Sometimes the journey is as interesting as the arrival, and it makes the arrival more appreciable, because you know how you got there. This 7-CD boxset captures Miles’ journey from potential stagnation to a great new quintet. The music comes from a succession of transitional lineups, beginning with two studio sessions and then turning to a series of live sets. The liner essay highlights details of the performances, and the remastering of the various source tapes is good.

4/16-17/1963: Disc 1 contains a session recorded in Hollywood with a stopgap band. A succession of early-60s saxophonists led Miles to settle on tenor George Coleman, a decent journeyman who mixed agile scalar activity with soulful licks and the occasionally ingenious melodic figure. Bassist Ron Carter becomes entrenched in Miles’ world; he’s as reliable an anchor as Paul Chambers, and he leaves intriguing spaces in his lines. (How crucial is finding the right bassist? Miles leaned on Chambers and Carter for several years each, as other musicians came and went.) Drummer Frank Butler plays orderly swing. Victor Feldman is perhaps the most elegant pianist Miles had yet used. More importantly though, Feldman contributes two of the snazziest original tunes on any Miles Davis record, “Joshua” and “Seven Steps to Heaven”.

A previously unreleased version of “Joshua” leads off the box. The piece is like “So What” with a masters degree: a syncopated two-chord call, a quick melodic response, a modulated cadence, and modal solo room. This version is at a laid back tempo, and Miles widens the track’s character by starting on muted trumpet and then switching to open horn after a quick Feldman bridge. Later versions are played at a faster tempo, yet the casual pace of the original makes a special mood. “Seven Steps to Heaven” is every bit as catchy; its bright melody outlines common ii-V changes along with an uncommon major third shift. It’s given two run-throughs at this session, and even though the band hasn’t quite gotten all the elements in place, these “hidden” versions compare well to the master made by a different band at the next session. Miles plays in a mute, Feldman takes fine piano solos, and the drum breaks are classy. Apart from a few kinks, these make great comparative listening.

Nearly as infectious as “Seven Steps” and “Joshua” is the pop song “So Near So Far”, in a delightful 4/4 swing. The melody blends an anthemic two-note figure with longer tones over ascending chords. Miles plays the theme on open horn and then takes his solo muted. Coleman is in good form as well. This version of “So Near So Far” initially saw release on the 1981 dead letter office Directions.

What did get quickly released from the session is a series of slower pieces with Coleman absent and Miles playing muted trumpet. “I Fall in Love Too Easily” is the shortest of the bunch, and like so many standard ballads, Miles strips it to his liking. “Summer Night” is an evocative song in a relaxed setting. Then there are two songs that date from the earlier part of the century, “Basin Street Blues” and “Baby Won’t You Please Come Home”. Both sound anachronistic against the original music of the session, and that’s exactly how I hear these pieces - they’re Miles’ farewell to a distant past, one that probably made him feel a little nostalgic. Otherwise, why record them, when they pose no “modern” challenge? Davis’ plaintive, personal solos wander for a while, which brings up an interesting point. On most slow tunes, Miles will usually take one chorus, two at the most, leaving the listener tantalized and wondering where else he could have gone had he kept playing. “Basin Street Blues” and “Please Come Home” answer that question - not very far. Feldman enlivens both tunes in his more active solos.

Columbia used “Summer Night” to fill out the 1963 Quiet Nights LP, otherwise comprised of abandoned Miles/Gil Evans music. “I Fall in Love”, “Basin Street”, and “Please Come Home” were earmarked for the Seven Steps to Heaven LP, the remainder of which was recorded at the next session.

5/14/63: Back in NYC with Coleman and Carter, and introducing pianist Herbie Hancock and drummer Tony Williams. (Feldman and Butler turned down potential jobs in order to stay out west.) Hancock is a key addition thanks to his versatility. He’s full of harmonic and rhythmic ideas, while his linear range exceeds that of Davis’ previous pianists. Tony Williams is simply a phenomenon at this young age, moving the drums from a support instrument to an “engaged” instrument. Williams had already cut some groundbreaking music with Jackie McLean (One Step Beyond had just been recorded in April), yet he came to public prominence with Miles. The two newcomers were a perfect fit for Ron Carter, whose bass was ready and waiting for their musical personalities. Miles and George Coleman were suddenly supported by what would become the most flexible rhythm section in jazz.

The quintet’s first order of business was a studio trip to remake three of the tunes first attempted in LA. A slightly adjusted “Joshua”, a tightened “Seven Steps to Heaven”, and a remodeled “So Near So Far” all feature outstanding Miles solos, of which “Joshua” is amongst the best he ever recorded. He surfs the rhythm section, pokes at it, and dances with it, all the while carving fine melodic ideas. He’s just as deft in “Seven Steps to Heaven”, even blowing a casual, high-register squibble in the midst of his solo. Coleman demonstrates that he has been learning as much about “Seven Steps” as Miles has, and Williams is featured in a solo chorus and in several drum breaks. An alternate take (previously unreleased) has a few ensemble imperfections but is otherwise a good version, and Tony’s drumming is edgier.

I’m not sure that shifting “So Near So Far” to 12/8 improves upon the original version with Feldman. It removes the pregnant pause behind the first melody note; instead of an emphatic kick, it’s now a grace note. And the contrapuntal arrangement is rather stiff. Yet the new meter pulls a fanciful solo out of Miles, and Herbie delivers a nice block chord solo in Red Garland fashion. Listen to Ron Carter on this track and how he plays around with the meters. He does a lot of favors for Tony Williams, who is not the smoothest triple-meter player in the world. Here is a sample of the productive symbiosis that Ron and Tony would exploit in years to come.

The Seven Steps to Heaven LP mixed these three tracks with the three slower pieces from the previous session, thus creating an album of dichotomies - fast/slow, new/old, east/west. I’m very fond of the album as a whole, not least because it contains a lot of good playing from Miles himself. This box set makes me appreciate it even more, now that we get to hear the complete Hollywood session and contrast the different approaches to the same material. The original Feldman version of “Joshua” is a major delight, and I prefer the earlier rendition of “So Near So Far”. The thought of that first quintet becoming a working unit is an intriguing one. However, the birth of the Hancock/Carter/Williams nucleus is a fortuitous event, and they bring a real spark to their first recording with Miles.

7/27/63: An Antibes jazz festival set by the new quintet (Davis, Coleman, Hancock, Carter, Williams). The performance was released in edited form as Miles in Europe in 1964. The defining element of the concert is Williams’ drumming power, which on “Milestones” and “Walkin” drives Miles into strong choruses. “Milestones” re-enters Davis’ stage book, although it surrenders the 1958 version’s snappy charm for a faster clip and latitude that borders on freebop. The tempo of “Joshua” is also jacked up, but not so much that the rhythm section can’t engage in clever interplay. For the most part, it’s a straight swinging set, not nearly as interactive as future live records. In fact, “All of You” is so narrow as to sound like Miles’ group of two years earlier, as the song’s tag suffers endless repetitions. Miles gives “All of You” a good solo, but Coleman’s solo runs out of ideas long before it’s over, and Hancock devolves into pedestrian licks. On “Bye Bye Blackbird” (left off the initial LP), Miles gets into halfhearted exchanges with Hancock; the trumpeter realizes the rote-ness and begs off abruptly. Coleman’s pseudo-Traneisms re-energize the tune, but then Hancock solos tamely. Davis redeems himself in the final tag with phrases that tease the playful rhythm team, a highlight of the concert. Another highlight is Miles’ mischievous balladeering in “I Thought About You”.

In the uptempo pieces, the energy of the band borders on explosive, especially in the stop-start salvos that fire “Milestones”. Coleman’s solo is full of skittering scales and twisted fragments, and Hancock takes some chances, too. Clearly, “Milestones” is the most liberated of these tracks. “Walkin” also generates a lot of heat, and the sign-off jam “Bye Bye” is terrific if only for Tony’s drum breaks. With more energy than finesse, this concert has newer players bursting the seams of an older suit.

2/12/64: Discs 4 and 5 feature the same quintet live at the Philharmonic Hall. Initially issued on the LPs My Funny Valentine and Four and More, the concert is best heard in its natural order, because it is an extraordinary one. In fact, I think it’s one of the most remarkable nights of live jazz ever recorded and released. The reason for the fuss is that the rhythm section has crossed a demarcation line of how any unit might behave within traditional song forms. The level of interplay is up, as are radical changes of scenery behind the soloists, from abstracted vamps to straight swing to pin-drop silence. Hancock is freer with harmonies, Carter bounces from one bass strategy to the next, and Williams explores different polyrhythms. What this brings to the concert in question (made up of familiar standards and originals) is a sense of expanded storytelling.

Three lengthy tracks illustrate the band’s new freedoms: “My Funny Valentine”, “Stella by Starlight”, and “All of You”. Miles had treated the first two as compact ballads in the 1950s, but these versions are stretched out into grand improvised structures. “Valentine” ranges from delicate wisps to robust swing, and what’s great is that these extremes aren’t used to obviously contrast one chorus to the next, or the A section to the bridge. Anywhere, anytime, Miles might signal the band into a steady swing via an upward rip of trumpet notes, or he might calm them with a softer phrase. Meanwhile, Tony will quarantine a Latin rhythm for a couple of bars, or brush on the edge of silence, or lock into a kick sequence with the piano. As theatrical as Miles’ “Valentine” solo is, minus a couple of very sour phrases, Coleman’s is just as artful. The whole concert is a great sample of Coleman, and he takes to “My Funny Valentine” with just the right mix of romance, subdued virtuosity, and the blues. Miles reads “Stella by Starlight” suspensefully - hear that phrase that prompts a scream from someone in the audience - and then the tune develops a long-term plan that would take a page to describe. (But I can’t resist praising the rippling piano textures that Hancock puts behind Miles near the end.) Imagine a large body of water with various eddies spinning and a couple of rivers flowing in and you’ve got a rough idea of the musical activity in these ballads. As for the emotional effect of the songs, well, they’re overflowing.

“All of You” has the same dramatic range, and it allows leeway in a four-chord tag that the soloists utilize after their main choruses. To get out of the tag cycle, the soloist plays a particular melodic figure, and until then, they are free to extemporize on the tangent progression. Whereas the 1961 Blackhawk tags wound up in snoozeville, this rendition is continually interesting. Ron Carter plays a simple yet enticing bassline in key places that really brings the tune (and band) together. If there’s an MVP to the Philharmonic concert, it’s Carter, and he’s well enough recorded to where one can fully appreciate his functions within the group.

Along with the above three centerpieces, there are several shorter but no less intriguing tunes. “I Thought About You” is another tour de force ballad with excellent work from Miles and Coleman. “All Blues” is less reserved than the Kind of Blue version, and “Walkin” swings hard. (At this point, it should just be called “Runnin”.) The uptempo pieces all race at high bpm’s, even the once calm “So What”. Miles plays a terse solo in “Four”, while “Seven Steps to Heaven” ends with a vamp extracted from the tune’s chord changes. “Joshua” is counted off way too fast and Miles badly bungles the theme statements. If “Joshua” reveals Miles’ technical limitations, it also reveals Coleman’s prowess, as he smoothly articulates rolling sequences. Also, it gives the rhythm section the opportunity to cut the tempo and play around with halved time, after which they snap back into swing.

Every tune the quintet plays on this evening is subject to continual restructuring. It’s easy for me to go overboard with the praise and forget that there are other landmark jazz performances that make interactive strides and predate this one - Evans and Coltrane at the Village Vanguard, to name two - but the Philharmonic show is still a very special program. There are some flaws, mainly in Miles’ brittle tone and wavering chops, but that humanizes the music. So much more to say about this marvelous concert, but let’s move on.

7/14/64: A show originally released as Miles in Tokyo. George Coleman, not quite into the new directions, and perhaps not fully valued on his own merits, has departed. Tenor Sam Rivers is temporarily in his place. Where Coleman was a more than competent “in” saxophonist, Rivers spends at least as much time playing “out”, much to the excitement of the rhythm section (Tony would use Sam on his Blue Note debut album a few months later) but ultimately to the disapproval of the leader. It’s easy to understand why: the moods that Miles cultivates as primary soloist are often disrupted by Rivers’ follow-ups, which can sound relatively carefree and/or destructive in comparison. Not that Rivers can’t swing or follow changes, but his restlessness is at odds with Miles’ considered aesthetic. One example is the ubiquitous “Walkin”: it starts with a martial feel, Tony whips up a storm behind Miles’ solo and in his drum break, then Rivers solos like he’s got a toe jammed into an electrical socket. What was just an energetic piece to begin with is suddenly booted OUT.

It’s interesting to hear the way the rhythm section adjusts from Miles to Rivers. “If I Were a Bell” echoes the effervescence of the ‘50s quintet throughout Miles’ solo, then Rivers tears through the bar lines, splitting the seams of the song. Same with “All of You”: Miles plays in his controlled, muted style, followed by livewire Rivers. On the other hand, “My Funny Valentine” is tender all the way through. Miles gives the song its ache, while Rivers muses intimately and Herbie takes an unaccompanied improvisation. It is nearly the equal of the Philharmonic valentine. The fast paced “So What” prompts Miles to jab and quip, and Rivers tears free with total abandon. Sam’s energy carries over to what is Hancock’s thorniest solo yet with Miles.

Rivers’ presence gives the music an edge, and it definitely gives Herbie and Tony license to move outward at times, yet the contrast twixt trumpet and tenor isn’t so big as to disjoint the concert. Nor does the listener forget who’s still in charge. It’s interesting to guess what the future might have been like had Rivers become a full-time creative member of the quintet. This is a great souvenir regardless.

9/25/64: Wayne Shorter claims the tenor spot in a concert that was released as Miles in Berlin. Miles had wanted to hire Wayne for quite a while, but the latter’s commitment to the Jazz Messengers was an ongoing obstacle. He doesn’t quite ease in to the quintet; some of his phrases are tart and alien. Yet he does make it clear that he’s the right man for the future. Rivers may have been more spontaneously exciting, and more consistent at delivering self-contained ideas, but Shorter is more lyrical and has a larger plot to his solos. Shorter also shares Rivers’ ability to coax many timbres from his horn - to shape a “voice” as it were, one less acidic than his predecessor’s. His improvisational sense fits perfectly with the interactive style that the group had been developing.

The five tunes from Berlin have all appeared in the previous concerts. Once again, the rhythm section supplies many standout moments, both on their own and in dialogue with soloists. Listen closely to the alternate harmonies that Hancock devises in “Autumn Leaves”, and the bass pedal and dissonant piano clusters that build tension under Wayne’s solo. Or the flex-relax approach to “Milestones”, where Ron plays the bridge in a slower time feel, dismantling the fast swing for a few bars before it races off again. “So What” becomes a motivic show and tell for everyone, especially Wayne, who toys with one particular phrase for several bars. “Stella By Starlight” (previously unreleased) is gorgeous, from Miles’ understated opening to Wayne’s paced editorial to Herbie’s chord gallery. One can hear from “Stella” alone that the quintet has a bright future.

Attentive and inventive, that’s the new quintet. The only downside to the Berlin show is that it is less pristine than the other concert recordings.

So goes Disc 7 to finish the collection. The main appeal of the box set is getting to hear the same material subject to various treatments by both the same and different players. If the question is “how many times do I need to hear So What or My Funny Valentine?”, the answer comes in another question: how many possibilities do these tunes have? It all comes down to the resources of the players, and in the cases of Hancock, Carter, Williams, Rivers, Shorter, and Miles, you never get the same performance twice. It’s instructive to have multiple versions and hear how the tunes grow from night to night, or year to year. As the material develops, so does the personnel, and the box takes us from a transitional period into a new rhythm section and finally a settled quintet.


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