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Some picks from the earlier years: Birth of the Cool Jan 1949 - Mar 1950 / Capitol (Blue Note RVG) Led by Miles, with arrangements from John Lewis, Gerry Mulligan, Gil Evans, and others, these twelve nonet (and octet) sides investigate a softer alternative to bebop. The somewhat intellectual nature of the music led to it being ostracized by some historical politicians who didn’t want Miles on the whitebread side of the jazz tracks. Well, no one knew “cool” back when the music was being played; the original Birth of the Cool LP assembled the individual sides years later and its title was ex post facto. And you don’t need to read many of Miles’ comments, or listen to much of his later music, to know that he was enthralled by such simple things as a chord voicing, or timbre, or a certain combination of instruments. Through the ‘60s and fusion, he was into sound, and I think Birth of the Cool represents an early quest for something new in that department. Miles shared this particular quest with a like-minded think tank that included the above luminaries, along with J.J. Johnson, Lee Konitz, Max Roach, et al. Some tunes have the sparkle of bop, especially “Budo” and “Move”, and with Max or Kenny Clarke in the drum chair, that’s not surprising. Also, a few of Miles’ trumpet solos pull from the bebop bag, and he and altoist Lee Konitz are the best soloists overall. Most of the focus is on ensemble arrangement, lighter than a big band and with an academic touch in places. Cascading canons, counterpoint, inversions, and occasionally unusual chords make up a lot of the charts. Mulligan explores rhythmic twists, as in his dandy “Jeru”. Mulligan’s arrangements are better than his playing on this album, to be honest. Most of the tunes continually evolve from start to finish: every chorus of Johnny Carisi’s complex blues “Israel” takes on a new dimension, and part of the fun of “Godchild” is how the main baritone/tuba line accumulates voices as it saunters along. The arrangements benefit the tunes, some of which (“Venus de Milo”, “Rocker”) are just a little too trite at heart. Dressed up by charts and spiced with mini-solos, they’re better off. Gil Evans’ “Boplicity” is a formalized slice of modern jazz, calmer than the title might suggest. In the arrangement of Mercer’s “Moon Dreams”, a brilliant re-construction takes place. A few of the scoring strategies Evans would use in later collaborations with Miles can be heard here, like the way he assigns held tones to offset busier activities, or the way the high trumpet note in the middle pulls up a couple of other instruments like a magnet to form a dissonant chord. Or you can just notice the dark sophistication that enshrouds the piece as it goes along.
All of the tunes together have a “project” feel, which is what the whole endeavor was. Mulligan took the contrapuntal notion into his piano-less small bands. Miles was soon on the ground floor of hardbop, and he and Gil would do more ambitious work down the road. Birth of the Cool is the meeting place where these nascent thinkers explored new ideas. It displays Miles’ interest in original concepts and also features some good trumpet playing. By the way, I’ve owned three different editions of this CD, and the RVG, issued in 2001, has the crispest, strongest sound.
Eight cuts from three separate sessions, typical of Prestige at the time. I suppose they liked featuring Miles in various “all-star” settings, or maybe it was more of a barrel-scraping necessity. Whatever the case, an agile “I’ll Remember April” is the highlight of the program; it’s from the April ’54 session that also produced three numbers for Walkin’. Three quartet tunes (with Horace Silver, Percy Heath, and Art Blakey) from March 1954 have lesser appeal, like “Old Devil Moon” (the vamp idea is neat but it bogs the band down) and a “Blue Haze” blues that’s rather boring. Miles would keep the catchy “Four” in his working repertoire for years; this take is at an unhurried pace and has a thoughtful trumpet solo. The four oldest tracks include “Tune Up”, where Miles frames bebop licks with melodic creativity, a draggy Mingus number called “Smooch”, and “When Lights Are Low”, a Benny Carter tune that Miles would do much better in the future. John Lewis’ piano solo on “Lights” is a bit cheeky. “Miles Ahead” - not to be confused with the Gil Evans version - sounds like Miles was throwing chord changes around just for the hell of it, and his technically deficient solo further jumbles the matter. So Blue Haze captures a little of this, a little of that, and no stakes are driven.
A high point in the early catalog, Walkin comes from two different sessions, with the same rhythm section in both (Horace Silver, Percy Heath, Kenny Clarke). The first half is made up of two lengthy blues pieces, “Walkin” and “Blue ‘n Boogie”, where trombonist J.J. Johnson and tenor Lucky Thompson join Miles in the front line. Both tracks exemplify Miles’ confidence in the 12-bar form, and the others’ contributions aren’t shabby either. “Walkin” would become a perennial live favorite for years, and this first version stands apart for its panther-like stealth. In “Blue ‘n Boogie”, Silver’s trademark hardbop funk and the trumpet-trombone background lines during the tenor solo keep the fire stoked. The other three tracks feature altoist Dave Schildkraut, and Miles is exclusively muted. (Not the piercing Harmon mute he would be known for; this is a darker, “older” sound.) “Solar” allows Miles to drape mysterious thoughts over a moody chord progression. I once read something that said this 12-bar sequence of ii-V changes could be heard as a really abstract blues, but to me, “Solar” as done by Miles (and later, Bill Evans) creates its own atmosphere. Miles is equally brooding in “You Don’t Know What Love Is”, while “Love Me Or Leave Me” puts a spring in everyone’s step. Schildkraut does some nice playing, and Clarke’s brushwork on all three tunes is outstanding, especially “Love Me Or Leave Me”.
Walkin’ consolidates Miles’ blues roots and explores intriguing song forms in the latter half. The 2006 RVG remaster has good sound, particularly on the last three tracks.
Davis is joined by pianist Red Garland, bassist Oscar Pettiford, and drummer Philly Joe Jones on this intermittently groovy session. Garland and Jones would become part of Miles’ soon-to-be legendary quintet, and you can hear that future in the snappy “A Gal in Calico” and the lovely “I See Your Face Before Me”. The blues “Green Haze” is mild fun thanks to Garland’s licks. “A Night in Tunisia” is treated with small-scale drama, yet the performance is awkward in spots, and one might dispose entirely of “I Didn’t”, Miles’ twitchy answer to Monk’s “Well You Needn’t”. Not a great album, but I think some of the tracks make an enjoyable prelude to the quintet of Cookin’, et al.
The eloquent lines of vibes whiz Milt Jackson sound great adjacent to Miles’ more tempered ideas, and both inspire elegance in each other. So even though this is a stopgap one-off record, it’s worth a listen. Backed by Ray Bryant, Percy Heath, and Art Taylor, Miles and Milt trade smart solos on four straightahead tunes. Altoist Jackie McLean adds interest to two tracks, including “Dr. Jackle” (which Miles would revisit on 1958’s Milestones) and the formidable “Minor March”. Not an essential nor generous disc, but still good.
The most famous Miles-Milt meeting took place in December of 1954 with Thelonious Monk. I’ve reviewed that session over on the Monk Prestige page. The tracks from that date were split between the Miles titles Bags’ Groove and Miles Davis and the Modern Jazz Giants for reasons I can’t fathom.
A duplex of sessions recorded three years apart, both featuring Sonny Rollins on tenor sax. The earlier date also has Charlie Parker on tenor, who does a serviceable job, but I won’t say sober. Miles and Sonny are both in mediocre form. The tunes include the perky bop line “Serpent’s Tooth” (two takes, neither without blemish), the brisk “Compulsion” powered by Philly Joe Jones, and “Round Midnight”, a howling of tired dogs. This perfunctory session was probably recorded out of duty or boredom. At best, you can dig out historical nuggets, like Rollins toying with a lick he would favor down the road, or Miles occasionally playing something thrifty and sweet. The ’56 session is much better, even though it only has three tracks. The most notable is “Vierd Blues”, a pet Miles theme that has appeared in various guises. Sonny’s solo on this tune is strikingly similar to the “Blue 7” solo he would record on Saxophone Colossus. “No Line” is a brushed swinger with fine muted Miles and eloquent Rollins, who skillfully elongates ideas. Rollins also stars in the easygoing “In Your Own Sweet Way”, which Miles would remake in nearly identical fashion with his working quintet. The rhythm team on this date is Tommy Flanagan, Paul Chambers, and Art Taylor.
Overall, this disc is mostly for collectors, as the title says.
At long last, all of the tracks from the Miles Davis Quintet’s two marathon 1956 sessions are in one place. The resulting albums Cookin’, Relaxin’, Workin’, and Steamin’ with the Miles Davis Quintet have been classics for decades, so why not offer the whole deal in a complete batch? In addition, this four-disc box contains an earlier studio visit from November of 1955 (for the album The New Miles Davis Quintet) along with previously unreleased live tapes. The annotation and packaging are great, and the remastering of the studio tracks is okay. It’s punchier than the original CDs and not as overcranked as the Workin’ K2 remaster. It sounds like there’s some unavoidable fuzziness (saturated levels?) in the master reels of the first session. Miles’ first great quintet includes the leader on trumpet, John Coltrane on tenor sax, pianist Red Garland, bassist Paul Chambers, and drummer Philly Joe Jones. The distinctive styles of the front line - Miles’ thrift versus Trane’s ambition - is the first notable element of the group, but really, it’s a five-way chemistry. Chambers’ extensive bass lines carry Jones’ drum grooves, while Garland supports everybody well. It’s a “contained,” traditional sound, as opposed to the open-ended approach of Miles’ mid-60s quintets, but it’s full of personality. I put Philly Joe Jones up there with Art Blakey or Max Roach for straight swing. Coltrane’s style is in the formative stages, and he improves throughout the box set. Miles drops bop chops into the uptempo tunes and floats through the ballads. The first six tracks from November of 1955 are a tentative inauguration. The stealthy “Stablemates” and a wrenching “There Is No Greater Love” are highlights, and it’s hard to resist the happy momentum of “S’posin” and “How Am I To Know”. Miles is both coy (“Just Squeeze Me”) and strong above the Chambers-Jones swing. Coltrane is less certain of his ideas, or how to deliver them. Some of Trane’s solos are like puzzle pieces that haven’t been assembled yet, and he’s plagued by random squeaks (and not just in this first session). Chambers steps out with a bass solo on a full version of “The Theme”, which Miles would reduce to a set-capping leitmotif in future performances. These tracks are not as tight as later efforts, although Miles sounds good, and the rhythm section is already a lock. The remaining studio tracks come from two extensive sessions that were intended to net enough material to get Miles out of his Prestige contract. The fourteen tracks from May 1956 include such standouts as “In Your Own Sweet Way” (an attractive read of the Brubeck classic), “Trane’s Blues”, “Woody’n You”, and a driving “Four”. One thing that’s obvious in listening to all this repertoire is how congenial the band sounds. Part of that has to do with some of the chosen pop songs (“Diane”, “It Could Happen to You”), but I think the group has an inescapable effervescence in almost any piece. There is also some perfunctory playing, but even then - in “Something I Dreamed Last Night” or “Diane”, for example - Miles and crew cannot help but entertain. “Surrey with the Fringe on Top”, one of the best tracks in the collection, has a good balance of Miles’ honed melodies, Coltrane’s science, and solid groove. Another huge highlight is “It Never Entered My Mind”, where Davis’ ultra-romantic muted sound pines over a beautiful piano backdrop. Coltrane sits this one out, as he does for most of the intimate ballads. Miles also shines in the bebop storm of “Woody’n You”, while “Salt Peanuts” is rather reckless. Garland, Chambers, and Jones get “Ahmad’s Blues” to themselves, although it’s sort of square. Most of these May tracks ended up on the Workin’ and Steamin’ LPs. October’s twelve tracks are even better. Coltrane is improving by the month, it seems, and Miles reaps the benefits of the clicking rhythm section. The last five tunes on Disc 3 make up the Cookin’ album, which is as good as this quintet gets. (And it’s one of Miles’ best albums ever, too.) There’s the dark bop of “Airegin” (penned by Sonny Rollins), the amiable “Blues by Five”, “Tune Up”, a fetching take on “When Lights Are Low”, and the concise beauty of “My Funny Valentine”. Both Miles and Coltrane burn in the ii-V sequences of “Tune Up” - which Trane would abstract into “Countdown” a few years later - and Miles’ hallmark clarity is on display (as is Garland’s pithy prowess) in the blues. Davis’ dramatic take on “My Funny Valentine” is one of his all-time greatest performances on record, to which Garland’s solo is a nice contrast. Listen closely to Paul Chambers, too, as he moves around in different registers of the bass and adjusts the punctuations as necessary. “Valentine” is marvelous, even though Coltrane is absent. Other excellent choices from October include “If I Were a Bell”, “You’re My Everything”, and the bass-borne “Oleo”, all three of which went into the Relaxin’ LP, as did the friendly, swinging jaunt “I Could Write a Book”. “Half Nelson” revives the urgency of Miles’ bebop days. I’m not sure about the Monk renditions: “Round Midnight” is below the quality of the quintet’s Columbia version, and “Well You Needn’t” is too loose. Don’t bring high expectations to the live disc. The performances aren’t outstanding and the sound is at boot level. From a 1955 Tonight Show appearance come “Max is Making Wax” (ripping bop) and the lovely “It Never Entered My Mind”; Miles treats both well but the recording is thin and wobbly. Steve Allen’s awkward banter should have been left in the mists of time - it’s painful to listen to. Next up are two Dec. 1956 cuts from a Philadelphia performance: “Tune Up” and “Walkin”. Then come three tracks (and a minute snippet of “Two Bass Hit”) from May 1958, with Bill Evans at the piano. There’s “Four”, “Bye Bye Blackbird” (good Trane solo, not so good Miles), and another “Walkin”, all okay but none of them take the reins from the many other versions available. Back to the studio cuts: were I to assemble my own single-disc tracklist from the ’56 sessions, it would look something like this: Shipbuildin’ with the Miles Davis Quintet
If I Were a Bell
Damn, what a good album that would be. And I’d throw in “Stablemates” as a bonus cut.
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