Miles Davis - 'Round Midnight

Bitters and Blue Ruin

1. In the dimness of a late-night jazz club, where shadows play tricks on the walls you’ll hear the first mournful blue moans of ‘Round Midnight. It’s a tune that could have spilled straight out of a rain-slicked alley, echoing the kind of heartache that drives a man to haunt the barstools until last call. Miles Davis took Thelonious Monk’s original composition — a piece steeped in the kind of melancholy that clings to the soul like a damp overcoat in a downpour - and turned it into something even more hauntingly beautiful.

   Monk’s version was a labyrinth of melody, winding and complex. You’d follow it through twists and turns, never quite sure where it would lead you next. It was cerebral and challenging, like Monk himself, the kind of tune that played out in black and white, casting stark shadows that spoke of hidden dangers. But when Miles got hold of it, the song transformed. It softened around the edges, its sharp angles dissolving into a tender, almost vulnerable lament.

   Miles Davis, the notorious string-puller in the midnight world of jazz, picked up the pieces of Monk’s tune and tailored them with a more introspective, whisper-soft tone. His trumpet was his voice, low and resonant, capable of speaking secrets in the dark that one might never utter in the light of day. With each note, he peeled back layers, revealing shades of blue in the blacks and grays of the song’s original moody palette.

2. But no man is an island, not even in the solitary glow of a street lamp. Miles was backed by a crew that could make the shadows sing. John Coltrane, with his immortal tenor sax, added complexity and depth to the melody, full of subtext. His lines the sonic equivalent to the tight close-ups of a brooding Bob Mitchum, revealing a tumult of emotion beneath a calm exterior.

   Philly Joe Jones on drums flicked at the cymbals like the constant drip of rain on a windowpane, his rhythms adding a sense of urgency, a driving narrative force that propelled the tune forward through the night. Paul Chambers’ bass was the seedy undercurrent, the dark, pulsing heart of the city streets that breathed life into the scene, grounding it in something palpable and real. Red Garland’s piano provides the glint of streetlights on wet asphalt, sparkling and sporadic, painting the outlines of the melody with a brightness that serves to enhance the overall darkness of the theme.

   Together, these men didn’t play ‘Round Midnight; they lived it, each bringing his own voice to the dialogue, a conversation between old friends who spoke in the language of jazz. They transformed Monk’s composition into a rich and compelling narrative, a story told in shades of darkness and light, of things seen and unseen.

3. And at the center of it all was Miles, the cool, enigmatic figure whose trumpet told tales of lost loves and lonely hours, of the kind of thoughts that haunt a man in the quiet moments just before dawn breaks. His ‘Round Midnight was a mood, an atmosphere, a piece of the night itself, a soundtrack for the soulful and the sleepless, evoking the eerie beauty of a world lit by stars and neon glow. In this nocturnal symphony, each note held a story, each phrase a secret, making every performance a revelation, etched deep in the grooves of old vinyl, as timeless as midnight itself.

   Everything about this date, from the black-and-white cover photo, washed in red, of Miles Davis, removed in thought behind dark glasses, to the performances, is classic. Not surprisingly, careful packaging and exquisite artistry have created a legend and, in this case, one of the essential recordings in the history of recorded music.

   -Bob Rusch, Cadence: The Independent Journal of Creative Improvised Music