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Miles: L'autobiographie
For more than forty years Miles Davis has been in the front rank of American music. Universally acclaimed as a musical genius, Miles is one of the most important and influential musicians in the world. The subject of several biographies, now Miles speaks out himself about his extraordinary life. The Autobiography, like Miles himself, holds nothing back. For the first time Miles talks about his five-year silence. He speaks frankly and openly about his drug problem and how he overcame it. He condemns the racism he has encountered in the music business and in American society generally. And he discusses the women in his life. But above all, Miles talks about music and musicians, including the legends he has played with over the Bird, Dizzy, Monk, Trane, Mingus, and many others. The man who has given us some of the most exciting music of the past few decades has now given us a compelling and fascinating autobiography, featuring a concise discography and thirty-two pages of photographs.
354 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1989
722 people are currently reading
36986 people want to read
About the author
Miles Davis
174 books115 followersWith warm, muted style on albums, such as
Kind of Blue
(1959), noted American trumpeter Miles Dewey Davis, Junior, later experimented with jazz-fusion.
Recordings of Armando Anthony Corea with group of Davis from 1968 to 1970 contributed to the development of jazz-fusion.
Miles Dewey Davis III led a band and composed.
From World War II, people widely considered Davis at the forefront of almost every major development as the most influential musicians of the 20th century, to the 1990s. He played various early bebop and one of the first cool records. He partially responsibly developed modal, and his work with other musicians in the late 1960s and early 1970s arose.
Davis belongs to the great tradition that started with Buddy Bolden and ran through Joe Oliver, Louis Armstrong, Roy Eldridge, and Dizzy Gillespie, although people never considered his high level of technical ability unlike those of those musicians. His greatest achievement, however, moved beyond regard as a distinctive influence on his own instrument and shaped whole ways through the work of his bands, in which many of the most important musicians of the second half of the 20th century made their names.
The hall of fame for rock and roll posthumously inducted Davis on 13 March 2006. The walk of fame of Saint Louis and the halls for big band and jazz and downbeat jazz also inducted him.
Recordings of Armando Anthony Corea with group of Davis from 1968 to 1970 contributed to the development of jazz-fusion.
Miles Dewey Davis III led a band and composed.
From World War II, people widely considered Davis at the forefront of almost every major development as the most influential musicians of the 20th century, to the 1990s. He played various early bebop and one of the first cool records. He partially responsibly developed modal, and his work with other musicians in the late 1960s and early 1970s arose.
Davis belongs to the great tradition that started with Buddy Bolden and ran through Joe Oliver, Louis Armstrong, Roy Eldridge, and Dizzy Gillespie, although people never considered his high level of technical ability unlike those of those musicians. His greatest achievement, however, moved beyond regard as a distinctive influence on his own instrument and shaped whole ways through the work of his bands, in which many of the most important musicians of the second half of the 20th century made their names.
The hall of fame for rock and roll posthumously inducted Davis on 13 March 2006. The walk of fame of Saint Louis and the halls for big band and jazz and downbeat jazz also inducted him.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 977 reviews
June 9, 2009
i won't say this is the absolute best book i've ever read, but it sure is a motherfucker, as miles would probably say if he were here. though actually he'd probably just punch me in the face for saying that and tell me to come up with my own shit to say, instead of copying him and trying to look hip when i'm not. and he'd be right about that as he is about pretty much everything else, except maybe on the question of whether or not one should beat women, but hey, everybody's got their blind side...
i don't even know where to start talking about how awesome this book is. maybe it helps to be into jazz, because there's a certain amount of joy that comes with going through 40 years of jazz history and meeting all the greats as you go, and playing with them (or feeling like you're playing with them, anyway, cuz he is)... so many great portraits of so many amazing talents... bird, diz, monk, trane, coleman hawkins, dexter gordon, max roach, philly joe jones, tony williams, jackie maclean, bud powell, gil evans (gil evans! i love gil evans now!), mingus, wayne shorter... even the (very few) people you can tell miles didn't like (even though he acts like he was cool with them), like ornette coleman, you still get a real sense of who they were, or at least who they were to miles davis, which certainly counts for something... or should...
so that's all great.
but really the book is just about getting inside the head of a true artistic genius, looking at himself, revealing himself to himself, out loud. and miles isn't a literary artist, so there's nothing stylistic or formal or precious about it. he's not worried about the words. everyone and everything is a motherfucker, and motherfucker means something different every time he says it. it's sloppy and self-contradictory and i'm sure self-serving at times-- though honestly i can't tell how he could paint himself in a worse light than he does most of the time, and 99% of the time he's putting all the honors on his friends and other musicians and styling himself as just the guy who got them in the room-- but as a whole the book just gives you this intense mad rush of life, what it's like! what it's like! what it's like to play MUSIC! there's so much hunger and sorrow and anger and love and hate on every page, and it's all just inseparably balled up in this guy's head and heart and music, and he can't say or do a thing without expressing it all... either he's playing as hard as he can or he's fighting with someone or falling madly in love (again!) or doing every drug on the planet and driving 180 miles an hour in his lamborghini... OR HE'S DOING IT ALL AT ONCE... it's sad and scary and hopeless and wonderful and makes you want to kill yourself and live and go dancing... miles davis didn't dance, by the way... never danced... didn't talk much about the whys and wherefores of that... but he didn't... very strange... he was very hung up on being cool, though... which i can understand... me and miles davis, we're pretty similar in some respects... :D
but anyway... this book was just on fire and i loved every minute of it. you should read it. unless you don't like the word "motherfucker," or reading about some bitches gettin' themselves slapped sometimes when they get all up in a man's face while he's trying to do his business...
i don't even know where to start talking about how awesome this book is. maybe it helps to be into jazz, because there's a certain amount of joy that comes with going through 40 years of jazz history and meeting all the greats as you go, and playing with them (or feeling like you're playing with them, anyway, cuz he is)... so many great portraits of so many amazing talents... bird, diz, monk, trane, coleman hawkins, dexter gordon, max roach, philly joe jones, tony williams, jackie maclean, bud powell, gil evans (gil evans! i love gil evans now!), mingus, wayne shorter... even the (very few) people you can tell miles didn't like (even though he acts like he was cool with them), like ornette coleman, you still get a real sense of who they were, or at least who they were to miles davis, which certainly counts for something... or should...
so that's all great.
but really the book is just about getting inside the head of a true artistic genius, looking at himself, revealing himself to himself, out loud. and miles isn't a literary artist, so there's nothing stylistic or formal or precious about it. he's not worried about the words. everyone and everything is a motherfucker, and motherfucker means something different every time he says it. it's sloppy and self-contradictory and i'm sure self-serving at times-- though honestly i can't tell how he could paint himself in a worse light than he does most of the time, and 99% of the time he's putting all the honors on his friends and other musicians and styling himself as just the guy who got them in the room-- but as a whole the book just gives you this intense mad rush of life, what it's like! what it's like! what it's like to play MUSIC! there's so much hunger and sorrow and anger and love and hate on every page, and it's all just inseparably balled up in this guy's head and heart and music, and he can't say or do a thing without expressing it all... either he's playing as hard as he can or he's fighting with someone or falling madly in love (again!) or doing every drug on the planet and driving 180 miles an hour in his lamborghini... OR HE'S DOING IT ALL AT ONCE... it's sad and scary and hopeless and wonderful and makes you want to kill yourself and live and go dancing... miles davis didn't dance, by the way... never danced... didn't talk much about the whys and wherefores of that... but he didn't... very strange... he was very hung up on being cool, though... which i can understand... me and miles davis, we're pretty similar in some respects... :D
but anyway... this book was just on fire and i loved every minute of it. you should read it. unless you don't like the word "motherfucker," or reading about some bitches gettin' themselves slapped sometimes when they get all up in a man's face while he's trying to do his business...
March 3, 2008
****Bad words ahead!!! stop reading now if you get your panties in a bunch around "naughty words". ****
If foul language offends you, DO NOT pick up this book.
If you could give a shit, pick it up and enjoy!
one motherfucking good read!
-read it with a glass of wine and some miles playing in the background-
it will blow your mind, motherfucker!
If foul language offends you, DO NOT pick up this book.
If you could give a shit, pick it up and enjoy!
one motherfucking good read!
-read it with a glass of wine and some miles playing in the background-
it will blow your mind, motherfucker!
July 24, 2022
On a hot day a few summers ago, I took a trip to Woodlawn Cemetery, in the Bronx, with my dad. It is an enormous place, so even with the official map it took some time to find who we were looking for. Eventually we stopped the car and got out to front a large black slab, inscribed with two bars of music, so finely polished that we could see our own reflections in it. This was the tomb of “Sir” Miles Davis (he was a member of the Knights of Malta), the man who had helped inspire my dad to devote himself to jazz bass.
Through my dad’s influence, I have been listening to jazz all my life (though not always intentionally), and I have come to know and love most of the great names. Some of them were right there in the cemetery: Duke Ellington, Max Roach, Coleman Hawkins. It was with this background that I approached Miles Davis’s autobiography, and I loved every minute of it.
The magic of this book is the skill with which Quincy Troupe has captured Miles’s voice. Miles is completely there, in all his profane glory (much to the chagrin of some readers). This, combined with an uncanny impersonation by Dion Graham in the audiobook, makes you feel like you are right in the room with him. But of course the person who ultimately deserves the credit is Miles himself, for agreeing to the project, and for being just so uncompromisingly blunt. His raw honesty is what makes this a great autobiography.
And if you are in any way a jazz fan, this is a real feast. Miles knew close to everybody. From the very beginning of his career, he was thrown in with Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, right at the center of the Bebop world. His stories of Charlie Parker alone—who seems to prefigure Miles in many ways—are worth the price of the book. After his early years, Miles becomes a bandleader, and helps to launch the careers of many other musical giants: Cannonball Adderley, Bill Evans, John Coltrane, Herbie Hancock… In short, for decades Miles’s career was at the very center of jazz history. And more often than not, he was at the vanguard.
But this book is not just namedropping and a few memorable anecdotes. As I said, Miles the man really comes alive in these pages, and that means, most of all, his love for the music. Near the end of the book, he describes himself as having “musical demons,” and I think that is an apt description of the way that music ruled his life. It really seemed to open up the finest part of his nature: not only in pure musical expression, but also in his treatment of other musicians. Despite his mean reputation, he is generosity itself when discussing the accomplishments of his fellows, and does not stint on praise. This is what, I think, made him such an effective bandleader—he could really appreciate different sorts of musical gifts.
The dark side to an overwhelming obsession like this is that it leaves little space in your life for other things. This is apparent in his often abysmal—indeed, abusive—treatment of the women in his life. This is perhaps even more apparent in his behavior as a father—or lack thereof, as his four children are barely mentioned at all in the book (he takes time to criticize two of his sons, though admits he had not been much of a father). Another major theme is drug abuse—an occupational hazard of touring musicians, I suppose—which ebbs and flows throughout his life. Indeed, his substance abuse and mistreatment of women often go hand in hand, as he depends on women either to enable his habit or to help him get clean. Suffice to say that this isn’t the autobiography of a saint.
The final impression is of a deeply restless man. He was never fully satisfied, and never content to sit on his laurels. This is what enabled him to stay musically innovative for so long, this constant searching. It is only near the end of his life that he seems to achieve a modicum of peace, and he accomplished this by turning to painting—another creative outlet that would make the musical demons quiet down. (I quite like his paintings, actually.)
As far as political opinions go, there really is only one Miles expresses, but he does so over and over: That white Americans are stealing black culture—copying styles of music and making millions off of them. Now, to me, this seems to be an obvious fact, as it has repeatedly happened throughout American history—most notoriously, perhaps, with Elvis Presley. So I cannot fault Miles for being resentful. I also think he is onto something when he says that black music is America’s one great contribution to world culture.
I picked up this book feeling curious, and put it down nearly obsessed with the man. It is worth reading because he was one of the major musical forces of the last century, but also because it is simply a great autobiography by any standard. Miles was a complex, and contradictory person, and the book seems to capture his every vice and virtue, and even his living voice. I wish it were longer.
Through my dad’s influence, I have been listening to jazz all my life (though not always intentionally), and I have come to know and love most of the great names. Some of them were right there in the cemetery: Duke Ellington, Max Roach, Coleman Hawkins. It was with this background that I approached Miles Davis’s autobiography, and I loved every minute of it.
The magic of this book is the skill with which Quincy Troupe has captured Miles’s voice. Miles is completely there, in all his profane glory (much to the chagrin of some readers). This, combined with an uncanny impersonation by Dion Graham in the audiobook, makes you feel like you are right in the room with him. But of course the person who ultimately deserves the credit is Miles himself, for agreeing to the project, and for being just so uncompromisingly blunt. His raw honesty is what makes this a great autobiography.
And if you are in any way a jazz fan, this is a real feast. Miles knew close to everybody. From the very beginning of his career, he was thrown in with Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie, right at the center of the Bebop world. His stories of Charlie Parker alone—who seems to prefigure Miles in many ways—are worth the price of the book. After his early years, Miles becomes a bandleader, and helps to launch the careers of many other musical giants: Cannonball Adderley, Bill Evans, John Coltrane, Herbie Hancock… In short, for decades Miles’s career was at the very center of jazz history. And more often than not, he was at the vanguard.
But this book is not just namedropping and a few memorable anecdotes. As I said, Miles the man really comes alive in these pages, and that means, most of all, his love for the music. Near the end of the book, he describes himself as having “musical demons,” and I think that is an apt description of the way that music ruled his life. It really seemed to open up the finest part of his nature: not only in pure musical expression, but also in his treatment of other musicians. Despite his mean reputation, he is generosity itself when discussing the accomplishments of his fellows, and does not stint on praise. This is what, I think, made him such an effective bandleader—he could really appreciate different sorts of musical gifts.
The dark side to an overwhelming obsession like this is that it leaves little space in your life for other things. This is apparent in his often abysmal—indeed, abusive—treatment of the women in his life. This is perhaps even more apparent in his behavior as a father—or lack thereof, as his four children are barely mentioned at all in the book (he takes time to criticize two of his sons, though admits he had not been much of a father). Another major theme is drug abuse—an occupational hazard of touring musicians, I suppose—which ebbs and flows throughout his life. Indeed, his substance abuse and mistreatment of women often go hand in hand, as he depends on women either to enable his habit or to help him get clean. Suffice to say that this isn’t the autobiography of a saint.
The final impression is of a deeply restless man. He was never fully satisfied, and never content to sit on his laurels. This is what enabled him to stay musically innovative for so long, this constant searching. It is only near the end of his life that he seems to achieve a modicum of peace, and he accomplished this by turning to painting—another creative outlet that would make the musical demons quiet down. (I quite like his paintings, actually.)
As far as political opinions go, there really is only one Miles expresses, but he does so over and over: That white Americans are stealing black culture—copying styles of music and making millions off of them. Now, to me, this seems to be an obvious fact, as it has repeatedly happened throughout American history—most notoriously, perhaps, with Elvis Presley. So I cannot fault Miles for being resentful. I also think he is onto something when he says that black music is America’s one great contribution to world culture.
I picked up this book feeling curious, and put it down nearly obsessed with the man. It is worth reading because he was one of the major musical forces of the last century, but also because it is simply a great autobiography by any standard. Miles was a complex, and contradictory person, and the book seems to capture his every vice and virtue, and even his living voice. I wish it were longer.
February 21, 2009
An absolute must for musicians and fans. I would think this autobiography would be interesting for anyone just based on the insight into such a magnificent cultural era(s) in our country but I am biased because I love Miles and his work. The narrative really reads like you are being spoken to in Davis' tone, cadence and patois. And he seems to hold little back including a lot of recollections and ideas that you wish were not part of someone's heart and mind that you so greatly admire. But that is really the essence of this man's character. A deep and often dark duality between cruel impulse and deep thought, obsession and passion, clean, sharp beauty and addicted squalor, anger and transcendence.
Miles Davis is truly one the great artists of the 20th century and was at the peak of multiple sea changes in the history of music. He seemed to always have the ability to understand the historical moment and his role in it and the gravity of the event and having completed his role for the moment he always moved forward to face new moments. This is something very few artists or people are capable of and Davis speaks about these great eras, moments, events, albums in an unsentimental way but without downplaying them. He was an artist that spent his life on a journey always moving forward and almost always doing so before the critics, the fans and even the musicians around him were ready to move forward or understood where and why he was going. There is much to laugh at in these pages, much to cringe at, much to be in awe of and much to learn, and often all in the same line.
"One of the reasons I like playing with a lot of young musicians today is because I find that a lot of old jazz musicians are lazy motherfuckers, resisting change and holding on to the old ways because they are too lazy to try something different. They listen to the critics, who tell them to stay where they are because that's what they like. The critics are lazy too. They don't want to try to understand music that's different. The old musicians stay where they are and become like museum pieces under glass, safe, easy to understand, playing that tired old shit over and over again. Then they run around talking about electronic instruments and electronic musical voicing fucking up the music and tradition. Well, I'm not like that and neither was Bird or Trane or Sonny Rollins or Duke or anybody who wanted to keep on creating. Bebop was about change, about evolution. It wasn't about standing still and becoming safe. If anybody wants to keep creating they have to be about change. Living is an adventure and a challenge. When people come up to me and ask me to play something like "My Funny Valentine," some old thing that I might have done when they were fucking this special girl and the music might have made them both feel good, I can understand that. But I tell them to go buy the record. I'm not there in that place any longer and I have to live for what is best for me and not what's best for them."
---Miles.
Miles Davis is truly one the great artists of the 20th century and was at the peak of multiple sea changes in the history of music. He seemed to always have the ability to understand the historical moment and his role in it and the gravity of the event and having completed his role for the moment he always moved forward to face new moments. This is something very few artists or people are capable of and Davis speaks about these great eras, moments, events, albums in an unsentimental way but without downplaying them. He was an artist that spent his life on a journey always moving forward and almost always doing so before the critics, the fans and even the musicians around him were ready to move forward or understood where and why he was going. There is much to laugh at in these pages, much to cringe at, much to be in awe of and much to learn, and often all in the same line.
"One of the reasons I like playing with a lot of young musicians today is because I find that a lot of old jazz musicians are lazy motherfuckers, resisting change and holding on to the old ways because they are too lazy to try something different. They listen to the critics, who tell them to stay where they are because that's what they like. The critics are lazy too. They don't want to try to understand music that's different. The old musicians stay where they are and become like museum pieces under glass, safe, easy to understand, playing that tired old shit over and over again. Then they run around talking about electronic instruments and electronic musical voicing fucking up the music and tradition. Well, I'm not like that and neither was Bird or Trane or Sonny Rollins or Duke or anybody who wanted to keep on creating. Bebop was about change, about evolution. It wasn't about standing still and becoming safe. If anybody wants to keep creating they have to be about change. Living is an adventure and a challenge. When people come up to me and ask me to play something like "My Funny Valentine," some old thing that I might have done when they were fucking this special girl and the music might have made them both feel good, I can understand that. But I tell them to go buy the record. I'm not there in that place any longer and I have to live for what is best for me and not what's best for them."
---Miles.
August 14, 2020
A fantastic autobiography! I didn't realize it would be so timely with Davis's commentary on racism in America during his career and through 1990. Still valid today. He was quite bitter about the cultural appropriation and lack of appreciation for jazz in his time. This one is rich with history. Miles is so open and honest that he doesn't come across as a likable man. He is a man in search of respect that certainly didn't give much respect. But here's the thing, he knew this about himself. Full of isms and contradictions the man was fairly self aware. But he does come across as brilliant, wise and talented and ahead of his time. Oh and he loved Prince!! Amazing book!
5 Stars
Listened to the audio book while following along in a paperback. No kindle version published. Dion Graham was an incredible narrator. He recreated what it must have sounded like talking to Miles Davis.
5 Stars
Listened to the audio book while following along in a paperback. No kindle version published. Dion Graham was an incredible narrator. He recreated what it must have sounded like talking to Miles Davis.
Read
June 20, 2021
L’intensa vita del celebre musicista Miles Davis attraversa una buona fetta del ‘900.
Dall’Illinois a New York dove tutto si muoveva.
Dal bebop al jazz-rock; dalla Juilliard (prestigioso conservatorio newyorkese) alla cella di una prigione; dalle brevi jam session alle sale d’incisione di prestigiose case discografiche; la schiavitù dall’eroina alla fama internazionale. Al centro la società americana ed i rapporti interrazziali con tutte le sue drammatiche sfumature.
Ma soprattutto, sempre e comunque, la Musica.
Scritto in prima persona come un fosse un racconto a quattr’occhi, ha il valore di una testimonianza storica su donne uomini che hanno fatto la storia della musica jazz.
Chapeau al musicista.
Un po' meno all’uomo e non certo per essere stato un tossico (che poi a quanto ha raccontato lui non ce n’era uno che si salvava!!!) ma per una crescente superbia che alla fine anche se è un po’ fastidiosa ma in confronto al lato marcatamente misogino su cui preferisco stendere un velo spesso e pietoso.
Per molti versi meglio ricordare l’artista...
Miles Davis e Carlos Santana- concerto per Amnesty Intenational - 15/06/1986
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3p4jC...
April 4, 2016
Sitting across from me he continues telling me about his life. I don’t particularly like him or find him interesting, at least not as interesting as he finds himself. Laying a line of cocaine on the tabletop, he snorts it then orders another drink. There is one exception which has and still runs through our conversation. His life is lived not only for creativity but for reaching, for further and new means of reaching. This is the experience which provides the meaning in his life. I’m coming to see that it is his life.
His early years he told me, reluctant at first, in East St. Luis he mostly played his trumpet. Sleight of build he didn’t roam the streets looking for fights. His father was a dentist and for that neighborhood they had enough money. It wasn’t socioeconomic or some determination of will. He described it, palms flat on the table, as a following of his nature.
I admire the sheer immersion in his music played through his trumpet and the ongoing composition of melodies and themes flooding his mind. Trying to explain to him while refusing a hit of the coke, that I’m unschooled in music and that personally I have no hint of a talent. What though has struck me, I try to explain as he downs his drink with a small pill, is the phrase he used two minutes ago, that he plays, Sheets Of Music. Rather than labeling what it is he wants people to hear through some form of instrumentation he creates an unwinding tone, sheets, where the listener experiences a feeling which has no words. I try to compare it to writing but it isn’t quite the same, writing not quite as direct.
People drift to our table embedded in the dark of a corner wanting his autograph, a photo to be taken with him. I’m supposed to take the picture but explain I don’t know how to work it. They take their camera and leave. He nods a thanks. I explain that I was telling the truth. Others still gather, hover, and he coldly ignores them until they scatter and are gone. When they are all gone he tells me they are “mother fuckers”. He has used this cursed phrase frequently through our conversation. It has meant many things while carrying a beat and a resonance. But why of all testimonies of cursing, “mother fuckers”?
It is a small club. He points to some of his band members while describing all the lands, experiences, and interesting people he has met through his constant travel. Ordering another drink he lights a cigarette. His band members are his family, not just them but his mentors and the legends he has played with, joined with as friends in a culture where change of personnel within a band and in life is so frequent that little stays long enough within the furrows of soil to take root. It is personified by the nickname of one who was special to him, Bird, the great Charley Parker, his revolutionary style of runs of fluttering notes. In my own fluttering way, hesitant, a word which I doubt Miles is familiar with, I throw in an awkward question, if he doesn’t have a family? I mean a blood family?
What’s blood, he tells me those dark eyes boring into me, not a ruthlessness that I was warned about but a blunt force, an insistent truth. Relentless. Earlier he told me that was all there is. If he gave me the horn to play, me being white, not referring to race he pointed out matter of fact as everything he said was matter of fact, you’d play like the records you listened to. But as bad as those “motherfuckers” might be you would have to find your own way of playing the horn. See, that’s what it’s about finding your own way of playing then taking it deeper, deeper within yourself. If your an artist you don’t have a choice. It’s a curse. You get that? Then you innovate. Every morning you wake up your mind begins innovating. You don’t choose it. It chooses you. So, my blood is with the people who are like me, that I played with, played off of, played against, each pushing the other to play above what we knew. Those experiences … you listening? Yes sir, I said before I could catch the words. Don’t call me that. That’s as bad as some “motherfucker” calling me a legend. I don’t want to backed into and cornered by no labels.
I gathered my strength, my steam, refusing another line of coke, tried playing the notes above my stuttering faltering voice, and asked what about his kids, his wife. The two son’s he ignored and grew into trouble and failure? Immediately he dismissed them as huge disappointments. He missed, I wanted to tell him, holding the constant bore of his eyes at bay, that the boys difficulties in life may well have stemmed from his abandoning them, his continous playing on tour and rarely there. Even when there he went to the clubs on 52nd street in Harlem. The small clubs were next door to each other or across the street. There, was the birth of the new music, Bebop. When a set finished the musicians went to another club and sat in. This family of “mother fuckers” were bad, they played bad, they gathered within the warmth of their own kin, creativity and innovation tending a current firing through all. Explosive moments of living beyond reach.
He lit another cigarette as he crushed the last one into the filling ashtray. Nobody asks to be an artist. It’s a bad ass “motherfucker”. But you wouldn’t have any of the great music, paintings, sculpture, if those artists didn’t follow their call but instead dedicated themselves to domesticity. Like it or not being an artist is a full time concern. I think it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do, he said downing another pain pill. I understand others not agreeing with it. I understand a lot of people then thinking I’m a hypocrite for all the time, daily, nightly, I spend with women. They have their opinion, I have mine. I respect that. It’s something I have to have and it’s always there. Women want to be with Miles. You see I have what they call an addictive personality. Another thing I didn’t ask for but here it is.
I wanted to know why he treated women the way he did, using them as disposable items, even at times beating them. Why, sitting there as he recounted his life, he turned it around and found ways of blaming them? Why he kept saying “mother fucker”. He said little about his mother. Off hand as usual he skirted using any freudian explanations. Explanations were rare, hardly present. But the explanation of addictive personality grated on me. What is addictive and what is an obsession? Is there a difference? It seems to me listening to him but escaping the heat of those dark eyes for a moment, that addiction refers to a physical organic malady that must be contended with and an obsession, well that is something emotional, psychological. It’s there to provide an unwitting illusory sense of control in the tumultuous whirlwind of life? Provide an unconscious escape from unwelcome or even terrifying feelings carried within some dark webbed corner of personal being?
Where are you white boy? I’m telling you things you need to know. This is a whole different culture here, a whole different world. You see that’s a big problem Black people created the only great musical contribution to the world in this country. Jazz. We’ve sure had our hand in Gospel, the Blues, Soul too. And guess what, we’re anointed by the recording industry as legends. Our new music which always becomes new each time we play. You see don’t you, he signals the waitress and quickly returns, that then some of the white players can copy some of those licks and the recording companies, all of them white, can promote them. I come back from a long tour in Europe, Japan too, and I find all our music is now the white man’s music. You see what I’m saying to you?
Anyway it’s time to play my set, I hear him mumble. I reach for my wallet. His hand covers my other hand on the table. It presses down. He tells me that nobody, no matter how “mother fucking nice a guy he is, pays Mile’s tab. You understand? Before I could answer he disappears into the darkness then reappears on the lit platform stage his trumpet held for a moment aloft. The notes filled with layers of emotions, beautifully unsettling, fill the room. I close my eyes lifted to somewhere I had never been before.
His early years he told me, reluctant at first, in East St. Luis he mostly played his trumpet. Sleight of build he didn’t roam the streets looking for fights. His father was a dentist and for that neighborhood they had enough money. It wasn’t socioeconomic or some determination of will. He described it, palms flat on the table, as a following of his nature.
I admire the sheer immersion in his music played through his trumpet and the ongoing composition of melodies and themes flooding his mind. Trying to explain to him while refusing a hit of the coke, that I’m unschooled in music and that personally I have no hint of a talent. What though has struck me, I try to explain as he downs his drink with a small pill, is the phrase he used two minutes ago, that he plays, Sheets Of Music. Rather than labeling what it is he wants people to hear through some form of instrumentation he creates an unwinding tone, sheets, where the listener experiences a feeling which has no words. I try to compare it to writing but it isn’t quite the same, writing not quite as direct.
People drift to our table embedded in the dark of a corner wanting his autograph, a photo to be taken with him. I’m supposed to take the picture but explain I don’t know how to work it. They take their camera and leave. He nods a thanks. I explain that I was telling the truth. Others still gather, hover, and he coldly ignores them until they scatter and are gone. When they are all gone he tells me they are “mother fuckers”. He has used this cursed phrase frequently through our conversation. It has meant many things while carrying a beat and a resonance. But why of all testimonies of cursing, “mother fuckers”?
It is a small club. He points to some of his band members while describing all the lands, experiences, and interesting people he has met through his constant travel. Ordering another drink he lights a cigarette. His band members are his family, not just them but his mentors and the legends he has played with, joined with as friends in a culture where change of personnel within a band and in life is so frequent that little stays long enough within the furrows of soil to take root. It is personified by the nickname of one who was special to him, Bird, the great Charley Parker, his revolutionary style of runs of fluttering notes. In my own fluttering way, hesitant, a word which I doubt Miles is familiar with, I throw in an awkward question, if he doesn’t have a family? I mean a blood family?
What’s blood, he tells me those dark eyes boring into me, not a ruthlessness that I was warned about but a blunt force, an insistent truth. Relentless. Earlier he told me that was all there is. If he gave me the horn to play, me being white, not referring to race he pointed out matter of fact as everything he said was matter of fact, you’d play like the records you listened to. But as bad as those “motherfuckers” might be you would have to find your own way of playing the horn. See, that’s what it’s about finding your own way of playing then taking it deeper, deeper within yourself. If your an artist you don’t have a choice. It’s a curse. You get that? Then you innovate. Every morning you wake up your mind begins innovating. You don’t choose it. It chooses you. So, my blood is with the people who are like me, that I played with, played off of, played against, each pushing the other to play above what we knew. Those experiences … you listening? Yes sir, I said before I could catch the words. Don’t call me that. That’s as bad as some “motherfucker” calling me a legend. I don’t want to backed into and cornered by no labels.
I gathered my strength, my steam, refusing another line of coke, tried playing the notes above my stuttering faltering voice, and asked what about his kids, his wife. The two son’s he ignored and grew into trouble and failure? Immediately he dismissed them as huge disappointments. He missed, I wanted to tell him, holding the constant bore of his eyes at bay, that the boys difficulties in life may well have stemmed from his abandoning them, his continous playing on tour and rarely there. Even when there he went to the clubs on 52nd street in Harlem. The small clubs were next door to each other or across the street. There, was the birth of the new music, Bebop. When a set finished the musicians went to another club and sat in. This family of “mother fuckers” were bad, they played bad, they gathered within the warmth of their own kin, creativity and innovation tending a current firing through all. Explosive moments of living beyond reach.
He lit another cigarette as he crushed the last one into the filling ashtray. Nobody asks to be an artist. It’s a bad ass “motherfucker”. But you wouldn’t have any of the great music, paintings, sculpture, if those artists didn’t follow their call but instead dedicated themselves to domesticity. Like it or not being an artist is a full time concern. I think it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do, he said downing another pain pill. I understand others not agreeing with it. I understand a lot of people then thinking I’m a hypocrite for all the time, daily, nightly, I spend with women. They have their opinion, I have mine. I respect that. It’s something I have to have and it’s always there. Women want to be with Miles. You see I have what they call an addictive personality. Another thing I didn’t ask for but here it is.
I wanted to know why he treated women the way he did, using them as disposable items, even at times beating them. Why, sitting there as he recounted his life, he turned it around and found ways of blaming them? Why he kept saying “mother fucker”. He said little about his mother. Off hand as usual he skirted using any freudian explanations. Explanations were rare, hardly present. But the explanation of addictive personality grated on me. What is addictive and what is an obsession? Is there a difference? It seems to me listening to him but escaping the heat of those dark eyes for a moment, that addiction refers to a physical organic malady that must be contended with and an obsession, well that is something emotional, psychological. It’s there to provide an unwitting illusory sense of control in the tumultuous whirlwind of life? Provide an unconscious escape from unwelcome or even terrifying feelings carried within some dark webbed corner of personal being?
Where are you white boy? I’m telling you things you need to know. This is a whole different culture here, a whole different world. You see that’s a big problem Black people created the only great musical contribution to the world in this country. Jazz. We’ve sure had our hand in Gospel, the Blues, Soul too. And guess what, we’re anointed by the recording industry as legends. Our new music which always becomes new each time we play. You see don’t you, he signals the waitress and quickly returns, that then some of the white players can copy some of those licks and the recording companies, all of them white, can promote them. I come back from a long tour in Europe, Japan too, and I find all our music is now the white man’s music. You see what I’m saying to you?
Anyway it’s time to play my set, I hear him mumble. I reach for my wallet. His hand covers my other hand on the table. It presses down. He tells me that nobody, no matter how “mother fucking nice a guy he is, pays Mile’s tab. You understand? Before I could answer he disappears into the darkness then reappears on the lit platform stage his trumpet held for a moment aloft. The notes filled with layers of emotions, beautifully unsettling, fill the room. I close my eyes lifted to somewhere I had never been before.
September 17, 2021
There are autobiographies where you don't know/care much about the person, but they sweep you away and you become heavily invested (Andre Agassi's "Open" comes to mind). And then there's autobiographies about people you admire, that are so humanizing and disheartening that they leave a bad taste in your mouth and you just hope it won't taint your love of the art. Sadly, "Miles" is the latter to me. At first, I just found the 'authentic' writing a bit of a drag. It jumps around a lot and I have never read the word "motherfucker" as much as I have in this book. But I found his early life and mostly the description of the jazz scene at the time really interesting - although at this point as a reader you learn more about Charlie Parker than Miles Davis. But the longer this book goes on, the ramblier it gets. All the young hot women in his life that he can hardly remember the names of? Random fights with random session musicians I don't care about? There were also a lot of contradictions in the story telling.
I think Miles Davis wrote some of the best music ever, but he was also an arrogant sexist guy really far up his own ass. I can only take so much Bill Cosby praising and what an ideal woman should be like (sexy, young and 'respecting' her man). Still, in some way I did learn something about his life and about jazz. I just would not recommend the book for pleasure reading.
I think Miles Davis wrote some of the best music ever, but he was also an arrogant sexist guy really far up his own ass. I can only take so much Bill Cosby praising and what an ideal woman should be like (sexy, young and 'respecting' her man). Still, in some way I did learn something about his life and about jazz. I just would not recommend the book for pleasure reading.
September 23, 2021
5 Stars for Miles: The Autobiography (audiobook) by Miles Davis and Quincy Troupe read by Dion Graham.
Miles Davis led an amazing life. This book chronicles his personal life and his music. This is a really open and honest look into his life. He pulled no punches in telling his story.
What I’m most impressed with in this book is how much it sounds like it’s being narrated by Miles Davis. The coauthor Quincy Troupe did an amazing job putting all of these stories together and making it sound like Miles is telling you a story. And the narrator Dion Graham had me fooled. I thought Miles had narrated this book. He had the perfect voice for this story.
Miles Davis led an amazing life. This book chronicles his personal life and his music. This is a really open and honest look into his life. He pulled no punches in telling his story.
What I’m most impressed with in this book is how much it sounds like it’s being narrated by Miles Davis. The coauthor Quincy Troupe did an amazing job putting all of these stories together and making it sound like Miles is telling you a story. And the narrator Dion Graham had me fooled. I thought Miles had narrated this book. He had the perfect voice for this story.
September 12, 2015
A long, rambling epic that careens between stuff like Miles breaking down in surprising depth the multiple jazz zeitgeists he was involved in and Miles uncomfortably sitting in the back of a car with Charlie "Bird" Parker and a prostitute while Bird simultaneously gets his dick sucked and eats chicken. So much fucking dirt on the musical idols of every jazz nerd... according to Miles Mingus was an intensely racist rageaholic, Armstrong was an Uncle Tom, Coltrane was a nose-picker and Billie Holliday sexually preferred short, stocky guys...and of course literally fucking everyone was on heroin, except for Monk and he didn't need it 'cause he was kind of a weird dude. Honestly I think the only human being that comes out looking decent in this book is Duke Ellington (go figure.) So much fucking dirt it threatens to mask the story of Miles' life and all the fascinating firsthand experience he has of the era(s)...but never does.
Also precious is the insight into why he was constantly trying out new genres and inventing new ones when he got bored. Any jazz fan is gonna wonder how a guy goes from Birth of the Cool to Kind of Blue to E.S.P. to Bitches Brew to Agharta to fucking....I don't even wanna mention the 80s stuff but we all know that it happened and it wasn't anything close to his pre-hiatus records. I don't think it's a spoiler to say that the reason he could and did try so many things was because Miles frankly gave very little of a shit about others' opinion and this is made abundantly clear on every page. I'm pretty sure there's a co-author listed on this book, but ghostwriting fears should be put to rest because it sounds like Miles just fucking rambled for hours and hours and some other dude put it into a decent literary structure. No one else says "motherfucker" that much, it's definitely Miles' voice. Even his spoken language has a music and rhythm to it that you can definitely hear. Unfortunately you can't actually hear his famous rasp-whisper but you still know who's talking.
I just can't imagine a jazz biography being any better than this. You get the rather mundane biographical stuff, the academic stuff, the contextual history stuff and the pure fucking mud on what the jazz scene really was like, at least for a dude who was in the thick of things for fucking five or whatever decades. Of course, Miles isn't afraid to shine that light on himself and there's some certainly painful and ugly stuff for him, mostly dealing with his epic decades-long struggle with drugs. Years on I still remember the story of his heroin addiction in the 40s and subsequent horrible withdrawal at his parents' house. Unfortunately Miles kind of swapped the heroin addiction out for a cocaine addiction and some gnarly shit goes down, like Miles slapping some random lady because he thought she was in his car with him (they were in an elevator.) Miles is nothing but upfront and honest throughout the entire book. He doesn't come out looking good very often and honestly could be a total fucking dick. But it's inarguable that if genius exists he was one. A must for jazz fans, Miles fans and/or people who just like intense life stories.
Also precious is the insight into why he was constantly trying out new genres and inventing new ones when he got bored. Any jazz fan is gonna wonder how a guy goes from Birth of the Cool to Kind of Blue to E.S.P. to Bitches Brew to Agharta to fucking....I don't even wanna mention the 80s stuff but we all know that it happened and it wasn't anything close to his pre-hiatus records. I don't think it's a spoiler to say that the reason he could and did try so many things was because Miles frankly gave very little of a shit about others' opinion and this is made abundantly clear on every page. I'm pretty sure there's a co-author listed on this book, but ghostwriting fears should be put to rest because it sounds like Miles just fucking rambled for hours and hours and some other dude put it into a decent literary structure. No one else says "motherfucker" that much, it's definitely Miles' voice. Even his spoken language has a music and rhythm to it that you can definitely hear. Unfortunately you can't actually hear his famous rasp-whisper but you still know who's talking.
I just can't imagine a jazz biography being any better than this. You get the rather mundane biographical stuff, the academic stuff, the contextual history stuff and the pure fucking mud on what the jazz scene really was like, at least for a dude who was in the thick of things for fucking five or whatever decades. Of course, Miles isn't afraid to shine that light on himself and there's some certainly painful and ugly stuff for him, mostly dealing with his epic decades-long struggle with drugs. Years on I still remember the story of his heroin addiction in the 40s and subsequent horrible withdrawal at his parents' house. Unfortunately Miles kind of swapped the heroin addiction out for a cocaine addiction and some gnarly shit goes down, like Miles slapping some random lady because he thought she was in his car with him (they were in an elevator.) Miles is nothing but upfront and honest throughout the entire book. He doesn't come out looking good very often and honestly could be a total fucking dick. But it's inarguable that if genius exists he was one. A must for jazz fans, Miles fans and/or people who just like intense life stories.
January 17, 2015
What a treat. I waited far too long to read this book, but I finally did and have been richly rewarded. I now have this book as the 2nd best biography I have ever read. For those who are interested in the first, it is Arthur Ashe. But Miles came damn close to challenging for that number one spot. He was extremely genuine and forthright about his life, even admitting to slapping and abusing women, which is brave, only because it isn't mandatory to reveal such scurrilous behavior.
The honesty about life long drug abuse and his feelings about America in general and white people specifically makes this a must read for those who are interested in how one's life can be impacted by race. He takes us through the jazz world and not only informs the reader but also educates about the music known as jazz, that frequently Miles refers to simply as black music. Great job exposing how critics can and do influence opinions about music and the artists who produce it.
It was good to hear Miles in his own voice clear up some of the headline grabbing incidents that he was involved in. The supposed fights and violent arguments, many of which didn't happen the way they were initially reported. His take on jazz and the major players and how he tried to evolve with the times, despite getting killed critically is priceless to one's understanding of Miles' music and the evolution of jazz.
There are some laugh out loud moments in this book, Miles at a white house dinner, simply hilarious. Quincy Troupe who is the actual writer on this project, does an excellent job of letting Miles' voice come through authentically. From the afterword, "Miles is not the kind of person who concerns himself with sanitizing his image. He prefers to say what he has to say, to tell his true feelings, even when what he has to say hurts him and others."
So that type of honesty makes for a great book. I can't imagine what was left out, but according to Quincy there was even "some of what he said was so explosive, we ultimately had to edit it out of the book for legal reasons." To that i simply say, wow. I can tell you this, what is included qualifies this book as 5 stars.
The honesty about life long drug abuse and his feelings about America in general and white people specifically makes this a must read for those who are interested in how one's life can be impacted by race. He takes us through the jazz world and not only informs the reader but also educates about the music known as jazz, that frequently Miles refers to simply as black music. Great job exposing how critics can and do influence opinions about music and the artists who produce it.
It was good to hear Miles in his own voice clear up some of the headline grabbing incidents that he was involved in. The supposed fights and violent arguments, many of which didn't happen the way they were initially reported. His take on jazz and the major players and how he tried to evolve with the times, despite getting killed critically is priceless to one's understanding of Miles' music and the evolution of jazz.
There are some laugh out loud moments in this book, Miles at a white house dinner, simply hilarious. Quincy Troupe who is the actual writer on this project, does an excellent job of letting Miles' voice come through authentically. From the afterword, "Miles is not the kind of person who concerns himself with sanitizing his image. He prefers to say what he has to say, to tell his true feelings, even when what he has to say hurts him and others."
So that type of honesty makes for a great book. I can't imagine what was left out, but according to Quincy there was even "some of what he said was so explosive, we ultimately had to edit it out of the book for legal reasons." To that i simply say, wow. I can tell you this, what is included qualifies this book as 5 stars.
March 21, 2024
The early years of Miles, with Charlie Parker, is the most interesting part of the book for me. This was not only because I'm a Parker fan but also because jazz was more colorful in the 1940s up to the late 1950s. Such incredible characters - well, always amazing figures. As I read on with this memoir, I realized that Miles Davis's music is a tad more conservative than Parker and Monk's music. Miles knew how to extend his music into different styles and formats, but I don't think he was a genius like Parker, Monk, or some of the other Jazz greats of that time and period. But Miles had great taste and the skill to put together great bands. I feel he overlooked some of his great albums in this book, but it's always an interesting read. Even though, toward the end, I felt the energy lacking, where it became I knew that person, and I did that type of observation. Still, this is a major piece of literature regarding a Jazz Musician's life and time.
March 31, 2015
"Some kind of happiness is measured out in Miles."
November 22, 2016
Was Miles Davis a devotee of the OULIPO movement? Given his stated disinclination to read books it may be unlikely, but it does seem that he set himself an OULIPOian constraint when dictating the material that was shaped into book form by Quincy Troupe. The constraint was to describe every person, object and experience using only the words motherfucker, shit and bad. His early interest in music? "I remember being fascinated by hearing the records of Louis Armstrong, Jimmie Lunceford...and a whole bunch of other bad motherfuckers...". The Savoy Sultans? "They was badder than a motherfucker." The way Duke Ellington and Jimmie Luncford dressed? "They was cleaner than a motherfucker." Monk's use of space? "Damn, what is that motherfucker doing?" Critics? "Bird and Dizzy told me not to pay that shit critics said no mind..." Howard McGhee? "One night him and me got into a jam session on trumpet that was a motherfucker." Eddie 'Lockjaw' Davis? "He was a motherfucker." Gil Fuller? "Gil was a motherfucker." How was it playing with Bird when he hadn't rehearsed with the band? "He nods, counts off the beat and plays every motherfucking tune in the exact key we had rehearsed it in. He played like a motherfucker..he'd look at us looking at him all shocked and shit...". We're still in the early days, so I could go on, but I think I've made the point.
He could have tried harder, he just couldn't be bothered. That, I began to think, as I read the book, applied to many aspects of his life including the only aspect of Miles Davis that is of enduring interest: his music. He recorded some of the greatest music of the 20th century, but he never went too far outside a limited range as a trumpeter. Once he had recorded 'Birth of The Cool' - a self-defining swerve away from the fast-paced intricacies of be-bop - he had essentially set a template which would be adapted to suit different line-ups until the late 60's. The hardest he ever had to work was with the quintet of Shorter, Hancock, Carter and Williams, with Williams always trying to push him into the more frantic territory then being occupied by Coltrane, Ayler etc. But he wouldn't go, although the apparent teetering (particularly on the live recordings) is a fascinating aspect of what I would happily argue was his greatest band.
Then came the addition of bands that included elements of rock and funk which gave him a huge cushion into which he could sink, playing darts of sound that melded into the everyone-playing-all-the-time style which was influenced to a greater extent than I had realised (the book isn't entirely without value) by Ornette Coleman's theory of harmolodics (although the theory is never mentioned by that name). I like the music of those times a lot too, but those, more than any other recordings were the work of a group sound, with Miles as just one element of the continuous buzz.
After that there was a long break which seems to have consisted of living in rich man's squalour while taking lots of drugs and applying to numerous, anonymous women ("If I met them on the street today I probably wouldn't even recognize most of them") the inquisitiveness he once applied to music. " I did some weird shit back in those days..." By then even musician friends had given up calling by, "They got sick and tired of that shit so they just stopped coming."
When he did decide to start playing again he was happy to settle for a better-than-average smooth funk style that no longer involved any real interaction with the musicians (he dubbed his part onto already recorded backing). Even live there was very little happening and the bands featured interchangeable, session musicians. I saw one of those bands and, apart from Kenny Garrett, I have no idea who was in the band, a detail that would have been crucial in previous times.
I had always resisted reading this book because I had worried that it would affect the way I listen to his music. But I'm old enough now to know that most artists are very imperfect people and I judge the music as music (and I adore the music of Miles Davis) and I judge a book as a book. As such this is a truly awful book, with no literary merit, but with a reasonable narrative, despite some strange repetitions. The best that can be said of the person telling the stories is that he was honest. Honest about hitting women and describing them in terms that would make Donald Trump blush (well no, he probably would go one better, or worse) , honest about an unreflective need to accumulate capital and show-off (that's my slant). He was angry about the treatment of African-Americans, but never explored a convincing critique of US society as a whole. He wasn't a deep or reflective person in that way, but then, his music was as deep and reflective as we could ever hope to hear and in the end that's what I want to remember. Not this book - absorbing as it is, if the music and musicians of those times interest you - not the limited , tiresome vocabulary, but the limited trumpet technique that managed to encompass so much.
P.S. I'm still wondering who "Hernspach, the brilliant British composer" might be.
He could have tried harder, he just couldn't be bothered. That, I began to think, as I read the book, applied to many aspects of his life including the only aspect of Miles Davis that is of enduring interest: his music. He recorded some of the greatest music of the 20th century, but he never went too far outside a limited range as a trumpeter. Once he had recorded 'Birth of The Cool' - a self-defining swerve away from the fast-paced intricacies of be-bop - he had essentially set a template which would be adapted to suit different line-ups until the late 60's. The hardest he ever had to work was with the quintet of Shorter, Hancock, Carter and Williams, with Williams always trying to push him into the more frantic territory then being occupied by Coltrane, Ayler etc. But he wouldn't go, although the apparent teetering (particularly on the live recordings) is a fascinating aspect of what I would happily argue was his greatest band.
Then came the addition of bands that included elements of rock and funk which gave him a huge cushion into which he could sink, playing darts of sound that melded into the everyone-playing-all-the-time style which was influenced to a greater extent than I had realised (the book isn't entirely without value) by Ornette Coleman's theory of harmolodics (although the theory is never mentioned by that name). I like the music of those times a lot too, but those, more than any other recordings were the work of a group sound, with Miles as just one element of the continuous buzz.
After that there was a long break which seems to have consisted of living in rich man's squalour while taking lots of drugs and applying to numerous, anonymous women ("If I met them on the street today I probably wouldn't even recognize most of them") the inquisitiveness he once applied to music. " I did some weird shit back in those days..." By then even musician friends had given up calling by, "They got sick and tired of that shit so they just stopped coming."
When he did decide to start playing again he was happy to settle for a better-than-average smooth funk style that no longer involved any real interaction with the musicians (he dubbed his part onto already recorded backing). Even live there was very little happening and the bands featured interchangeable, session musicians. I saw one of those bands and, apart from Kenny Garrett, I have no idea who was in the band, a detail that would have been crucial in previous times.
I had always resisted reading this book because I had worried that it would affect the way I listen to his music. But I'm old enough now to know that most artists are very imperfect people and I judge the music as music (and I adore the music of Miles Davis) and I judge a book as a book. As such this is a truly awful book, with no literary merit, but with a reasonable narrative, despite some strange repetitions. The best that can be said of the person telling the stories is that he was honest. Honest about hitting women and describing them in terms that would make Donald Trump blush (well no, he probably would go one better, or worse) , honest about an unreflective need to accumulate capital and show-off (that's my slant). He was angry about the treatment of African-Americans, but never explored a convincing critique of US society as a whole. He wasn't a deep or reflective person in that way, but then, his music was as deep and reflective as we could ever hope to hear and in the end that's what I want to remember. Not this book - absorbing as it is, if the music and musicians of those times interest you - not the limited , tiresome vocabulary, but the limited trumpet technique that managed to encompass so much.
P.S. I'm still wondering who "Hernspach, the brilliant British composer" might be.
August 27, 2024
The story is 5 star, but the audio version takes it to another level. Pitch perfect narration.
Miles Davis takes us through his life with unvarnished honesty written in his own voice. He takes us through his childhood when he first discovered his love of music, the journey that took him out of East St. Louis and landed him in New York City as a very young man finding his way in the world, going wherever his musical talents and ambitions would lead. He entered Julliard and studied a wide range of musical styles, the art and techniques of composition, and music theory, but was frustrated by the lack of black musical perspective. He went to school by day, played the club scene at night, and forged relationships with the budding musical greats of the time - Dizzy Gillespie, Louie Armstrong, and Charles Byrd, and eventually a whole host of musicians whose names you will recognize as the jazz greats from the 40s through the 80s. His talent and style of playing got him noticed and he was invited to play with a variety of musicians in clubs all around Harlem. It was a hard way to make a living, particularly as the new kid trying to break into the scene and establish himself. He was a young, wildly independent, smart, determined, and headstrong young man who wanted nothing more than to stretch himself musically and follow his creative passions. He takes us through all the periods in life and is forthright about the opportunities and challenges he encountered along the way. It's all there - the way he expressed himself musically, the description of how music came together, the various personalities and lives of the musicians, singers, actors, artists, writers, club owners, and agents he met along the way, his love life, his battle with addiction and drug use, the racism he encountered throughout his life, his family relationships - he combines the whole mix and puts it out there, and with reflection acknowledges his mistakes, digs into his values, and spins out the truths behind the musical legend in his own voice. He confronts hard truths, and sets the record straight on a few things. The book covers his life up until the last couple of years preceding his death. Nothing is left behind.
Is there name dropping? Yes, lots of it, but he jammed with so many notable musicians over his decades as a musical artist that this is to be expected. It wasn't gratuitous, he described in detail who he respected and admired, how he differed musically with some of them as well as his personal relationships with them. Is there colorful language? Let me tell you this - the words bulls*** and motherf***** are used liberally but he is one of those people who can elevate that to an art form to complement, chastise, or punctuate a thought. It's who he was.
The audio is 16+ hours and I was riveted to every second. I felt like I was living his life with him the entire time. Great, great book.
Miles Davis takes us through his life with unvarnished honesty written in his own voice. He takes us through his childhood when he first discovered his love of music, the journey that took him out of East St. Louis and landed him in New York City as a very young man finding his way in the world, going wherever his musical talents and ambitions would lead. He entered Julliard and studied a wide range of musical styles, the art and techniques of composition, and music theory, but was frustrated by the lack of black musical perspective. He went to school by day, played the club scene at night, and forged relationships with the budding musical greats of the time - Dizzy Gillespie, Louie Armstrong, and Charles Byrd, and eventually a whole host of musicians whose names you will recognize as the jazz greats from the 40s through the 80s. His talent and style of playing got him noticed and he was invited to play with a variety of musicians in clubs all around Harlem. It was a hard way to make a living, particularly as the new kid trying to break into the scene and establish himself. He was a young, wildly independent, smart, determined, and headstrong young man who wanted nothing more than to stretch himself musically and follow his creative passions. He takes us through all the periods in life and is forthright about the opportunities and challenges he encountered along the way. It's all there - the way he expressed himself musically, the description of how music came together, the various personalities and lives of the musicians, singers, actors, artists, writers, club owners, and agents he met along the way, his love life, his battle with addiction and drug use, the racism he encountered throughout his life, his family relationships - he combines the whole mix and puts it out there, and with reflection acknowledges his mistakes, digs into his values, and spins out the truths behind the musical legend in his own voice. He confronts hard truths, and sets the record straight on a few things. The book covers his life up until the last couple of years preceding his death. Nothing is left behind.
Is there name dropping? Yes, lots of it, but he jammed with so many notable musicians over his decades as a musical artist that this is to be expected. It wasn't gratuitous, he described in detail who he respected and admired, how he differed musically with some of them as well as his personal relationships with them. Is there colorful language? Let me tell you this - the words bulls*** and motherf***** are used liberally but he is one of those people who can elevate that to an art form to complement, chastise, or punctuate a thought. It's who he was.
The audio is 16+ hours and I was riveted to every second. I felt like I was living his life with him the entire time. Great, great book.
December 29, 2024
The Gospel of Miles
Book II, 58: 4: “Was it good? That fish was a motherfucker.”
So say He, and who dare question Him (or his fish)?
(Top 5 music autobios/memoirs ever. Third reading, better each time. It’s a weird list—Mingus, Zappa, Eno, DLR…—but each is a brilliant, iconoclastic mind. Oops: their minds are a motherfucker.)
Book II, 58: 4: “Was it good? That fish was a motherfucker.”
So say He, and who dare question Him (or his fish)?
(Top 5 music autobios/memoirs ever. Third reading, better each time. It’s a weird list—Mingus, Zappa, Eno, DLR…—but each is a brilliant, iconoclastic mind. Oops: their minds are a motherfucker.)
October 28, 2010
One bad*ss motherf*cker.
February 14, 2012
This is one of the most inspiring musician biographies I've ever read, and I'm not a rabid Miles fan. It's good in the same way the recent Keith Richards autobiography is good - because it's a book about music by a guy who loves music, has played a lot of music and knows a lot about music. Also, unlike the comparable Ray Charles autobiography it doesn't wind down halfway through when it becomes clear its protagonist is an incurable man of habit and a control freak. Nah, that ain't Miles. Miles is about change, challenge, collaboration. And its this that makes him the perfect mentor. Wanna know how to get a band together? Ask Miles - he's had about 100 of them. Wanna know how to keep it fresh? Man, you don't gotta preach to 'em or tell 'em what to do, just throw 'em off balance and watch the adrenalin kick in. You think it's all about being rehearsed and having your act down pat? Motherf**ker, you gotta jam with whoever you can: Bird, Dizzy, Coltrane, Hendrix. Add to this the classic rags-to-riches tale of a kid from East St Louis who winds up in Paris making love to Juliette Greco (and realising everything that's wrong with race-politics back home) and you have the inspirational musical story par excellence. Oh yeah, and I can't count the number of times Bitches' Brew has saved me from sleeplessness when my neighbours are acting up again - it's the stuff that dreams are made of. Miles, he's the man.
October 17, 2016
I finished both the autobiography of Miles Davis as well as Ian Carr’s excellent biography a few weeks back. Both were exhilarating reading to be honest. As for the autobiography I love Miles’ style injected with loads of vernacular and honest, brutal self-criticism at times and megalomaniac self-praise in others. It was a fascinating look into how he viewed his contemporaries and acolytes – particularly the respect he always paid to Trane was touching. I was not aware of the conflict between him and Wynton Marsalis – that was a bit of a surprise. It is a great document of the inner workings of genius and fame and just deepened my respect for the Miles mystique. Apparently, he spoke most of the text that Quincy Troupe recorded via audio and then transcribed. That gives the text a real casual, conversational feel and makes it such as pleasure to read.
December 25, 2014
Quite simply, this is one of the best autobiographies you will ever read. It's just a real honest look at a musical genius who gives it all to you Straight, No Chaser (referencing Thelonious Monk) with all of the warts and flaws included.
If you thought you knew everything about Miles Davis you might want to read this book to find out otherwise. He is brutally honest about everything here including: racism, drugs, women, physical abuse, music, family issues etc...This book is written in a very comfortable style as if Miles is sitting across from you on a couch, legs crossed smoking a cigarette and frequently sipping on cognac or scotch (or both) from a side table. He is known to be quite shy around strangers and he has an economy of words and the book reads as such. It's extremely well written (with Quincy Troupe) and there's just no filler pages in this book at all.
Miles goes into detail about his early years arriving in NYC from East St Louis and being mentored by Dizzy and Yardbird. He goes into detail at times about jazz riffs, styles, players and if you're not a fan of jazz or have an appreciation for it in some way then your attention may waver a bit. But not for long, because he has a way to make even that interesting before you realize it.
True jazz fans/aficionados will eat up all the details about two of the best quintets of all time: Miles with John Coltrane , Red Garland, Paul Chambers, and Philly Joe Jones. The second consisted of Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams. Miles greatest gift and legacy may be as a band leader and instructor and its a testament to this and his musical prowess that all of these players (and others) became leaders in their own right. Amazing!
Miles other associations with artists and movie elite are mentioned here as well. Of course, his marriages to Cicely Tyson and Betty Davis (nee Mabry) and also his friendships with James Baldwin and Bill Cosby among others are added.
I can't fail to mention, however, the most uncomfortable part of this book is his frequent physical and mental abuse of his wives and mates. He's very upfront about it but he's also a little more casual about it than one would or might expect. It's truly an ugly part of his legacy that can't be overlooked.
This is an incredible autobiography about a true jazz icon!
If you thought you knew everything about Miles Davis you might want to read this book to find out otherwise. He is brutally honest about everything here including: racism, drugs, women, physical abuse, music, family issues etc...This book is written in a very comfortable style as if Miles is sitting across from you on a couch, legs crossed smoking a cigarette and frequently sipping on cognac or scotch (or both) from a side table. He is known to be quite shy around strangers and he has an economy of words and the book reads as such. It's extremely well written (with Quincy Troupe) and there's just no filler pages in this book at all.
Miles goes into detail about his early years arriving in NYC from East St Louis and being mentored by Dizzy and Yardbird. He goes into detail at times about jazz riffs, styles, players and if you're not a fan of jazz or have an appreciation for it in some way then your attention may waver a bit. But not for long, because he has a way to make even that interesting before you realize it.
True jazz fans/aficionados will eat up all the details about two of the best quintets of all time: Miles with John Coltrane , Red Garland, Paul Chambers, and Philly Joe Jones. The second consisted of Wayne Shorter, Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, and Tony Williams. Miles greatest gift and legacy may be as a band leader and instructor and its a testament to this and his musical prowess that all of these players (and others) became leaders in their own right. Amazing!
Miles other associations with artists and movie elite are mentioned here as well. Of course, his marriages to Cicely Tyson and Betty Davis (nee Mabry) and also his friendships with James Baldwin and Bill Cosby among others are added.
I can't fail to mention, however, the most uncomfortable part of this book is his frequent physical and mental abuse of his wives and mates. He's very upfront about it but he's also a little more casual about it than one would or might expect. It's truly an ugly part of his legacy that can't be overlooked.
This is an incredible autobiography about a true jazz icon!
March 27, 2011
Miles Davis's autobiography takes no pains whatsoever to varnish the author's reputation as a kind and loving human being. By far, the word that appears more often than any other in Miles: The Autobiography, written in partnership with Quincy Troupe, is that 12-letter, four-syllable all-purpose standby for a person who engages in sexual relations with his own mother. In whip-quick conversational prose that moves with the deft, percussive rhythms of truth when it riffs out hesitation free, Davis describes himself as a man who hits women, a parent who is disappointed in all his children, an acquaintance who rarely keeps a friend for more than a few years, a husband who will not tolerate his mate's intolerance of his dalliances with other women, a drug addict who considers snorts of coke and cognac daily as being clean, and a musical genius who fundamentally changed the direction of music at least four times during his amazingly long and prolific career. Davis also insists, several times, that critics are almost always wrong, especially when they accuse him of hating white people. Indeed, he is just as harsh on black people as he is on whites, and the black person he is harshest upon has to be himself. By far the most notorious trumpet player in jazz, and one of the most influential bandleaders in any genre, Davis takes advantage of his autobiographical bandstand to settle any lingering personal scores—with everyone from iconic players to forgotten club-owners—and correct all misinformed anecdotes concerning himself and the legends who were his contemporaries. This book is raw and revelatory, a miracle of publicist defiance, a gift from a complex mess of a master who committed to telling it like he saw it and felt it, and to hell with you whether you like it—and him—or not.
August 20, 2008
tips for being a great artist:
1) never doubt yourself
2) never repeat yourself
3) never admit that you were wrong
4) do drugs
1) never doubt yourself
2) never repeat yourself
3) never admit that you were wrong
4) do drugs
July 7, 2017
I loved this audio production of Miles. It was wonderful learning about his life from the early years on and he held nothing back. He tells it like he lived it and does not pretty it up. He is raw and honest and his life story is no different. For me, I learned some surprising things about how he was brought up and how other musicians influenced him; and it all made sense once he explained it. Needles to say I learned a lot about music, and enjoyed the parts I didn't even understand. Even though I found him to be rather mean at times, I have more respect for Mr. Davis than I did before I read this autobiography. There were times I was very disappointed in him and other times I was rooting for him. He made me laugh a lot and I enjoyed the way he phrased his sentences. I was reminded of my father and uncles with their careless use of profanity. He was a brave dude with an adventurous spirit and I worried for him and recognized the hatred that he experienced as a way of life in the USA. I admired his strength of character and his determination to succeed in whatever mission he happened to be on. It was a fun and educational read, the narrator was very very good and sounded like Miles. A true musical genius, that is Mr. Miles Davis.
January 1, 2013
This is a very honest autobiography. Davis thought (for good reason) that he was a wonderful musician and didn't let anyone dissuade him. At the same time, in many respects this book is a name dropping list of great musicians Davis worked with and for and lauched. I was turned off by the language even though I knew that it was absolutely Davis's voice. I also didn't think he explained the politics of Black Power well enough. I understood his point of view but he tried to stay apolitical while hating whites for being so obnoxious to blacks. It also went on too long. Many chapter were a list of concerts and recordings and the women he slept with and the drugs he did. It got old. The book was read brilliants and it felt like I got to know Miles Davis but I don't think I would have liked him. He was arrogant and careless with people and thought his talent made him better than the rest of us. At the same time, I don't doubt his arrests and harrassments for driving while black were in any way exaggerated, unfortunately. When he passed, the world lost a great musician but not necessarily a great person.
April 25, 2018
Wow, what a great Bio. I’ve read some really good Bios in the last two years and this one is definitely one of the best. Davis is extremely candid about his life and times as absolutely one of the best Jazz musicians, Ever! And his memory and attention for details makes this definitely worth wild. Davis shares moments and experiences, good & bad and gives great accounts of the different formations of musicians that created numerous bands, big & small, the original making of the bands....lol. He is not one of my favs but I’m so very glad I finally read this read, with a new found respect for Davis. I can surely see why ppl loved his music.
May 5, 2017
Over the course of these four hundred pages, Miles switches between electrifying discussions of his and others' creative processes and insults directed at the musicians he worked with. Take it as you will, I guess, but the music-talk is as wonderful as one would expect. And treat yourself to a shot of the liquor of your choice every time he calls someone or something a motherfucker.
June 19, 2019
The best music autobiography ever?
Yes, quite definitely.
Entertaining beyond question.
I think I've read this three times now, and will probably read it 2-3 times more before I die.
Yes, quite definitely.
Entertaining beyond question.
I think I've read this three times now, and will probably read it 2-3 times more before I die.
May 20, 2024
Vägagi fanboy arvamus, kuid see raamat, kasutades Miles'i enda kõnepruuki, was a motherfucker. Tore oli kuulda kõiki neid toredaid lugusi muusikutest, keda ise varem kuulanud olin. Autentne, aus ja vulgaarne. Ka väga pihtimuslik. Läbi raamatu jääb kajama võidukas sõnum raskuste trotsimistest, sõprade toetusest ja perekondlikust armastusest. Kõige selle kõrval kuuleb ka pidevalt muusiku enda suurimast armusuhtest- musitseerimisest. Ja lihtsalt kui palju võib sellel mõju olla ühele hingele...
September 20, 2025
This was a motherfucker of a read, I loved it.
August 24, 2009
I love this book. It is in Miles own words from interviews and he says it like it is, lays out his life, his music and many personal aspects of relationships with family and women, as well as his health. A brilliant musician he was a master at mentoring musicians. If you want to learn about the creative process this book provides an amazing study.
Some quotes:
"A musician's attitude is the music he plays."
"Things take time, you know, you just don't learn something new and do it overnight. It has to get down inside your body, up into your blood before you can do it correctly."
"Feed the monster."
"You've got to have style in whatever you do—writing, music, painting, fashion, boxing, anything. Some styles are slick and creative and imaginative and innovative and others aren't."
"A person is lucky if he has one soldier or Gil Evans in his life, someone close enough to pull your coattail when somethings gone wrong."
"When I say both of us have a shyness I mean an artistic kind of shyness, where you are wary of people taking up your time."
Some quotes:
"A musician's attitude is the music he plays."
"Things take time, you know, you just don't learn something new and do it overnight. It has to get down inside your body, up into your blood before you can do it correctly."
"Feed the monster."
"You've got to have style in whatever you do—writing, music, painting, fashion, boxing, anything. Some styles are slick and creative and imaginative and innovative and others aren't."
"A person is lucky if he has one soldier or Gil Evans in his life, someone close enough to pull your coattail when somethings gone wrong."
"When I say both of us have a shyness I mean an artistic kind of shyness, where you are wary of people taking up your time."
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