 Miles Davis It's taken me 15 years to work my way toward being able to listen to late-period Miles Davis, following an early misstep in choosing On the Corner to be my second Miles disc. Though I did ultimately come to penetrate and appreciate the cacophonous chaos of that record, it was so amazingly not Kind of Blue that I reflexively retreated into the comforting arms of Miles's "cool" period for years. Subsequent forays into the second great quartet and the electric period took some discipline, but rewarded me with music that I came to enjoy much more than Kind of Blue, which anymore just sounds like the soundtrack to one of those giant bookstore chains. But 1980s Miles Davis … that is an area that I just would not go. Catching glimpses of this era on PBS-broadcast concerts inevitably confirmed my suspicion that if I wanted to retain my respect for the man, I should just pretend his 80s era never happened. Those shiny shirts, the bad hair weaves, the gigantic, anti-stylish sunglasses, the synthesizers … clearly this was a case where a great artist had simply outlived his greatness. Right? Still the curiosity lingered. It was impossible that Miles Davis, probably the most consistently innovative musician of the 20th century, could come to suck. Right? So at last, the time had come for me to face the music, as it were. Inspired by Paul Tingen's alarmingly fair-minded book Miles Beyond, I decided to dive into Live Around the World. This disc is regarded as the best point of entry into Miles's hair-weave years. I'd heard some of the 80s studio records and never found much to hold dear … far too much "new technology" and third-tier musicians helping Miles veer into, at best, good smooth jazz territory. His live stuff, as always, was where he was still running the ol' voodoo down. Live collects the best performances from '88 to '90, offering as good a representation of this period as you'll find. You'll have to approach it with enough of an open mind to tune out the bad synth sounds, but once you do, there is much real goodness to behold. Sure, it's tough to hear Miles surrounded by squeezy Oberheim pads instead of, like, Herbie Hancock's piano or Gil Evans's orchestra. But the evidence is clear enough: Miles was still able to put together some great bands, and while nowhere near as commanding on his horn as back in the day, he still played with unexpected beauty and deep emotion. Don't get excited about seeing "In a Silent Way" opening the set … this version would more appropriately serve as a MIDI intro to some schlub's Miles Davis fanpage. "Intruder" throws some shiny, busy shit in your face to distract your mind from thinking about the past, and then "New Blues" offers a sense of integration, like there might be a way to embrace this version of Miles after all. Then comes "Human Nature," yes, that "Human Nature," opening with some badly muffed notes by Miles but settling into a ruminative vibe. Kenny Garrett takes a blistering, probing sax solo on this one that can only be described as legendary … he's so good, for so long, that Miles audibly congratulates him immediately afterward. Truly one of the most surprising and thrilling jazz moments I've ever heard – and it's here that you realize it might be worth sticking around for the whole show after all. Much of the rest is above-average festival-jazz, nothing to blow your mind, just enough to make you feel grateful you were able to catch Miles at all, since you weren't around to catch him in the classic era. On "Wrinkle," Richard Patterson kicks into a short but intense bass solo that spurs the band to speed up – another genuinely thrilling moment. "Time After Time" (yes, that "Time After Time") is another high point – this time, all Miles, as he takes a solo that finds so many undiscovered things in the song that you finally hear Miles Davis, THE Miles Davis, the classic one, come to the surface and announce himself. It's a brilliant coda. "Hannibal" closes things out, taken from Miles's final performance – another solid argument that the artist in him was present all along. It's not the haunting, yearning, beyond-the-grave message you want it to be, but it's pretty damn good. To his credit, Miles really did keep searching, endeavoring to adapt to new shit and continue creating. He could have spent his last years rehashing the chestnuts, but here he is on his final bandstand, still making spontaneous magic. Now, let me reinforce the point that it took me 15 years and a good guidebook to be able to hear this stuff as anything but wanky, soulless bullshit. So don't make it an early Miles purchase. The man's career forces you to take things slowly, wrapping yourself around his many incarnations, connecting all the dots, before you can assail any given part of his legacy. It's a lot of work, yeah, but it's a worthwhile pursuit. If nothing else, Miles Davis was an ongoing reminder to keep on doing the best shit you can. We all end up with the eventual hair weave or its equivalent, so the only thing to do is just keep on shining anyway.
Review by La Fée |