MILES BEHIND THE VOODOO

THE AUTHOR TRIES TO WRITE ABOUT MILES THE WAY MILES PLAYED

Miles Davis broke through barriers like a terrorist,
Staccato gunbursts aimed at targets the audience couldn’t see.
Explosive notes toppling musical Jericho’s,
Scaring the shit out of guys pretending to get it
Guys like me
Raised on melody and meatloaf, three minutes with cheese
Baloney on white bread, that was either my lunch, or me.
But Miles got it, he rode that sound like a gaucho,
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 contemporaries
In the pursuit of the new, scoring the dragon of Now, that never satisfied him
And came too 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,
Joining words and genres 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. Excellent, guy. As good as it gets for ‘poetry about music’ Captures it. But I suspect you with your talents could also ‘dance about architecture’…

    Reply

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