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MILES AHEAD: the oft-forgotten Gil Evans/Miles Davis Jazz Masterpiece.

JB — Mon, 02 Jun 2003 19:41:38 +0000

By Jason Ward Boyte

Tired of your Jobim/Astrud Gilberto album? Never fear: even part-time jazz fans can look cool at cocktail parties, impress dates, and give cred to their music collection with this very hip, very accessible classic.

When I thought of writing this piece, my motivations were, and remain, simple. Since I’d “reviewed” the Grammys—an event as related to music as an NRA convention—I felt it important to discuss something else, preferably something relating to music as opposed to inane music politics, or pop fads.

Deciding the album was fairly simple, too. Miles Davis’ Miles Ahead had been turning in my CD player for some time, and it was a fine place to start. Very big and brassy, yet far from frantic, it just seems to be the album to introduce spring. I suppose also, that I will discuss albums/musicians past and present indiscriminately. I mean, if I am going to do a column gratis, then folks shouldn’t give a rat’s patootie what I ramble about. Besides, if someone hates it, they should send me a CD and I’ll review it. (I won’t return it).

Recorded in 1957, Miles Ahead is the first of several album-length collaborations of Miles Davis and arranger Gil Evans. The latter having previously done arrangements for the ground-breaking effort Birth of the Cool, which effectively slowed the frantic pulse of East Coast hardbop and helped usher in the “Cool School.” Other album-length collaborations include Porgy and Bess, Sketches of Spain, and Quiet Nights. By far their most famous collaboration is Sketches of Spain—so comparing this album to Miles Ahead is inevitable.

Sketches of Spain and Miles Ahead are very different, however, and it is their difference that is partly the reason that I am writing this review. You see, when someone asks me for my opinion for albums to buy, I start asking a series of questions. Jazz is broad, and one jazz fan might not look a thing like another, just-as-avid, jazz fan. Who have you heard? Who is your favorite jazz instrumentalist? Do you like big bands, if so, whom? Saxophones, trumpets? Chet Baker or Bessie Smith? Oscar Petersen or McCoy Tyner? These questions are important in determining the ear of the jazz listener.

Following this line of reasoning, I wouldn’t necessarily recommend Sketches to everyone. Not because it is more challenging, more “respectable,” or more developed. It is just very different. First and foremost, if we were to classify them, Sketches, a later album than Miles Ahead, is closer to a classical composition than Miles Ahead, and was, in fact, largely inspired by, and contains work of, Spanish classical composer, Joaquin Rodrigo.

Miles Ahead, however, is a straight-ahead JAZZ album. It swings. It grooves. It has the blues. And Miles blows over some serious changes, too, while on Sketches, he tends to stay on long vamped chords playing repetitive melodic riffs in front of lush, inventive arrangements. Beautiful: yes. Impressive: yes. Evocative: yes. Swinging: not really. It’s simply more of a classical album, and one can enjoy the album more if one thinks of it in that way. Sketches of Spain is an album to sit and listen to, while Miles Ahead can be played during your morning bagel, a drive in the convertible to Marin, during a dinner party or while sitting down and listening attentively.

Miles Ahead begins with ‘Springsville,” a classic track that is a perfect example of the indefinable chemistry between Miles’ playing and Evans’ arrangements. After the first two bars, It will send anyone looking for the sunny side of the street. It is clear from the downbeat where the band comes in that Evans clearly understands Miles Davis’ playing and showcases his voice in an incredibly sympathetic and electrifying way. His arrangements not only make Davis’ highs higher and more dramatic, but his lows softer and more introspective.

For example, Davis, who’s not usually known for being a high blower like Dizzy Gillespie is backed on this album (especially on “Springsville”) by a wall of trumpets. One would think that these additional horns would wash him out—but incredibly these horns buoy him, raising his voice above theirs. The effect is magical, and (dare I say?) energizing.

Yet, with the uniqueness of Evans’ arrangements—using trumpets, French horns, trombones, oboes, flutes and clarinets—the magic of Davis’ ballad playing is not lost. The arrangements do not overwhelm or distract from Davis, but compliment his playing—as in the classic Gershwin hit “My Ship,” where Davis is backed by a clarinet- and flute-textured arrangement that blends perfectly with Davis’ rich tone. Yet Miles is just as paired down, simple, and melodic as his early Prestige recordings.

The track “Miles Ahead,” sounds like it could have been on Birth of the Cool—the tune swings elegantly, unlabored in a dense arrangement, and is punctuated with brassy, staccato trumpet phrases that fill in the gaps and bring Davis further to the front. Still, there are hints as to what’s coming in the future. “Blues for Pablo,” especially, but even “New Rhumba,” have early elements of the shape and sound of Sketches of Spain.

Go ahead and get this album. Jazz fans will be impressed when they see you have a Miles album besides Kind of Blue, and even those who don’t like jazz will still be drawn to the mood that the album evokes. Do yourself a favor, too, and get the issue with the bonus tracks. Light a candle, open a bottle of Chianti, and invite your significant other over for some pasta.

John Entwistle: The Bottom’s Dropped Out.

JB — Sat, 06 Jul 2002 19:32:33 +0000

By Jason Ward Boyte

Yes, it’s been about a month since his passing, incidentally the same week as Ray Brown, famous and remarkable jazz bassist. What a terrible week for the bass. Their loss made me wonder if there was some cosmic statement being made. Are we to be left now with only the one-dimensional bass playing typified by U2’s Adam Clayton? Perhaps we are destined to hear only quarter-notes thudding inarticulately on the root of every chord, mixed purposely low so we aren’t reminded that the bass player was the guy who simply wasn’t good enough to play guitar.

But now I’m listening to The Who’s BBC sessions. It is immediately apparent what a force of nature John was. It’s rare when one musician is both equally brain and brawn in a band. Sure, The Who had plenty of brawn to go around, especially from Keith Moon’s drumming, but the intensity and creativity from Entwistle in these recordings certainly puts him in a class of his own.

The Who’s live recordings are truly where his talent is most apparent. I’ve wondered, listening to seminal studio tracks such as “Who Are You” and “Baba O’Reilly” if Pete Townsend wasn’t deliberately mixing John down to bring out his own guitar playing. For example: why start “O’Reilly” with a piano bass line, when you have one of the best bass players alive standing right next to you? And then, when he does come in, why bring him in in such a subtle way – almost as if to sneak him in? You hear the live versions of that song, and it is a different world. After the electronic introduction, the bass enters and makes a powerful, immediate statement. It says instantly that, if there was any doubt, this song is an anthem.

Well, if this toned-down studio approach was deliberate or just an oversight, there is no way to cover up John’s playing on these BBC recordings. Tracks such as “Leaving Here,” a mod classic, ring with his cool riffing, and rhythmic dominance. The interplay between John and Keith is simply astounding.

Dancing in the Streets, an otherwise terrible cover is made alive simply with John’s bold playing. Where is Pete in this track? Pete is spare, missing a huge opportunity for his usually terrific rhythm-guitar work. John on the other hand, moves effortlessly up and down the fret board, moving forward a song that everyone else seems to want to hold back into a dirge.

John Entwistle was ahead of his time, traditional, and, strangely, a relic of his time. Still, no one before or since has played the bass quite the way he did.

He was traditional in that he shared the basic premise of what a bass player’s role within a group with the jazz players. His job was not easy; he was not the bass player because he couldn’t play guitar or sing. His job wasn’t simply to fill in the bottom sonically like current rock and dance music, but much more. He was the skeleton of the band, the form and space of the band, the time and harmonics of the band. He was the skeleton over which draped the muscle and skin of drums, guitars and vocals. His job was to be the anchor both rhythmically and sonically. He laid down the time like a metronome, leaving Keith Moon to go nuts, and laid down the structure of the songs in his bass lines, while Pete twisted his chords into cacophony.

He was ahead of his time, because unlike earlier bass players, he did make the bass more prominent, more melodic and more powerful. Certainly Paul McCartney, John Paul Jones and countless others were influenced. Sergeant Pepper’s presented a new, more melodic, and more pronounced bass playing by Paul, who even over-dubbed his playing after all other tracks were completed, so he could weave in and out of all lines to create maximum effect. Still, Paul’s playing was just that: it was weaving in and out of the music without touching it; it was a low-hanging musical ornament, while John’s playing anchored the rest of the chaos of The Who.

Sadly, while he was also ahead of his time, he marked a standard in rock bass playing that has not been met since. Bass is now left to that guy with the cool haircut who can’t play another instrument, but who still wants to be in a band. A blanket statement, true, with certain exceptions, of course, including The Attraction’s Bruce Thomas and The Specials’ Sir Horace Gentleman. Still, by and large, bass is an after-thought.

So now is the time where I’m supposed to wrap up my little tirade with some statement like “Well, at least he will live on in his music,” and yes that is true and right. But I am sad for the huge loss of his talent, and only hope that more would choose to take his example.

Broken Social Scene: You Forgot It In People

JB — Sun, 02 Jun 2002 20:20:36 +0000

By Jason Ward Boyte

What the hell?

Pretty much my reaction upon hearing these names – one for the 10-15 member band hailing from Toronto made of alt-rock alums and also their album, respectively. My reaction: who wants to hear anything from someone with the name “Broken Social Scene?” It sounds Smashing Pumpkins 10 years and 15 million copycat albums too late.

Still, it was strongly recommended by someone I trust, so I dutifully bit. And I must say, I have not been this pleasantly surprised with an album since Spoon’s “Kill the Moonlight”, which blew my socks off last year.

YFIIP, didn’t hit me over the head the way Spoon’s did, but it intrigued me and I couldn’t listen to anything else. Though purchased the same day, my “Hail to the Thief” sat unheard for a week.

I suppose there is no real reason to go into nauseating detail on how the album grew on me, how many listenings it took for me to realize that this was not simply an album with a couple good tunes, but a real complete musical statement that is rare in these days. But it did.

Now I listen to it and it is what it is: a damn-near perfect album that ranges in styles, emotional scope and instrumentation. Like the White Album, it goes all over the place, but it is never disconcerting and it always sounds like the same band.

The first song, a quiet, two-minute instrumental turns quickly into a fast-paced garage punk guitar frenzy that, after nearly two minutes, releases – and this is the moment that I think both sets up the listener and defines the album – into a sweet, jangly bridge in which the first words of the album are sung:

“All your kind they….”

Interesting. Your kind? Who? The kind who went out and bought this album?

It goes on, warbling, accusatory, desperate, tired – drawing the line in the sand between the band, the listener, and the world that seemingly has forced this group of earnest people to express themselves in music.

It could have been pathetic, but instead it is somehow sweet, and you sympathize immediately.

But it is not all bleak and disenchanted. Just mostly, and in a good and strangely uplifting way. You Forgot it in People has a backbone while not abstaining from the pleasures of the flesh. The album bobs and weaves, becomes frenetic, then blissful – “Looks just like the Sun” is relaxed, cool, and content in a kind of beatific Sunday afternoon sort of way. “Anthems For A Seventeen-Year Old Girl” is a sweet lament of a pure girl gone shallow woman, so sentimental yet so honest and so utterly relatable one is drawn into its primitive, quiet chant.

And the rockers rock. “Almost Crimes” can stand next to any Strokes or White Stripes tune in terms of grit and gripes. And the grooves groove: “Cause=Time” could easily be an MTV hit that doesn’t insult the listener (should they choose to make it one).

This is an album for both the hardcore music buffs, and I’d argue just as appreciable by less pretentious, less obsessive music fans. Will this band take off? Maybe and I kind of hope not – that is at least for another album or two so we can see where they go from here. Regardless, it is somehow reaffirming to hear an album that just gets it right. It makes it worth it rifling through so much crap to hear that no, everything has not been done; there’s still room to go out there.

Farewell to George Harrison

JB — Sat, 01 Dec 2001 00:06:02 +0000

by Jason Boyte

Farewell to George Harrison. As someone who grew up on the Beatles, it was a shock to hear that he’d passed away. I can’t pretend to be special in my attachment to the Beatles, but that is part of their enduring success as musicians and a collective band – just about anyone who talks of the Beatles immediately gets a look of protective defensive ‘fandom.’ “Oh, I LOVE the Beatles. I grew up on them.” Just about any serious fan feels as though they “get” the songs in a way that is unique, or that certain songs somehow fit their life in a way that is more exact than for anyone else. I can vouch for this in myself, certainly.

The fact that their #1 album was the only album to touch InSync last year in sales is also a testament to their enduring vitality. It’s unfortunate that just as we were hearing this message again, George left us. His passing on the heels of the Twin Towers attack was like a dull punch on an already bruised body. The subsequent loss of innocence from the terrorist attack and the ensuing war in Afghanistan was still ineffable, and was for me and undoubtedly many other fans, intensified with George Harrison’s death.

Why was I affected? Did I know him? No. Did I love ALL his music? No. But a lot of it was really, really good.

A hard thing about his passing is that George was the only songwriter from the Beatles that wasn’t part of the Lennon/McCartney collaboration and competition. George was the one member who we could see progress musically in a straight line, without having to do crazy Beatles-calculus trying to figure out if Paul wrote this song or if John did, did John write the bridge or the verse, and weighing all that depending on whose story you believe – Paul’s in his over-the-top biography, or John’s bitter tirades in Playboy.

George on the other hand started off writing crap. He sounded great, especially on the early Chuck Berry numbers, but his early songwriting efforts were miserable. Aside from a few lucky ones, like “If I Needed Someone,” “Taxman,” and “All Too Much,” George took his time blossoming, but when he finally did, he had found a unique, strong songwriting voice. By the White Album, he was undeniably his own man musically. And yes, Frank Sinatra is quoted as saying that George’s Abbey Road song,”Something” was the best love song of the twentieth century. Not small praise from a legendary crooner to – um – a hippie.

I also wonder where that leaves the rest of the Beatles – my first thought was, “Oh, now they’ll never be able to get back together,” and then, after looking at the remaining Beatles, thought, “Oh Christ, now they are definitely going to get back together. I cringe at the cheesy possibilities of Paul and Ringo. Perhaps now is the time for that Ice Capades Beatles show, or a Beatles line of tennis shoes, or “trainers” for you limeys.

Yes, George was the other serious one, and truly where the heart of my sadness for his absence lies. The two serious, cool Beatles died first, and now we’re growing old with the dorkier half of what has helped shape and influence so many of us – as if it weren’t bad enough just getting older and dorkier naturally.

So yes, like just about anyone else who mourns the loss of George Harrison, I do not mourn the loss of the man, unfortunately. I mourn the passing of time and the empty place that is left where he was in this world.