Pitchfork

Miles Davis would have turned 81 today. Not so old, really. He wasn't the healthiest guy, so it seems unlikely that he'd still be playing trumpet. But it would have been nice to have him around a little longer. To see what he'd been painting, get his take on what was happening with pop music, maybe discover what kind of sunglasses he was sporting. Virtually everyone who cares about music likes at least one phase of Miles Davis. He's a 20th century giant too large for words. So let's just look and listen.

By 1967, Miles had been at the forefront of at least three major shifts in jazz. With his second classic quintet-- Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams-- he was exploring relentlessly on record, particularly with regard to rhythm and harmony, but his concert repertoire still included older material first cut years ago. This version of "Walkin'" from 1967 finds the second quintet in brilliant form, listen for Tony Williams' clear, hard tone on his drum solo.

Two years later feels like 10. Miles now works with electronic instruments, the band has changed, and the Brooks Brothers suits are packed away forever. Here, playing "Bitches Brew", the music is suddenly about expansion and contraction, moving along in a line but in a more unpredictable way.

During this tumultuous and insanely creative period, Miles' band changed frequently and his ear for sidemen was superb. Check out Keith Jarrett in this version of "Inamorata" from Miles' 1971 European tour, a short time before the keyboardist would record his first solo piano album and then renounce electric music forever. Dude is seriously inside this music.

In 1975, Miles took the rest of the decade off to do cocaine, have a lot of sex, and watch television. He came back in 1981 and his sound had changed again. He tells Bryant Gumball in this interview a year later that he doesn't care for the word "jazz," preferring to think of his art as existing within a broader "social music" tradition.

He puts his money where his mouth is in 1985 by covering Cyndi Lauper's "Time after Time". Laugh if you want, but his solo-- a few duff notes aside-- is beautiful, even as the arrangement is mired in smooth jazz muck. He looks a little troubled up there, like he can't quite find the zone, but he seems determined to play his way out. Six years later, in 1991, he was gone.