Five-Star Collection... Miles Davis

Miles Davis

Seven Steps To Heaven

This above all: to thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not then be false to any man.

                                                  "Hamlet"

Miles Davis believes that a performer's first responsibility is to himself, and that if he becomes disturbed by the opinions and advice of others he will make very little headway.

Amplifying this credo, he once pointed out that "critics write whole columns and pages of big words and still ain't saying nothing. If you have spent your life getting to know your business and the other cats in it, and what they are doing, then you know whether a critic knows what he's talking about. Most of the time they don't. I pay no attention to what the critics say about me, the good or the bad. The toughest critic I got, and the only one I worry about, is myself. My music has to get past me, and I'm too vain to play anything I think is bad".

Miles' indifference to critics, and to critical audiences, is coupled with a complete lack of concern for the comments accompanying his albums. He believes in letting the music act as its own spokesman. As a concession to this precept, Someday My Prince Will Come was issued with nothing on the jacket but the personnel, a candid shot of Miles on the back, and a portrait of his princess, Frances Davis, on the front. The music remained unharmed. Fortunately for the penmen, it is still widely believed that contrary to Miles' views, informative commentary can help acquaint the listener with the artist and may thereby aid in an understanding of the music.

To gain an accurate perspective of Miles it is advisable to consider only his musical and personal background, rather than to evaluate him in terms of the curious cult that has taken root around him. There is a growing circle of hipsters who dress as he dresses, curse as they think he curses, copy everything off his old records including the clinkers, and get their masochistic kicks by waiting for him to do, in a nightclub or onstage, something they think they can point out as rude or unconventional. These pseudo-sophisticates, in most cases, are totally unaware of what Miles Davis is or was, for although the what and the how of Miles today fascinates them, the why of yesterday concerns them hardly at all.

His career since 1957 has moved upward in a sort of two-pronged spiral. Experiments with Gil Evans and a large orchestra have alternated with informal performances by his own quintets and sextets. During these years, Miles has matured into a brilliant, complex man shaped by the ironies of a society that could Jim Crow him on a variety of private and professional levels while simultaneously giving him a healthy shove toward his first million dollars.

It is a miniature musical education to watch the creative processes at work during a Miles Davis session. Miles talks very little, expecting the musicians to follow his plans by intuition. It takes a sensitive and intelligent artist to follow the leader under these conditions, and it was the very demands he placed on his men that brought out the best in them.

In a way, it was symbolic of the attitude Miles has developed toward music and life. If one were asked to epitomize in one phrase his uncompromising approach to the horn, the answer would be simple again: Let the chops fall where they may. Miles' music is his own just as he is his own man; never has it been made clearer than in these starkly eloquent musical statements, uttered 360 years after "Hamlet". *Leonard Feather, 1963 (from the liner notes)*

This LP is the result of two sessions held this spring, the first in Los Angeles, the other in New York City. The Los Angeles session, with Feldman, Carter, and Butler, produced Basin, Love, and Baby; the other three titles stem from the second date, with the trumpeter's present group — Coleman, Hancock, Carter, and Williams. Davis played exceptionally well on both dates, though each brought out a different facet of his artistry.

There is a spell of melancholy cast over the Los Angeles performances, partly because the three selections are slow tempoed and balladic in nature, partly because Davis plays only muted — and he tends to play "sadder" muted than he does open. But more than anything, it is what he plays and how he phrases it that casts the spell.

On each of the three tracks, there is a general downward curve to his solos; that is, the phrases may rise, but at the critical point they descend, either in a short run or a slur, and even as they rise there are innumerable points where Davis slurs individual notes downward. It's as if he were continually turning down the corners of his highly melodic improvisations.

Davis also often uses the low register of his horn, sometimes in breathy fashion, on Basin, Love, and Baby — on the last named he ends his solo with what must be termed a sigh. And as always, his playing is very human, with voicelike inflections that give his work a "singing" quality, not unlike that of a Billie Holiday or an Edith Piaf.

On the other hand, his playing at the New York session is almost joyous. Certainly there are turned-down corners, but not as many as on the other three tracks.

It should be noted that Seven, So Near, and Joshua are not taken at slow tempos, but this is not necessarily the reason for the joy evident in Davis' playing—he's conjured up melancholy at fast tempos before. There is a shift in his playing here, a general upward curve to his solos— rising phrases and runs up scales to the high register. He also uses the upper register more on these tracks than the others —and he makes what he goes for, which is something one could not always say about some of his other recordings.

Both sessions resulted in classic Miles. All three tracks from the Los Angeles session are superb. And there is a remarkable Joshua solo that must stand as a model of how to construct a solo— there is one part, for example, where he uses a scale first in its entirety and then returns to it periodically but only uses part of it to make his point—which is a simple enough idea, but how many jazzmen think of something like that?

And so strong is Davis' playing on both sessions that one never bothers about how many choruses he plays, how long or short his phrases are, how he gets through a certain set of chords—just as long as he keeps playing. Which, I guess, is the mark of a true artist at work.

Of the others on the album, Feldman, who wrote Joshua and collaborated with Davis on Seven, and Carter are the more sympathetic accompanists, though Hancock solos brilliantly, particularly on Seven and Joshua.

Feldman combines parts of Bill Evans and Red Garland in his solos but plays harder than either of those two former Davis sidemen. In general, he does an excellent job of following Davis' unpredictable twists and turns.

Butler occasionally seems at a loss as to what to play behind Davis, sometimes double-timing for a few bars and then dropping back; he sounds more comfortable backing Feldman. Williams, however, goes straight ahead in his accompaniment, and the young Boston drummer displays mature taste in his Seven solo, which is a characteristic uncommon to most other 17-year-olds.

Coleman is unimpressive in his solos, though I've heard him play very well with the group in live performances since the record was made. The tenorist also falls victim to a recording imbalance in the stereo version that brings out Hancock's often busy accompaniment much too strongly, to the point of distraction, in fact.

But these are minor carps in light of the stunning performances by Davis on the record.

*Don DeMicheal (Down Beat, September 12, 1963 [5 stars])*

1 - Basin Street Blues

(Spencer Williams)

2 - Seven Steps To Heaven

(Victor Feldman, Miles Davis)

3 - I Fall In Love Too Easily

(Sammy Cahn, Jule Styne)

4 - So Near, So Far 

(Tony Crombie, Benny Green)

5 - Baby Won't You Please Come Home

(Charles Warfield, Clarence Williams)

6 - Joshua

(Victor Feldman)

7 - So Near, So Far

(Tony Crombie, Benny Green)

8 - Summer Night

(Al Dubin, Harry Warren)

Miles Davis (trumpet), with:

#1, #3, #5, #7, #8:

George Coleman (tenor sax), Victor Feldman (piano),

Ron Carter (bass), Frank Butler (drums).

Recorded at Columbia Studios, Los Angeles, California,

April 16 (#1, #3, #5, #7) and April 17 (#8), 1963

#2, #4, #6:

George Coleman (tenor sax), Herbie Hancock (piano),

Ron Carter (bass), Tony Williams (drums).

Recorded at Columbia 30th Street Studio, New York City, May 14, 1963