MILES DAVIS - Kind Of Blue

It's difficult to say anything new about a work that has already had everything said about it, perhaps "the jazz album" par excellence... We can begin by recalling, more than 45 years on, that what today appears as a jazz manifesto was, at the time, one of the first examples of a small revolution in the conception of harmony and, consequently, of improvisation: modal jazz, which would later find one of its most important interpreters in John Coltrane, and not by chance. In short, Miles Davis, tired of the constraints of chords "locked" into a precise key, was among the first to experiment with new (for jazz) types of scales, namely modes: paradoxically, even as the number of chords decreased, being able to improvise using different scales over a single chord (or rather, not having to "worry" about which chord was underpinning the harmony) gave the soloist new and almost infinite melodic possibilities.

It seems that the five tracks that appear on the original LP, recorded across the two sessions of March and April 1959, had been "composed" by Davis only a few hours earlier, as he arrived at the recording studio with just a few notes on the theme and development of the pieces. It also seems that whenever a track was played through to the end, that take was considered good. Bill Evans's contribution in the studio was hugely important: his impressionistic, elusive accompaniments helped create the ideal ground for the irresistible sequence of solos running through the tracks, as well as shaping the relaxed, "refined" atmosphere of the whole recording. It's no coincidence that the liner notes, even on the original LP version, are his—notes that help us, among other things, understand how the tracks were structured and conceived.

Perhaps the best way to fully appreciate the record, which like all masterpieces always offers some new emotion or food for thought even after countless listens, is to try to penetrate the structure of the tracks, savoring at the same time the logical and poetic flow of the solos, especially those of the two saxophonists. Remember that it's always a sextet playing (on Freddie Freeloader, Kelly replaces Evans), except on "Blue In Green", where Adderley doesn't appear. "So What" opens with a brief introduction entrusted to piano and bass; right after, one of the most famous call-and-response figures in jazz history kicks in: a bass phrase is answered by one from the piano, joined after the first 8-bar cycle by the three horns in unison. The basic scheme is completed after 32 bars: 16 in one scale, 8 in another, and another 8 returning to the initial scale. The groove is intriguingly swaying, and the rhythm section seems to float in sumptuous souplesse. Davis's opening solo, fresh and nimble, is followed by the majestic advance of Coltrane's tenor, which is then succeeded (further energizing the atmosphere) by "Cannonball" Adderley's alto, bringing a more bluesy shade and a swinging, engaging phrasing. Evans closes things out: after masterfully supporting his fellow travelers, rather than a true solo he offers a phrasing marked by his typically delicate, allusive, percussive touch, which steers things back toward the theme and the close of the track.

"Freddie Freeloader" (named after a jack-of-all-trades bartender who was a friend of Davis's) is a typical 12-bar blues. Wynton Kelly, who as mentioned replaces Evans only for this track, is immediately prominent with his bouncy piano playing; his is the first solo, followed by Davis in the familiar mid-register of his vibrato-less trumpet; once again it falls to the two saxophonists to broaden the track's emotional range (Coltrane) and to boost its drive and bluesy spice (Adderley). Each soloist takes 4 "choruses" before returning, via a chorus "commented on" by Kelly, to the opening theme as stated by Davis's languid trumpet. "Blue in Green" is the most romantic track, cast in ballad form; it's also the track where Evans's hand is most strongly felt—he would in fact go on to revisit the piece many times with his trio, turning it into a true standard, and he was later credited as co-author. It has a vaguely circular motion, which the structure, built on 10 bars, tends to "square off" somewhat; the theme is of course stated by Davis with a mute, and the solos are essentially just Evans's (brief, concise, and strongly impressionistic in impact) and Coltrane's, equally brief and warm. As mentioned, Adderley is absent, and the track is by far the shortest on the record.

"All Blues", true to its title, is an "all blues" in 6/8 (or 3/4? Hard to say, given the regularity of the phrases...), underpinned by a rhythm section every bit as effective as on "So What"; here too the horns each take 4 choruses of a 12-bar structure (or 24 if we count the time as 3/4), with a 4-bar "waiting" bridge between one solo and the next. This time, following Davis, it's Adderley who takes over, for once preceding Coltrane, and it's worth wondering why the order is reversed: perhaps it's fitting that, in a track with such an overtly bluesy flavor, the alto should "show up" right away, impatient to lay down his cards... Two choruses from Evans close things out, bringing us back to the theme with its once again pleasantly sinuous, enveloping motion. "Flamenco Sketches" is the most melodic track; Miles's muted trumpet immediately carries us into "Iberian" territory through a freely lyrical statement, in a slow 6/8 tempo; the two saxophonists then seem to add a further melodic contribution, in both cases virile and coherent; Evans's contribution is masterful: an initially pointillistic phrasing is followed by a resolution of aching romanticism, which nonetheless never loses sight of the composition's "Spanish-tinged" (and therefore melancholy...) character. Davis's relaxed yet engaged trumpet closes out the track and the original album once more.
The CD whose catalog number we give here (CK 64935 – the "definitive" version, essentially a complete session containing the tracks actually finished) also includes an alternate take of this last track, which was in fact the first take recorded, but one Davis didn't consider "perfect"—a level of demand we might today consider extremely exacting; after 4 aborted attempts, the sextet achieved the version that then appeared on the original record. Being, as mentioned, the only other track brought to completion, it was added to CD editions from 1992 onward. And so closes a masterpiece balanced in every component, perfect in its (apparent) simplicity, full of human poetry and universal communicative power.

It should be said, however, that this version of the CD benefits from an impeccable remastering, and also reveals a small secret that went unnoticed for more than thirty years, brought to wider attention by Ashley Kahn's famous book devoted to this historic recording, published in 2000 in the United States and in 2003 in Italian translation ("Kind Of Blue" – New York 1959: Storia e fortune del capolavoro di Miles Davis – Il Saggiatore). In short, the first side of the LP (and of the "first version" CD), namely the three tracks recorded at the March 2nd session, had been released using the Ampex "No. 1" tapes (while No. 2 made the safety copy, which was used in later releases). Only in 1992 did a technician with a "sharp ear" notice that, due to some strange malfunction, the original tapes had been slowed down, and had therefore produced a master that played the tracks back slightly sped up. We're talking about a difference in the region of a quarter tone or a little less, and tracks shortened by ten to fifteen seconds. Kahn himself wonders how it was possible that not even Davis (let alone millions of listeners!) ever noticed this small flaw for so long! But apparently, like a Fellini of jazz, Miles didn't like listening back to his own records... Reading the book, besides being thoroughly recommended for soaking up the atmosphere of the album's genesis and creation, offers other interesting bits of trivia. For instance, we learn that the second side, originally made up of "All Blues" and "Flamenco Sketches" (recorded this time with properly functioning equipment, at the April 22nd session), was released for several months (and around 50,000 copies...) with the two titles swapped (only the titles, not the tracks), giving rise to amusing misunderstandings among fans. We'll leave it to the imagination how much one of those copies might be worth today.

It's also pointed out that the first CD version, besides containing the first three tracks still sped up, had an anachronistic cover (the photo shows a 1970s Davis) as well as a "wrong" one (printed in reverse, making Miles look... left-handed!). With or without reading this essential book, one could go on for hours analyzing such a monument in detail, or asking which is the best solo on the record: personally, for coherence, lyricism and dynamism, my preference goes to "Cannonball's" solo on "Flamenco Sketches" (Kahn prefers Coltrane's...), though it should be said there isn't a weak moment anywhere on this record. A must-own, in whatever version, for anyone who claims to have even the slightest interest in jazz. A small film buff's curiosity: in one scene of the film "In the Line of Fire", the character played by Clint Eastwood comes home, turns on the stereo, and we hear "All Blues" start up; the album cover is even glimpsed on screen. It really does seem like a tribute from Eastwood to the great Miles, but perhaps also to the whole history of jazz. After all, good old Clint, who in another scene of the same film plays piano with modest amateur skill, is a great jazz enthusiast (let's not forget he directed the excellent Charlie Parker film, Bird), as well as the father of Kyle, an accomplished double bassist. Personnel: Miles Davis (tpt.) Julian Adderley (alto sax) John Coltrane (tenor sax) Bill Evans (piano) Wynton Kelly (piano) Paul Chambers (bass) James Cobb (drums)

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11/10/2006