The 500 - #95 - Bitches Brew - Miles Davis

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album: #95

Album Title: Bitches Brew

Artist: Miles Davis

Genre: Jazz Fusion, Psychedelic Jazz, Avant-Garde. Jazz Rock

Recorded: 52 Street Studios, Manhattan, New York, USA

Released: March, 1970

My age at release: Four

How familiar was I with it before this week: Somewhat

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #87 - rising Eight spots

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Pharoah's Dance

I took music all the way through high school and played with the school band every year, except one. Looking back, I probably didn't practise as much as I should have, and I certainly didn't take every lesson as seriously as I wish I had.

Still, I was a competent enough saxophone player to earn passing grades and survive recitals, concerts and exams. I also have music teacher Mr. Gwyn Beynon to thank for not booting me from class or band when my teen-age brain seemed hell bent on giving him a good reason to do so on a seemingly monthly basis.

Gwyn Beynon is now the Conductor Emeritus with the London, 
Ontario based Encore Concert Band. 

If I could go back, though, I wouldn't just spend more time in the practice room, I'd spend more time paying attention in music theory classes.

At the time, theory class felt a lot like math class. Which makes sense, music is math. It is patterns, relationships and structures. Unfortunately, teen-age me had already decided that I wasn't really a "math person," so I approached music theory with the same lack of enthusiasm that I brought to algebra.

Today, as a middle school teacher, that's exactly the mindset I try to instill in my students. I task them to see themselves as mathematicians. Understanding mathematical concepts isn't about being born with some special gift. It's about focus, time, practise and, most importantly, believing you are capable of learning difficult things.

I vaguely remember the lessons on the church modes from my Grade 13 year at Beal Secondary School. The church modes are seven musical scales derived from the notes of a major scale. Instead of always starting and ending on the first note of the scale, each mode begins on a different note, creating its own unique sound and mood. Long before they became important in jazz, these modes were used in church music during the Middle Ages, which is where they get their name. They are Ionian (major), Dorian, Phrygian, Lydian, Mixolydian, Aeolian (natural minor) and Locrian, most easily remembered by the mnemonic I Don't Play Loud Music At Lunch.

I remember trying to memorize them. I remember writing them out. I remember learning just enough about them in order to pass a quiz and then...promptly forgetting them. At the time, with a head full of teen-age social anxieties and unrequited crushes, I simply didn't think they mattered.

Now, decades later, I realize those modes are essential in understanding jazz, especially the music of Miles Davis. I know enough to appreciate that fact, but I also believe that if I were to take music theory again, perhaps in retirement, a much deeper level of understanding awaits.

Which brings me to Bitches Brew.

Released in 1970, Bitches Brew arrived at a time when Miles Davis was determined to push jazz in a new direction. Rock music was dominating popular culture. Younger listeners were embracing electric guitars, amplified instruments, and more experimental forms of entertainment. Davis had already begun moving away from traditional jazz structures with albums such as In a Silent Way. However, it was Bitches Brew that blew the doors off.

Album cover for In A Silent Way, a CD I purchased during my
"I want to understand jazz" phase in the late 80s.

The recording sessions were unlike most jazz albums that had come before. Rather than bringing fully written compositions into the studio, Davis often arrived with sketches, bass lines and, of course, modal frameworks paired with simple instructions. He assembled an astonishing cast of musicians, including Wayne Shorter, Joe Zawinul, Chick Corea, John McLaughlin, Larry Young, Jack DeJohnette, Dave Holland, and Bennie Maupin. What emerged was part jazz, part rock and part improvisation.

Musicians credited on Bitches Brew.

For listeners expecting catchy melodies and familiar chord progressions, Bitches Brew can be a challenging experience. Many of the pieces stretch beyond 20 minutes. The music often feels less like a collection of songs and more like a landscape. Instead of moving quickly through traditional chord changes, the musicians frequently explored modes, textures, rhythms and moods for extended periods of time.

That is where those old theory lessons come back to haunt me.

While listening to tracks, such as  Pharaoh's Dance, Bitches Brew, Spanish Key and Miles Runs the Voodoo Down,  I can detect a different musical language by recognizing some of the vocabulary. I understand enough to know that the modal ideas I encountered in high school are playing an important role. And I am also aware there's a deeper conversation happening just beyond my knowledge.

Miles Davis, in his trademark trumpet pose, recording Bitches Brew.

Maybe that's one reason why this album remains fascinating more than 50 years after its release. Like a difficult book or a demanding film, it reveals a little more at each re-listen.

Fortunately, I'll be visiting friends at their cottage in a week. Their teenage son, Mitchell, is a talented guitarist who recently took up jazz. Perhaps I can pick his brain for the insights that eluded me in those music classes 40-plus years ago.

The 500 - #103 - Giant Steps - John Coltrane

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by New York-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time.

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Album: #103

Album Title: Giant Steps

Artist: John Coltrane

Genre: Jazz, Post Bop, Hard Bop

Recorded: Atlantic Studios, New York City, New York

Released: February, 1960

My age at release: Not born

How familiar was I with it before this week: Not at all

Is it on the 2020 list? Yes, at #232, dropping 128 spots

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Giant Steps

In the late ’80s, I started buying jazz CDs. This was not because I understood jazz but because I thought I should. It sounded like the kind of music that I wanted my persona to project; urbane, intelligent, sophisticated and tasteful. I think I also wanted to prod myself into believing that I was actually growing up despite working part-time jobs at restaurants, arenas and pools while still mucking about after my first degree, not entirely convinced adulthood had arrived.

Me in the late 80s, making a pizza at my restaurant gig,
wearing my lifeguard hoodie from my summer job with
the Public Utilities Commission.

Much like people who buy Tolstoy’s War and Peace or Joyce’s Ulysses from The Folio Society, these touchstones of cultural refinement were meant to be displayed, even if not fully understood or, in some cases, even absorbed. (Full disclosure: I also went through a Folio Society phase a few years later. To my credit, I chose books I wanted to read, or had already read. Certainly not Ulysses, which remains miles beyond my comprehension).

The Folio Society is known for its handsome, prestige editions of classic books.

I have written before about my first jazz purchase being Kind of Blue (#12 on The 500 List). Before Google searches and Ai prompts came along to help people 'cosplay' as music intellectuals, I learned about the legendary 1959 Miles Davis record through word of mouth. Someone, likely older and authoritative, had claimed it would be their “deserted island record.”

For those unfamiliar with the term “deserted island record” (sometimes expanded to a short list of records reminiscent of BBC’s celebrity Desert Island Discs radio program) selecting your favourites is a fun way of fantasizing life as a desert island castaway. What albums would you choose to keep you company, provided, of course, there was a power source?

Giant Steps, John Coltrane's fourth studio release and first for Atlantic Records was recorded shortly after he finished working with Miles Davis on Kind of Blue. Coltrane’s record is regarded as one of the most influential jazz albums of all time. Despite sounding chaotic to the untrained ear, his chord progressions are highly structured and mathematical. This was groundbreaking for several reasons, especially because:

• It introduced what musicians now call Coltrane Changes, a harmonic system that cycles through three distant key centers (B, G, and E♭ major), each a major third apart. This was unusual because most jazz harmony at the time moved more predictably through closely related keys.
• It demanded much of the musicians playing because of the rapid harmonic movement. The chords change quickly, sometimes every two beats. For improvisers, this meant having to constantly “re-map” the tonal center in real time, a mentally and physically demanding task for even an expert player.
• To navigate these changes, Coltrane developed his Sheets Of Sound style, a continuous cascade of notes pouring out of his saxophone like a waterfall or rushing current. Even though it sounds wild, he hits the important notes of each ever changing chord as they pass by.

Whereas Kind of Blue became the most accessible and best selling jazz record of all time (five million copies in the U.S. alone), Giant Steps became a rite of passage for serious jazz musicians and fans. The title track alone has become something of a legend. Among expert saxophonists, it is more a test than a song. Its rapid sequence of shifting keys, cycling through distant tonal centres, creates what is often described as a harmonic obstacle course. There are 26 chord changes packed into 16 bars, often played at a blistering tempo which, by most accounts, makes it one of the most difficult pieces in the jazz repertoire. However, despite the chaos, it remains an engaging and enjoyable listen.

The first section of Giant Steps charted for alto saxophone.

I suppose, going back to my earlier example: If Giant Steps is James Joyce’s impenetrable Ulysses, then Kind of Blue would be F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby. The first is a dense and demanding novel that requires effort, patience, and a certain level of fluency before it begins to reveal itself. It can feel forbidding at first, as though designed to test your intelligence.

The other, by contrast, is beautifully controlled and deceptively simple. Kind of Blue, like The Great Gatsby, feels accessible from the very beginning. You can enter it without preparation. In fact, it is still on many high school reading lists. But that ease is misleading. Between the pages there is a quiet sophistication, a structure and intention that only becomes clear the more time spend with it. Not coincidentally, it is widely owned and widely loved. People return to Gatsby, recommend it, and, in many cases, claim to know its subtleties before they fully understand the underlying themes. Which describes me perfectly when I purchased Kind of Blue and read Gatsby back in the '80s. I am still discovering things about both.

Granted, Giant Steps would make a terrific deserted island record. To steal a phrase from poet Walt Whitman,  the music "contains multitudes" of themes. You could spend years finding new pathways through its harmonic maze, fresh interpretations of how the pieces fit together. The challenge for the listener is to stretch  the mind; there is always more to learn. It would also have looked pretty impressive on my shelf when I was 23, alongside  a Folio Society copy of Ulysses.

The 500 - #358 - Sketches Of Spain - Miles Davis

I was inspired by a podcast called The 500 hosted by Los Angeles-based comedian Josh Adam Meyers. His goal, and mine, is to explore Rolling Stone Magazine's 2012 edition of The 500 Greatest Albums of All Time. 

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Album: # 358

Album Title: Sketches of Spain

Artist: Miles Davis

Genre: Third Stream, Orchestral Jazz

Recorded: Columbia 30th Street Studios

Released: July, 1960

My age at release: Not Born Yet

How familiar was I with it before this week: Not At All

Song I am putting on my Spotify Playlist: Concierto de Aranjuez 

(Selected by my friend James, who grew up in Spain & gave me a brief history of Flamenco music)

We all have "concert regrets". One of my biggest happened when I turned down an opportunity to see Miles Davis perform at Massey Hall in Toronto, Ontario. My good friend Jeff, with whom I have seen dozens of concerts and live music performances, called me in the autumn of 1989 to let me know he was getting tickets and asked if I wanted any. I can't remember the reason I declined. I suspect it was because of money. Which, in retrospect, seems ridiculous. The cost was $25. Perhaps, worse still, I dismissed the opportunity by saying: "I'll see him next time."

Miles Davis Ticket from the late 80s 

Jeff did attend the concert. He was glad he went, but said the performance wasn't great. The band was exceptional, but Davis seemed to be off. We would later learn that he was quite ill. As always, Davis rarely faced the audience, preferring to angle himself toward his bandmates. A decision that some have, mistakenly, attributed to arrogance or performance anxiety.

Miles Davis performing (1960s)

Over the years, he has given many reasons for his positioning. The answer that makes the most sense is that he is leading the band, like a conductor. When asked, he told a reporter: 

"Nobody ever asks classical orchestra conductors why they have their backs to the audience. The reason is that they're telling the orchestra what to play and when. You don't criticize them for doing it, so why do you criticize me for doing the very same thing."

Miles Davis didn't like his music referred to as Jazz. He preferred to call it Social Music because it reflected the sounds of his time. That makes a lot of sense when looking at the wide spectrum of styles he adopted over his five-decade career. Books, feature films, comprehensive blogs and web-pages (including the  immersive and interactive timeline, Scaled In Miles, from 2015), have documented Davis' complex career.

Screen Capture of the Scaled In Miles Website

From Bebop to the Birth Of Cool in the early 50s, he transitioned into Hard Bop a few years later, along with a heroin addiction. He kicked heroin in the late fifties, took up boxing and began to explore Modal Jazz. At the end of the decade, he recorded his most important record, Kind Of Blue (#12 of The 500).

While recording Kind Of Blue, Davis married Francis Davis (nee: Francis Elizabeth Taylor), who was the first African-American ballerina to perform with the Paris-Opera ballet and who had transitioned to work on several Broadway (and off-Broadway) shows. Francis insisted that Miles accompany her to a performance by flamenco dancer, Roberto Iglesias in New York. 

Francis Davis, featured on the cover of Miles Davis record
Someday My Prince Will Come (1961)

Miles was completely captivated by the performance and, rumour has it, bought every flamenco album available at his local record shop. This influence is first heard on Flamenco Sketches, the final track of Kind Of Blue. However, it is fully explored on record #358 on The 500, Sketches Of Spain.

Davis recording Sketches Of Spain (November, 1959)

Sketches was recorded over three days with 34 of the top jazz and classical players of the time. It is considered Third Stream, a term coined by composer, musician, lecturer and historian Gunther Schuller in 1958. It is best defined as a fusion of improvisational jazz and European classical with influences from World Music.

Gunther Schuller

By the time I made the mistake of skipping Davis' performance in 1990, he had moved through many more phases, including an electric period. When he visited Massey Hall he had become enamoured with contemporary music. Indeed, half the songs he performed that night were covers from popular artists of the time, including Michael Jackson, Cyndi Lauper, Scritti Politti and Toto.

Davis died a little over a year later, on September 28. 1991, of complications from bronchial pneumonia. When I learned the news, I deeply regretted the choice I had made when Jeff called to invite me but, if I can borrow from Davis' philosophy of improvisational playing, "Do not fear mistakes, there are none."