOADER – studio sequence 2

all the lonelier on Kind of Blue (an echo cham-

IT: Here we go. This is Insert 1, Take 1

Street Studio). Synthesizers and MIDI technol-

Sound of finger-snapping

thirty years later. If it created a better record-

in 1957. Echo made his lonely trumpet sound

ber had been built into the basement at 30th

ogy helped Davis update the sound of fusion

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IT: Start again please.

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With deliberate focus and at an even more lan-

IT: Watch the snare too—we’re picking up

guid tempo than the released take, Evans and

some of the vibrations on it.

That Davis answers Townsend’s chiding about studio noise certainly stems from a need

Chambers played the “So What” prelude. The

MD: Well that goes with it.

to respond with wit or feigned challenge. But

bassist ended the section with a long, low note

IT: What?

what a perfect and revealing reply: One need

that edged toward distortion (begging the ques-

MD: All that goes with it.

only think of Davis’s embracing of electronics

tion why Townsend did not halt the take at this

IT: All right (chuckles)—not all the other noises

in the ’60s, and rhythmic layering in the ’70s,

point). Chambers played the familiar “So

though . . . Take 2.

to know Davis was not one to pass up the

What” theme, Evans added punctuation, and

chance to exploit an unexpected sound or mu-

as they completed the first chorus the rustle of

By 1959, the relationship between producer

paper is heard.

and artist was rapidly moving away from the former in total charge, determining all (song

SO WHAT – studio sequence 2

IT: Hold it . . . sorry . . . listen, we gotta watch

selection, final takes) to a more equal-minded

The final take of “So What” ends somewhat

sical flavor.

it because if there’s noise all the way through

approach. Instructions were no longer simply

jaggedly; a gentle fade out was eventually used

this. This is so quiet to begin with, that every

barked from control room to studio. Producers

on the album.

click sounds . . .

were becoming careful to make decisions

MD: (unintelligible, to a sideman)

jointly and to speak more as a partner over the

CA: (singing) With a sooong in my heart . . .

Unidentified: All right . . .

talkback.

Probably PC: (singing the “So What” theme)

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Dik-dik-du-gong . . . dit-dit . . .

IT: CO 62292—Number 3, Take 1

tained meeting of Davis and Evans, the two ar-

The take ends almost immediately. Evans ab-

chitects behind Kind of Blue. At the last

Why Adderley chose a Rodgers and Hart com-

breviates the introduction, leading to a brief

minute,

position with which to express himself, and

confirmation of the form.

the

bandleader

informs

John

Coltrane—whose talent at imbuing a downtempo ballad with heart-breaking delicacy was

dispel the sobriety of “So What,” who knows? Perhaps a certain melodic or harmonic similar-

Bill Evans: We better do that again . . .

then gaining renown—that he should play as

ity between the two triggered the choice. Per-

PC: Can we start on the last four bars?

well. Note Davis’s standard protocol: he

haps it was simply Adderley’s sense of humor:

BE: That’s what I thought . . .

informs the producer first, then asks, or rather

juxtaposing the old and the new—a slightly

MD: Last four bars, but then you repeat it.

tells Coltrane to play on the tune.

mushy lyric (With a song in my heart/I behold

BE: Oh, do it twice.

your adorable face/Just a song at the start/But

MD: So it’s eight.

it soon is a hymn to your grace) with the hip,

BE: All right . . .

• In 1986, keyboardist and journalist Ben Sidran asked Davis about Kind of Blue: “Does the success of that record surprise you, Miles?

bittersweet elegance of “So What.” Speaking of hip: how finger-snappingly

Finger snaps

It seems to have been such a simple record in a lot of ways.” “Not back then,” Davis replied.

effective is the primary theme to “So What”? It is certainly the most instantly recognized

IT: Take 2

“Because Bill Evans, his approach to the piano brought that . . . out. He used to bring me

melody on Kind of Blue—and arguably one of the most easily recalled in modern jazz. It’s

Evans plays the introduction, and Miles’s

pieces by Ravel . . . and Bill used to tell me

easy-going yet strong enough to leave its im-

muted trumpet is heard as Cobb starts playing

about different modes, which I already knew.”

print no matter the fidelity: a high quality stu-

the snare, using only one brush to achieve a

dio recording, a whistle heard from a passing

lighter feel than normal. Chambers hits a

It seemed to require effort at times, but Davis

stranger.

wrong note and the take breaks down.

never denied Evans’s contribution to, or the collaborative heart of Kind of Blue. Nowhere is

The voice singing the theme probably belongs to Chambers, who, after playing it for

Unintelligible studio chatter

their teamwork more evident than in the rampup to the final take of “Blue in Green.” Evans

the first time, apparently could not get it out of his head—the magical, melodic quality every

MD: Use both hands, Jimmy.

took an active role for the first time during the

songwriter strives to create.

Jimmy Cobb: Huh?

session as the two speak and work out the

MD: Just use both hands and play it the best

structure of the tune.

BLUE IN GREEN – studio sequence

way you can. You know, it’ll be all right.

IT: Just you four guys on this, right Miles?

There’s a wealth of details evident in the

“Blue in Green” Davis’s instruction was

MD: Five . . . No, you play.

dialogue preceding the last tune that day:

simple. “I want a floating sound.” Uhhh, OK.

• Jimmy Cobb remembers when recording

Cobb’s response was to try a one-handed apFaintly perceptible in the background is

• As Townsend’s question seems to suggest,

proach to the brushes. After hearing the result,

Evans’s voice, directing the structure of the

“Blue in Green” may have been originally in-

Davis urged him to play the brushes normally.

tune.

tended as a quartet performance—a more con-

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SECOND SESSION—APRIL 22, 1959—2:30 PM FLAMENCO SKETCHES – studio sequence 1

produced music for Kind of Blue. The feeling

later—laughs and repeats his line. Not a high

must have been infectious. In reference to

point of improvised comedy, but an amusing

Davis insisting on keeping the rattle from the

snapshot of the bonhomie often in play at

CA: Damn thing, right?

open snare on “So What” at the last session,

Davis’s sessions back then.

MD: Hey Cannon . . .

Townsend announced (or “slated” as its known in studio parlance) the first take of the after-

FLAMENCO SKETCHES – studio sequence 2

Studio chatter and bass playing is heard.

noon as “Surface Noise.”

IT: Take 2.

out to Adderley that his chair would make a

MD: Wait a minute Irving . . . wait.

noise if he stood up during the take, to which

MD: Let’s try it again Irving.

IT: OK.

the alto saxophonist responded with a zinger

IT: Ready . . . Take 5, Miles.

MD: (to CA) Hey when you raise up off the stool

that made Davis chuckle, who then baited

man you get . . . oh yeah! (laughter)

Townsend by complaining about the studio

At the first modal transition, Evans comes in

MD: (to IT) You know your floor squeaks, you

floor squeaking. The producer acknowledged

early.

know. You know what I mean? Can you hear

the ribbing, as Adderley dismissed the con-

The good humor persisted: Davis pointed

Miles cuts off Take 4 with a long trill.

me?

cern, calling it “surface noise.” Unable to re-

MD: You’re not watching, Bill.

IT: Yeah!

sist a quick pun, Evans chimes in with his own

BE: I know. I’m sorry.

Unidentified: unintelligible

General laughter.

zinger and Coltrane mimics Davis’s contention

MD: Try it again Irving.

that any studio noise is part of the perform-

IT: Right, 6!

ance. Adderley—catching Evans’s pun a beat

MD: Let’s go! CA: That’s surface noise you know.

PC wipes bass.

BE: . . . surf-ass noise. JC: It’s all part of the tune, man. CA: (laughs) Surf-ASS noise! IT: Here we go. Take 2 . . .

The members of the Miles Davis group arrived in jolly spirits for the second session that

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ALL BLUES – studio sequence Unidentified: Ssshhhhooooooo! Probably PC: (panting) Damn that’s a hard mother! BE: Boy, if I didn’t have coffee . . . IT: What?

At 11:36, “All Blues” was the longest performance on Kind of Blue. After struggling a bit with “Flamenco Sketches” at the start of the session, recording two nine-and-a-half minute “Flamenco Sketches” was one of two highly

takes of the tune, and then “All Blues”? If the

unusual musical structures on Kind of Blue

session had not been over, it would have been

(the other being the 10-bar circular form of

time for a serious break.

“Blue in Green”). Amazingly, the sextet pro-

As easy-rolling as “All Blues” may sound,

duces a relatively smooth, complete take on

the discomfort of repeatedly playing the same

the first try. Convinced they can do better,

musical phrase—even for veteran musicians—

Davis directed the group through a few more

became apparent as the tune ends. Fingers

attempts before nailing the final master with

and lips finally relaxed. One musician breathed

Take 6.

an exaggerated sigh of relief, Chambers panted

Essentially a series of five harmonies—

like a dog and used one of Davis’s favorite

with no opening or closing theme—“Sketches”

terms to describe the tune. Evans noted the

relied heavily on the roles of the pianist and

performance-enhancing effect of caffeine.

bassist to define structure and guide solos. Ap-

One other indicator of the unusual length

parently, this was accomplished visually as well

of the tune is discernible in the liquid rasp of

as musically, the soloists signaling as they

Davis’s trumpet. It had been awhile since he

switched from one mode to another. At one

had the opportunity to clear the instrument’s

point before Take 3, Chambers commented “I

spit-valve. Even that—as the maestro would

forgot—I thought I could close my eyes . . .”

say—goes with it.

and Take 5 ended as Evans anticipated Davis’s

ASHLEY KAHN, JUNE 2008

first transition early while not looking at the

Ashley Kahn is a music journalist and author of Kind of Blue:

trumpeter. Davis chided Evans, who apologized,

The Making of the Miles Davis Masterpiece, and other books on jazz. His voice is often heard on NPR’s Morning Edition.

and the next take proved to be the master.

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PHOTOGRAPHY: cover, pages 6, 11: © Chuck Stewart; pages 5, 12-13, 15: Don Hunstein/Sony Archives; page 7: Vernon Smith; page 9: Beuford Smith/Cesaire; page 10: Vincent Lopez, New York Journal – American Collection, Harry Ransom Humanities Research Center, University of Texas; pages 14, 16, 18-19: Teo Macero Collection: Music Division, The New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, Astor, Lenox and Tilden Foundations

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