Miles Davis: Birth of the Cool

Miles with Charlie Parker in 1947

 

Miles with Frances Taylor

Miles with Gil Evans

Miles with John Coltrane

Bill Evans (left to right), Miles, Cannonball Adderley, and Coltrane

Miles with Cicely Tyson

Director Stanley Nelson

MILES DAVIS:  BIRTH OF THE COOL – made for TV               B                                         USA  (114 mi)  2020  d:  Stanley Nelson

Listen.  The greatest feeling I ever had in my life — with my clothes on — was when I first heard Diz and Bird together in St. Louis, Missouri, back in 1944.  I’ve come close to matching the feeling of that night, but I’ve never quite got there.  I’m always looking for it, trying to always feel it in and through the music I play.                                                                       —Miles Davis, opening line from The Autobiography of Miles Davis, with help from Quincy Troupe, 1989

Documentary filmmaker Stanley Nelson makes another PBS American Masters film, moving from one radical piece of black history, The Black Panthers: Vanguard of the Revolution (2015), to another, this time documenting the life of jazz great Miles Davis, one of the most innovative and influential jazz musicians of the twentieth century.  Using much of the narration taken directly from The Autobiography of Miles Davis (421 pages), published in 1989 with help from Quincy Troupe, spoken by longtime TV actor Carl Lumbly in a raspy voice meant to sound like that of Miles, it’s a fairly straightforward documentary style that mainstreams an unconventional artist into a conventional format, easy to digest, wall-to-wall music playing in the background, plenty of vintage photographs, never really delving under the surface, instead standardizing his legacy.  Since the story is told by the artist himself, it has a ring of authenticity, but what’s lacking is material that refutes his greatness or offers any divulging opinions, as it’s basically a puff piece celebrating his status of jazz royalty.  While that was never in dispute, there were quite a few musicians who had their run-ins with Miles, Charles Mingus among them, finding him too egotistic and wrapped up in himself, making too many demands of others, where he refused to play with him after some early sessions, finding his irascible personality too easily provoked, as there was always tension in the room.  Jazz music, on the other hand, usually took the tension out of the air, so at least as a young artist there was an enigma associated with his name (An open letter to miles davis — CHARLES MINGUS).  Yet you won’t find any comments from Mingus in this film, or Monk, who Miles harassed and tried to change or alter his peculiar playing style, wanting the piano to accompany his trumpet in a supporting role, a vision not shared by Monk, to his credit.  So none of the abrasive moments butting heads with other jazz musicians are mentioned here.  Instead it appears that his career was all smooth sailing, where a child prodigy simply took the celebratory Mozartian road to success, where everything he touched was beloved by the public.  Only Stanley Crouch, a black cultural critic known for his jazz criticism, takes issue with the music he’s playing late in his career, wondering out loud why people are drawn to it, as at least in his mind there’s nothing about it that feels the least bit interesting.  And this touches on what’s not mentioned in the film, how jazz as a commercial form was largely directed towards white audiences, as they’re the ones buying the records, while jazz as an art form is a uniquely black cultural expression.  Late in his career, Miles wanted to be a rock star, doing live shows, like Hendrix or the Rolling Stones, selling out venues that appealed to mostly white audiences.  Certainly some purists in the jazz industry would call that selling out to make a buck, yet because he’s Miles Davis, legendary jazz artist, no one questions his motives.  The almighty dollar certainly plays into this as a driving motivation, yet so is success and popularity.  Miles wanted to be as popular as Michael Jackson or Prince.  In that vein, the difference between the unembellished portrayal of Monk in Charlotte Zwerin’s Thelonious Monk: Straight, No Chaser (1988) and Miles in this film couldn’t be more profound, as Monk was never searching for the money or accolades associated with winning over white audiences. 

Something of a contrast to Don Cheadle’s Miles Ahead (2015), showing Davis in one of his dark periods, which veered into the ridiculous and surreal, Nelson’s film may lack flair or originality, but it does provide much of the music that Miles is known for, even if it’s presented in a greatest hits manner.  Davis was born in Alton, Illinois, but soon moved to East St. Louis where his father set up a dental practice, owning 200 acres of land in Arkansas, while his grandfather owned acres of nearby farmland as well, spending his summers there, so he didn’t grow up poor, as his family was among the wealthiest black families in the region, but he witnessed his father physically abuse his mother, a trait he inherited in his own relationships with women, repeating the same mistakes, becoming a major flaw in his character that was often overlooked.  He was gifted a trumpet by his father at age 13, playing in the high school marching band, while also playing in local bands.  While still in high school, he filled a seat on a band called Eddie Randle’s Rhumboogie Orchestra, becoming the musical director, but the most significant event after high school was sitting in on the Billy Eckstine Band on tour in St. Louis, featuring both Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, where the three of them comprise the future of modern jazz, Groovin High - Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie (5:14).  This gave Miles the musical inspiration he needed, knowing his future would lead him to 52nd Street in New York, known as the Mecca of Jazz clubs, with various establishments lining both sides of the street.  His father urged him to attend Juilliard School, learning music theory, but he hit the clubs in the evenings, eventually dropping out to join a bebop quintet with Charlie Parker, who struggled with mental health issues and heroin addiction problems, gaining plenty of weight, going on alcohol binges, where his physical condition just deteriorated.  So he worked with a collection of LA artists, including Gil Evans, who specialized in small orchestra arrangements, both seemingly bringing out the best in one another, giving birth to his first legendary recording session in 1949-50 with Birth of the Cool, but it was a trio of later albums that helped separate Miles from the field, Miles Ahead (1957), Porgy and Bess (1958), and Sketches of Spain (1960), all examples of re-inventing the limits of jazz parameters using non-jazz music, deeply introspective, master of the muted sound, with each showcasing a more lyrical, mournful anguish rarely heard in jazz.  Often overlooked in Miles’ career is the success he had in Europe in the mid 50’s, which embraced American jazz music after the war as a sign of freedom, where black musicians were more appreciated in Europe for their artistry, as opposed to the continued legacy of racism in America, with Miles Davis greeted alongside the likes of Picasso and Jean-Paul Sartre, all celebrated for expanding the realms of consciousness.  During a brief Parisian tour in 1958, film director Louis Malle asked Miles to improvise a musical score for his latest film, Elevator to the Gallows (Ascenseur pour l'échafaud) (1958), an existential film noir starring Jeanne Moreau about distanced lovers who never meet, with Miles improvising on the spot by watching the completed film footage in the recording studio, where his music plays as Moreau wanders the streets endlessly at night, perfectly capturing her loneliness and growing sorrowful detachment, Miles Davis - Générique - YouTube (2:49). 

Among his greatest collaborations is working with John Coltrane in Kind of Blue (1959) prior to Coltrane’s own break-out ascendancy to becoming a legendary star, but also Julian “Cannonball” Adderley and the compositional genius of Bill Evans before they formed their own bands, where the intimate setting allowed each musician their own space, with Miles providing a spare outline of a melody, becoming what is regarded as the greatest jazz album ever recorded and still the best-selling jazz album of all time (Kind of Blue: how Miles Davis made the greatest jazz album in ...), largely due to its accessibility, appealing to audiences that aren’t necessarily jazz devotees, as it perfectly captures the spontaneity of the moment, Miles Davis - So What (Official Video) - YouTube (9:06).  Let’s not forget the recent Barry Jenkins film based on a James Baldwin novel, If Beale Street Could Talk (2018), which prominently features the achingly sad Blue in Green by. Miles Davis - YouTube (5:37) in one of the more harrowing scenes.  As Coltrane demanded his own independence, however, wanting his own spotlight, Miles had to re-invent himself once more in the mid 60’s, creating a quintet with relatively unknown talent, adding Wayne Shorter and Herbie Hancock to the mix, and a 17-year old drummer extraordinaire in Tony Williams, priding themselves on rehearsing in performance, as they wanted to capture the explosive freshness each time, “Footprints” - The Miles Davis Quintet Live In ... - YouTube (9:08).  And when jazz lost its popularity to the cultural fascination of rock music, Miles re-invented himself again going totally electric in one of his most neglected albums in 1969, In a Silent Way, which is never mentioned, yet rivals his best work, introducing jazz fusion.  The film gushes over one of his more demonstrative phases, using echo and reverberation effects in crafting an experimental new sound, Miles Davis - Bitches Brew (Live In Copenhagen ... - YouTube (15:34).  Miles experienced his own Rodney King-like beating at the hands of the New York Police Department, standing in front of a club where he was the headliner, smoking a cigarette, but was ordered by cops to move along, which he refused to do, leaving his suit splattered with his own blood while his head was battered by nightsticks.  He suffered his own battles with drug dependency, especially in dealing with the constant pain from hip surgery gone wrong, but he had several episodes with drug addiction, which was a contributing factor in ending his marriage to dancer Frances Taylor, who may be the most welcome presence here, where they were the talk of the town, a chic and sophisticated New York City couple, both extremely fashion conscientious and both extremely talented, where her face appears on an album cover for Someday My Prince Will Come.  But drugs and alcohol, a toxic mix, only accentuated his jealousy, not wanting anyone else to show any extra affection to his wife, showing up in rehearsals for West Side Story and taking her home, refusing to allow her to have her own career, then belting her to the floor when she happened to mention she thought Quincy Jones was cute, the first of several instances, eventually walking out the door for good.  Plenty of faces offer commentary throughout, none offering any definitive historical view, so in equal measure they all weigh in during certain stages of his life, including his son Erin Davis and nephew Vince Wilburn, former girlfriends French singer/actor Juliette Gréco, Marguerite Cantú (mother of Erin), and painter Jo Gelbard, with brief appearances from Betty Mabry and Cicely Tyson, but also childhood friends and musical collaborators Gil Evans, Jimmy Heath, Jimmy Cobb, Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, and Ron Carter, but also Marcus Miller and Lenny White.  Quincy Jones makes an appearance and Clive Davis, manager Mark Rothbaum, also concert organizer George Wein, who recalls how influential it was for Miles to play at the Newport Jazz Festival, which was like a trial run for signing with Columbia records.  Perhaps most surprising is the adoration expressed by Carlos Santana, but also reflections offered from scholars Farah Jasmine Griffin and Tammy L. Kernodle, which reveal surprisingly little.  However his own dire reflections carry over through the end credits, revealing what could amount to a fitting epitaph, “When God punished you, it’s not that you don’t get what you want.  You get everything you want and there’s no time left.”

Thelonious Monk: Straight, No Chaser

Baroness Pannonica (Nica) de Koenigswarter

Director Charlotte Zwerin in the music studio

Thelonious Monk (left to right), with trumpeters Howard McGhee and Roy Eldridge, and Minton’s Playhouse club manager Teddy Hill, September 1947

Acclaimed photographer Art Kane’s iconic 1958 shot in Harlem, despite an early scheduled photo shoot, late-night jazz musicians showed up in pristine attire to pose for the photograph

THELONIOUS MONK:  STRAIGHT, NO CHASER        B+                  

USA  (90 mi)  1988  d:  Charlotte Zwerin

I’m famous.  Ain’t that a bitch.

—Thelonious Monk

From the co-director of the Maysles’ documentary on the Rolling Stones at Altamont, Gimme Shelter (1970), the film is a compilation of pre-existing material following the discovery of a large archive of footage in the 1980’s, including 14 hours of Thelonious Monk concert performances from Atlanta, New York, and Europe, filmed in 1967-68 by Michael and Christian Blackwood under a West German television commission for a one-hour broadcast that aired only in Germany, with the footage languishing in storage for nearly two decades afterwards, described by film producer Bruce Ricker as “the Dead Sea Scrolls of jazz.”  Bringing in Zwerin to film some additional material, she received a $50,000 grant from the National Endowment for the Arts, though largely financed by executive producer Clint Eastwood through his own production company.  Providing a rare window into the soul of an artist, it contains some of the only footage ever filmed of Monk both onstage and off, exhibiting his quirky personality where he was a prolific composer of 70 songs, the second-most-recorded jazz composer after Duke Ellington’s one thousand, but almost pathologically introverted, fearful of sharing the sheet music with anyone, including his band, who went on tour blind, never seeing the musical arrangements ahead of time, only getting a chance to view the score on the plane flying to Europe where they hastily copied their parts.  Even during rehearsals, other musicians curiously questioned Monk what key or what notes they were expected to play, filling in their notes, where it was an incredibly difficult process to pull specific information out of him, as he was frustratingly uncommunicative, yet during performances he was in total command, playing with a previously unseen ferocity, literally attacking the keys with his fingers, often hitting the same key with multiple fingers, using percussive strikes and angular sounds, keeping his fingers flat, not rounded or bent, where it’s hard not to be impressed with how rhythmically interesting Monk’s solos are, balancing sound and space while also perfecting playing runs and arpeggios, playing with almost mathematical precision, yet defying traditional conventions of Western-European music, becoming something else altogether, claiming “Just because you’re not a drummer doesn’t mean you don’t have to keep time.”  Note how different the same music sounds when played by other pianists, such as Tommy Flanagan in duo with Barry Harris, making it smoother, more pleasant sounding, and easier for customers to appreciate.  No one played like Monk, who was the real deal, not meant for casual listening, viewed with reverence by other musicians who called him “the high priest of bebop,” where his music was not initially understood by the public, as he was not a commercial draw and didn’t get the recognition of other major jazz artists, refusing to play what the public wanted to hear, or in a style they were accustomed to, instead embarking on entirely new ground.  According to saxophonist Sonny Rollins who rehearsed with Monk while still in high school, “I remember guys would look at his music [charts] and say: ‘We can’t play this’, but by the end of the rehearsal everybody was playing it anyway.”  Taking what he could from all the legendary piano players that came before him, like the Harlem stride style of James P. Johnson and Alberta Simmons, both of whom lived nearby in the same San Juan Hill neighborhood (where the Lincoln Center stands today), incorporating the modern jazz twists of the great band pianists like Fats Waller, Art Tatum, or Bud Powell, and the professionalism of Duke Ellington, yet heavily influenced by the swing era growing up as a teenager in the 30’s, Monk developed a unique style all his own, refusing to sound like any of them, with oddly angled rhythms and spacing, initially viewed as weird and eccentric, not fully embraced, where it took time before his music was taken seriously, inventing atonal chordal progressions, offering something profoundly different.

Monk is an original who is largely self-taught, though he received Julliard training, where his musical education was sitting alongside Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, mentored by Coleman Hawkins along with pianist Mary Lou Williams, who collaborated and befriended the new crop of younger bebop musicians, yet Monk transcended labels, known for the complexity of his compositions and his persistent perfectionism, writing songs that musicians wanted to play, where 'Round Midnight is by far the most covered jazz song written by a jazz artist (with 1,750 versions, according to one recent count, described as the “National Anthem of Jazz”).  Today his compositions reside in a world of high art, taken seriously enough that his music is currently taught in nearly all college music departments and conservatories, recognized as part of the canon of 20th century American music.  Monk had an aversion to talking about his work, allowing the piano to speak for itself, where even the best jazz musicians of the era found his music challenging, often leaving whites in the business, like his manager Harry Colomby, or legendary recording producer Teo Macero, somewhat speechless in his presence, as respect was a given, but he was a difficult man to understand, as evidenced by a rehearsal session with Macero when Monk wanted to hear the playback, but Macero wasn’t recording, still engaged in sound checks — an example of their work together, Oska T. (Live) (Lincoln Center) - YouTube (13:19).  The performance footage identifies each and every song played, most are original compositions, but other standards are thrown into the mix, where over the course of the film viewers develop an appreciation for his style, as we’re continually treated to the best seat in the house, where we’re able to see his feet keeping tempo.  Monk had a peculiar habit of abruptly standing up and twirling around in circles, as if to his own internal rhythm, also occurring in public at crowded airports, causing confused looks, which is a peculiar sight to see.  Using a cinéma vérité style, Zwerin offers interview footage from Monk’s son, T.S. Monk (Toot), a drummer and bandleader in his own right, who reveals intimate details about his father, suggesting early signs of mental illness, as there were times that he grew aloof and distanced to such an extreme degree that he no longer recognized his son, a powerful memory that has not lost any of its impact, especially frightening to a child.  While the severity eventually led to hospitalizations, he was never officially diagnosed with any mental illness syndromes, conditions that went largely undiagnosed in black communities during that era, though his behavior certainly resembles bipolar disorders.  According to his mother, Monk’s wife Nellie, these episodes began in the 50’s, but grew more frequent in the late 60’s, with Monk disappearing from the music scene altogether by the mid 70’s when he simply stopped playing.  Nellie traveled with him on the road, known for her kindness and generosity, bringing along her juices and special remedies, taking care of him while helping him pick out what to wear, though he’s almost always seen in an oversized coat wearing an unusual hat, often resorting to sunglasses.  Like many of the musicians of the era, he was a non-stop smoker, smoking even while playing, incredibly setting the cigarette down on one of the lower keys while he continued playing.  What stands out in this footage is not only the constant presence of abundant sweat dripping off his face, but also the old, beaten-down pianos that Monk used in those dingy clubs, with dirt and scratches all over the wooden frame, hardly the highly polished prototype that musicians use today, where some classical musicians actually have their pianos travel with them on the road. 

While the intimacy with the music and the musicians is astonishing, including tenor saxophonist Charlie Rouse, who seemed to anticipate the same mental wavelength Monk was on, it’s important to realize that Monk was viewed as a rebel, as an outsider who broke all the rules, creating a sonic disturbance no one else has been able to duplicate, which is why his reaction to becoming world famous seemingly overnight is priceless, as it comes out of nowhere.  It doesn’t change who he is or how he views himself, but it certainly changes how others view him, finally getting the recognition he deserves.  According to Monk, “You know anybody could play a composition like Body and Soul and use far-out chords and make it sound wrong.  It’s making it sound right that’s not easy.”  The mainstreaming of Monk in the mid-50’s was part of a larger transformation of the jazz public overall, which seemed to coincide with a 6-month residency of Monk’s band in the summer of 1957 at the Five Spot Jazz Club in the Bowery neighborhood of New York, between the East and West Village, a quartet featuring John Coltrane on tenor sax, which led to an outpouring of critical acclaim, where by the end of the decade the public was embracing his strands of modernism.  A year later with Johnny Griffin replacing Coltrane on sax, Monk was the talk of the town, curiously playing before almost completely white audiences, Misterioso (Live At The Five Spot / August 7, 1958) (10:54).  By 1964, he was one of only four jazz musicians to ever grace the cover of Time magazine, followed by several overseas tours.  Certainly the most bizarre aspect of the film is the presence of the Jazz Baroness, his white patron and friend Baroness Pannonica (Nica) de Koenigswarter, the youngest Rothschild daughter, at the time the wealthiest family in the world, something of a rebellious spirit of her own, fighting for the French Resistance during the war, abandoning her husband and five children, though what may have drawn her to Monk was her own father’s erratic mood swings and eventual suicide.  Befriending many prominent jazz musicians, hosting jam sessions in her swank hotel suite and escorting them to clubs in her Bentley, often interceding on behalf of musicians facing legal problems, she was instrumental in securing the return of Monk’s cabaret card, a regulated license to perform in Manhattan nightclubs after it had been suspended for six years due to questionable drug-related charges, paving the way for his Five Spot appearance.  An aspiring young artist John Cassavetes was in New York during this cultural renaissance, meeting Charlie Mingus who scored his film Shadows (1959), while modeling a character named “the Countess” after the Baronness in Too Late Blues (1961).  However it became something of a scandal when Charlie Parker died in her hotel room in 1955, asked to leave the hotel by the management, relocating to Central Park West, where she was again asked to leave, ending up in a sumptuous estate in Weehawken, New Jersey, overrun by more than 300 cats, seen in all their glory in the film, with a view across the Hudson of the magnificent New York skyline.  It was here that Monk would spend the last six years of his life in seclusion before succumbing to a massive cerebral hemorrhage in 1982, dying prematurely at the age of 64.  His open casket funeral service was filmed for posterity, with both Nellie and the Baroness awkwardly sitting side by side, with Monk's Mood from The Complete 1957 Riverside Recordings (7:53) with John Coltrane playing over the footage.  A strong-willed, free-thinking artist and a true originator, he will forever be remembered for going against the grain and asserting his own independence, where this uniquely intimate profile offers him a platform of jazz immortality, with this film selected to the Film Registry in 2017, Complete National Film Registry Listing - Library of Congress.