The Author’s Riffs About Miles

Miles Davis broke through barriers like a terrorist,
Staccato gunbursts, hitting targets we didn’t know existed.
Explosive notes toppling musical Jerichos, advance, search and destroy, never retreat, never retreat
Scaring the shit out of guys pretending to get it
Guys like me
Raised on melody and meatloaf, harmony and cheese
Baloney on white bread, that was my lunch, or me.
But Miles got it, he rode that sound, a gaucho on a bronco
Picking runs out of the herd, taking them down,
Burning that Davis brand flesh deep, one after frenetic other
That was Miles, racing and chasing, outpacing his brothers
In the pursuit of the new, scoring the dragon of Now, that never satisfied him
And came to fast for us.
Miles is gone
Right, stop the presses
His music lives on ({yawn}}
What can I say? I’m no Miles of the keypad, no inventor of genres,
Joining words that never met before, making them friends
New combinations of words and notes get harder to find every day
Many no longer try, if music was money, they’re just getting by
Miles only stopped when he died
He didn’t run out of ideas, he only ran out of time

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2 responses to this post.

  1. Reading this, I’d say the ‘the author’ ‘gets it’. Loudly and clearly. Of course we could talk about the ‘it’; 20% a truth previously un-described, a love supreme, but 80% subjective dross from an epiphany one is, like, ‘wow, man!’so sure is unique in humanity’s history.
    Your work does nicely capture the spirit of the guy; and not for nothing I live most days with Miles on repeat. ‘Amandala’, by which time he was even more emphysemic than I, and left the fleshing-out of the ‘heads’ to inspired side-men.
    Bottom line: You and I have also peered into Heaven, Hell, and Turbulence. But ‘dancing about the architecture’s specifics; well, he was pretty damn good at it.

    Reply

    • I wrote this in slightly more time than it takes to read it, I let the similis and metaphors pour out, excised the ‘likes’ and the ‘as ifs’, debated about the terrorist line for a minute.
      You turned me on to Amanda, what a fine present! Currently, I am listening to the Quintet in Europe 1969. Shorter is at his finest, this is a formerly missing link between the Sketches and Silent Way Miles and the Bitch. The transition is made logical and fucking enjoyable.
      I tried to match his penchant for long lyrical lines with briefer statements. I dance with the architecture that houses me.

      Reply

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