Sunday, November 15, 2015

An apologia, and further appreciation, for a notable trumpet player

Here’s my argument in response to this view of a canonical jazz artist. It calls Miles Davis' artistry into question on the basis of ostensibly poor command of his instrument.

Miles Davis, if ever anyone did, understood the rich creative possibilities of performing jazz. He put trumpet in the service of that ideal. To wit:

* Davis was strongly concerned with the lyricism, endless expressive possibilities, and beautiful singularities produced by creating music in real time. Perhaps moreso than other noted figures, he got bored with anything formulaic. (See the interview where Sonny Rollins identifies with Miles on this.)

* He thought you needed to be well prepared, in terms of musicianship, but then challenged to react in the moment. Hence, for example, his habit of rejecting in performance what had been rehearsed earlier.

* He engineered situations where this would happen for his superb groups, of whatever kind.

* And he likewise forced himself to do so on trumpet, as much as he challenged others. A klinker or two? That’s “part of it.” If you listen that way, you’ll hear the beauty of accident, like with John Cage’s music. Though his trumpet playing is much more than just happy accidents.

What was the musical result of this artistic profile? Let’s try actually listening to Miles Davis, sticking strictly to his trumpet playing.

* Davis had incredible “chops” in the macho, conventional sense, when he chose to. Listen to him playing in a hard bop vein on “Move” with Lockjaw Davis and Big Nick Nicholas in ‘52. He could do that. Listen to his lead playing on “Two Bass Hit,” the head and ending shout chorus, from Newport Live in ’58 with Cannonball and Trane. Perfectly clear, accurate and just “on” in a very high register. But he chose to go a different way . . .

* Davis had a sense of time like (almost) no one else. That doesn’t mean just “keeping good time.” It means saying something with time, pulse, rhythm. Listen to really any solo of his. Listen only for the way he places his notes, not the notes themselves. Listen to the way he plays the Harmon mute, which enhanced the percussive attack and expressive timbral “spread” of his instrument. Listen, for example, to his solos on various live versions of “Bye Bye Blackbird” with Coltrane in the late 50s. Listen to his “response” to Gil Evans’ orchestra’s “calls” on “Summertime” from Porgy and Bess. Simple, but perfectly conceived, developed—and executed as a marvel of what the trumpet, or horn, can do.

* Known for economy of notes, it’s because he wanted to invent songs while playing. I'm not talking about delivering pat songs in wholesale form, like a transcribed folk song. I'm thinking more along the lines of Pres’ habit of referring to others’ solos, even their whole style, as “their songs.” Songlike, melodic (and thus not too complicated, at least outwardly). Like phrases, statements thought over and revised, even repented. Like Billie Holiday—generating songlike possibilities in mediating on the meaning of each song. His approach to the trumpet, his phrasing and choice of notes, is perfect, given this aim. Listen to . . . any 50s ballad, how about “It Never Entered My Mind,” from “Workin?”

* Think he sounded rambling or repetitive in his solos with the Shorter/Hancock band, for instance? Yes, he had his “clichés” by that time. But listen again to his beat, his fire on trumpet. And listen to how closely he listens. To what Williams and Carter, and sometimes Hancock were doing behind him. It’s called group improvisation.


If someone is interested I’ll provide discographic information and guide them to the exact tracks. I write all this knowing less about his work after about 1972, but I believe it would apply, however different the musical content was by then.