In the autumn of 1955 trumpeter Miles Davis hit the studio for the first time in the company of tenor saxophonist John Coltrane, pianist Red Garland, bassist Paul Chambers, and drummer Philly Joe Jones. Miles: The New Miles Davis Quintet was the first album to see release by this combo, a wholly worthwhile undertaking that set the stage for bolder achievements to come. On August 30 the record receives a well-deserved reissue on 180 gram vinyl as part Craft Recordings’ Original Jazz Classics Series.
It’s occasionally difficult to shake the notion of music history being shaped by particular inevitabilities. That is, certain great musicians, and specifically those who innovated across extensive discographies, were just creatively unstoppable. Their brilliance simply had to happen. And in the realms of jazz, perhaps no single musician can foster this atmosphere of the inescapable more than Miles Davis.
The man was responsible for an enormous number of masterpieces; listing only a third of them here would only serve to pad out the length of this review. But think of it this way; Davis was part of the original bebop wave, played a crucial role in the subsequent advancements of hard bop, and was an (arguably the) innovator in the cool, modal and fusion genres.
And if Davis eschewed free jazz, his “second great quintet” could occasionally creep up near the borderlines of that movement. That group’s string of mid-’60s studio albums remain sterling examples of a transitional and exploratory style that many describe as post-bop. And for that matter, Davis’ electric period is fairly assessed as experimental.
But it’s his “first great quintet” that cut Miles, and it can be equally tempting to contemplate what might’ve happened (or what might not have happened) had Columbia Records executive George Avakian not heard Davis’ performance at the 1955 Newport Jazz Festival. It was his playing on that stage that spurred Avakian to offer him a recording contract, but with the stipulation that Davis form a working band.
The trumpeter did just that, roping in Sonny Rollins on tenor saxophone alongside Garland, Chambers, and Jones for performances at the Café Bohemia in NYC. That Davis was under contract to Prestige complicated the matter; Bob Weinstock agreed to release him from his Prestige contract but only after he cut a boatload of material that shaped not just Miles but the thematic series Cookin’ (1957), Relaxin’ (’58), Workin’ (’60), and Steamin’ (’61). Davis could record for Columbia, but that label couldn’t release any of his music until the Prestige recordings were completed.
Indeed, Davis and the band, with John Coltrane having replaced Rollins, had already slid into Columbia’s 30th Street studio prior to commencing his Prestige obligations. The band cut four selections on October 26, 1955, with one making it onto Davis’ Columbia debut ‘Round About Midnight, released in March 1957. The three other tracks landed on compilations and were eventually added to ‘Round About Midnight’s 2001 expanded edition.
That the group had hit the studio before cutting Miles helps to explain the lack of any getting-to-know-one-another tentativeness on the record, which documents a single session from November 15, 1955. Furthermore, Garland and Jones had entered the Davis universe on The Musings of Miles, a quartet album cut two months earlier with bassist Oscar Pettiford.
With one exception, Miles consists of jazz and pop standards, exactly the kind of material this band ate for breakfast as Davis was eying the gateway to Columbia’s greener pastures (he remained with the label until 1985). “Just Squeeze Me” (co-written by Duke Ellington) opens the record with relaxed swagger as Davis, understandably first in the solo order, dishes a series of beauty moves. Coltrane is next in a more robust mode, then Garland hits that bluesy-stately sweet spot and after that, Davis rolls back in.
It’s often said that Davis chose Garland because he could play like Ahmad Jamal, but it’s worth observing that this album’s “No Greater Love,” a ballad written by Isham Jones on which Coltrane sensibly lays out, precedes Jamal’s own version (as heard on At the Pershing: But Not for Me) by a little over two years. This suggests a reciprocal influence, or at the very least, establishes parallel sensibilities.
“How Am I to Know?” is a cooker with ample space for Trane to have his say, even if he’s not as assertive as he would be later (just a year later, as this group really hits a collective stride on the four Prestige records to follow). Sweeter to the ear is hearing Davis excel at a speedier tempo, but with depth of feeling that was sometimes absent from recordings by the disciples of Davis and Dizzy (and Fats Novarro and Clifford Brown).
Opening side two, “S’Posin’” keeps the pace brisk, showcasing the leader at his best as the ensemble is in strong form. Next is “The Theme,” the sole Davis composition on the LP, so named as it was utilized as a set-closer; in truncated form, “The Theme” is all over the man’s live discography and appropriately closes each side of Workin’ (a studio set) from the next year.
Hearing “The Theme” spread out to over six minutes is one of the highpoints of the album. It’s also a treat to soak up “Stablemates,” a Benny Golson composition, for the album’s close. Making its debut on Miles (it was recorded four more times by other bands between the date this album was cut and 1960), “Stablemates” is a cerebral multifaceted groover in the mid-tempo range; that it was chosen for this session reinforces Davis’ investment in delivering Prestige a high-quality record.
Miles documents a confident band putting its best foot forward as an ensemble. If Davis and his crew are not taking any chances, it’s to their credit that the LP never registers as a rush job. To the contrary, it’s the beginnings of one of the great bands in jazz history. Let’s thank our lucky stars George Avakian made the scene that day.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
