Richard Williams' book strives to bring order and harmony to a host of seemingly disparate music through the narrative thread of Miles Davis' Kind of Blue album. Unlike the titular trumpeter's masterpiece, however, the book ultimately dissolves into dissonance and disorder.
Fundamentally, Williams' notion is a solid one: past 'biographies' of Kind of Blue, Miles Davis' legendary 1959 cool jazz album have gone into great depth about the build up to the album and the recording sessions themselves. Williams charts a different course by eschewing this focus on pre-1959 music and only devoting half the book to this, with the remainder left to discuss the musical seeds sown by Davis and how these grew into other musical forms of the later twentieth century.
The beginning of the book showed promise and throughout much of the first half the author's easy-to-read, journalistic style was engaging enough. Particularly enjoyable was chapter 5 when we dive into the atmosphere of the late 40s and early 50s; Williams treat of his subjects fairly concisely and sharply, peppering the text with direct quotations lending the action quite a grounded and genuine feel. There are pleasing moments of humour: in one anecdote, we hear about John Coltrane's "solos of sometimes inordinate length" such that "when Davis complained, the perpetrator plaintively observed that he just didn't know how to stop. 'Try taking the horn out of your mouth,' Davis retorted".
The humour is not all in reported speech either: when describing how the Twist of 1963 evolved to involve less and less physical effort, Williams notes that the "apogee of this development came when boys and girls returned from family holidays in France proclaiming the existence of a dance called le Slow, which, whether they had it right or not, allegedly involved nothing more than the almost imperceptible flexing of the right knee".
Such moments, interspersed among the more journalistic segments of the book that revel in the detail of Miles' immediate contemporaries and musical partners is the book at its best. Unfortunately, even in this better first half (up to the production of Kind of Blue) there were problems. There is a chapter devoted to the meaning of the word or idea blue; we hear some interesting comments about the artist Yves Klein, for example, but not much of relevance to the wider book and the impression is of an author who is trying for perspicacious, cross-contextual references but which ultimately fall a little flat. In a similar vein there is a tendency to become a little pompous. At the end of one early chapter the author remarks: "Above all, as we look forward to Kind of Blue, there is the sense that nothing matters except truth and beauty." Another irritating quirk is lengthy lists, particularly of musicians who fulfil such and such a criteria or worked with so and so. There is also (to my taste at least) slightly too much technical musical detail though that likely betrays my own ignorance more than being a problem as such.
At the midway point, despite these relatively minor misgivings, I was toying with a three to four star score. I at least found the story of Kind of Blue interesting. It is in the second half of the book that the author's predilections get the better of him, however. From roughly the midway point on you could probably count the number of meaningful references to Miles Davis or his album on two hands. The book entirely pivots to being a tedious link through a host of musicians and styles. Starting from artists immediately linked to Kind of Blue (such as Bill Evans) we work further and further away till by the end of the book we have discussed the Velvet Underground, Brian Eno and a whole host of obscure experimental music I cannot even comprehend.
The author's passion for this music is almost engaging, but I couldn't get away from the seeming fact that the picture of Miles Davis on the cover was a facade, the book a Trojan horse to inculcate me in the ways of peculiar 70s and 80s music by such avant garde figures as La Monte Young and Terry Riley. The simple point is that, whatever the interest of these figures, the attempt to link them in anything but the lightest of ways to Miles Davis is unconvincing. Which is not to say there is no link, but I was certainly not convinced the line the author wanted to draw from the trumpeting icon to these later figures was anything other than faint and tenuous.
Perhaps one of the most egregious such linkages is to Phillip Glass. Despite the author stating that Phillip Glass (and John Adams) own music "shows the fewest traces of the changes that came via Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Bill Evans" the author nevertheless went on to state that "it [those musicians' influence] is there, somewhere". This betrays the authors desperate desire to draw connections even when his own musical insight tells him these are vanishingly slight and, unfortunately for this interesting project, I ended up feeling that way about most of the artists discussed in the second half of the book.
The exception is in the chapter immediately after that on the recording of Kind of Blue. This acted as a crash course in the later life of the artists on the album, notably Coltrane and Evans. I learned new things about the former - such as around the production of Giant Steps, one of my favourite albums and songs. And the latter, who I've never paid much attention, has now been added to my Spotify favourite's list as a wonderful piano trio to set a certain mood (particularly his Portrait in Jazz and Sunday at The Village Vanguard).
As in the first half, when the book stuck closest to its proclaimed subject matter it offers insight and an enjoyable read. Unfortunately, more than half the book falls into the category of musings on questionably relevant artists whom Mr Williams seems more at pains to establish he knows than demonstrating they share recognisable musical DNA with Mr Davis.