Miles found a way to vocalize black people's frustrations and anger through his attitude and his style of play. There's nothing in modern music that sounds like On the Corner. Jazz has stalled since he died.
For my sixteenth birthday, my mother bought me a copy of Bitches Brew. I had never heard anything like it. There was a song called "Sanctuary," which I'd listen to over and over again on my CD Walkman. Some say that Bitches Brew is a polarizing record, but I don't understand how anybody wouldn't like it. Sure, it can be dense and unapproachable, but like all of Miles' stuff, if you turn on your brain and your guts, you'll feel it.
Miles had a great belief in himself. He also had a great chin. Miles didn't stop when people thought he was crazy or imagined that his motivations were superficial or thought he was just trying to sell records. He was derided, but he was not deterred.
Miles doesn't have one or two classic albums -- he has many: Kind of Blue, Filles De Kilimanjaro, Bitches Brew, In a Silent Way. He's unique in the sense that those who've never heard him know his name. He's the touchstone for an entire culture.
I have a video of Miles performing in Paris, toward the end of his career. He was in his sixties, wearing these big African pants, and he looks beautiful, like a painting. Whenever a member of his band took a solo, he'd hold up a cue card with the performer's name. It amazed me that he was bringing modern showmanship to jazz in that part of his career. He could have been the Kind of Blue guy, but he never rested on his laurels. He could have played ballads until the day he died and been even more revered. But he took chances, and that's what you have to do in life. You have to be honest to yourself.
[From Issue 946 — April 15, 2004]
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