Ashley Kahn, author of Kind of Blue: The Making of the Miles Davis Masterpiece, explains why Kind of Blue tops the list:
How does one properly gauge impact? There’s no smouldering crater in the case of Kind of Blue, Miles’ melancholy, modal-jazz masterwork. The 1959 disc didn’t arrive with a thunderous clap, yet four decades later, at the end of the millennium, there it was at the top of any and all “best of” lists, nudging aside so many rock, pop and hip-hop recordings.
Today, there it is on Hollywood soundtracks, an incontestable signifier of hip. There it is near the sales till, still moving up to 5,000 copies a week worldwide, outselling most contemporary jazz recordings. And there it sits in at least five million CD collections. Often it’s the one jazz title owned by a metal head or a classical enthusiast, not just the jazz-focused.
But perhaps Kind of Blue is better measured by the sum of the constituent parts. Five tunes, exceedingly simple in construction, exceptionally deep in evocative power, played by seven post-bop masters, all in their prime. A once-in-a-lifetime line up that makes the term “all-star” seem inadequate: trumpeter Davis, plus sax men John Coltrane and Cannonball Adderley, pianists Bill Evans and Wynton Kelly, bassist Paul Chambers and drummer Jimmy Cobb.
Certainly, Kind of Blue must be measured by musical influence. Ask any number of influential music-makers who have been around, such as Quincy Jones, Herbie Hancock, and the like, they all agree. At a time when the music had “gotten thick” as Miles said, Kind of Blue distilled modern jazz into a cool and detached essence.
The motivation behind going “modal” in the 1950s jazz world was to break from established harmonic patterns (melodic, too) and make way for fresh, extended improvisation. Miles was remarkably successful in marrying musical opposites: 20th century classical concepts such as harmonic simplicity, exotic scales and African rhythms all in a relaxed, swinging groove.
Kind of Blue became the improviser’s bible upon its release in late 1959. For one of its joint creators – John Coltrane – it pointed the way forward: he led much of the jazz world into the 1960s after his modal lessons with Miles. At Coltrane’s side pianist McCoy Tyner adapted Bill Evans’ innovation of quartal harmony, the use of fourths on ‘So What’, to legendary results.
At the close of the 60s, the modal idea became the foundation of fusion jazz. It proved the same for a number of rock groups, such as the Allman Brothers, Grateful Dead and Santana, that used the electric guitar as the solo instrument of choice, and set the standard for generations of jam-oriented bands to follow.
“I think the implications of Kind of Blue we now feel everywhere, but it wasn’t as deep as they became over time,” says saxophonist Dave Liebman. “Name me some music where you don’t hear echoes of it,” Herbie Hancock challenges.
“I hear it everywhere – it becomes hard to separate the modality that exists in rock ’n’ roll, some of it could be directly from Kind of Blue.”
Write a book with as narrow a focus as one jazz album (let’s say Kind of Blue) and, trust me, one ends up thinking and rethinking the subject years after publication. My theories on why that particular Miles album maintains its hold on the top of various charts never seem to settle comfortably on one explanation. I feel the ranking of a musical masterpiece is one that should be open to constant rethink, even if the status remains the same in the end. Yet, especially in the mainstream press, the music chosen for those “best this” and “most that” lists simply falls in line with a long-established view with no question and little explanation.
For this reason and for others, I’m not a fan of top 10 lists. Or of 20, 100, or any number that would place one recording before another. Musical value and appreciation is far too subjective a thing to be ordered neatly on a linear scale. One-dimensional exercises such as list-making seem especially un-hip and unrevealing when it comes to jazz, the most porous and democratic of musics, open to all influences, granting all styles equal value and importance. At least in my view.
Of the many ideas I gathered for my book on Kind of Blue, there is one quote in particular that comes to mind whenever the subject of relative value arises.
“If you like Kind of Blue, turn it over, look who plays on it,” says keyboardist Ben Sidran. “If you particularly like the piano, go buy a Bill Evans record, buy a Wynton Kelly record. If you like the alto playing, buy a Cannonball Adderley record. That one record – it’s not even six degrees of separation – is maybe two degrees of separation from every great jazz record.”
My own introduction to Kind of Blue took place in 1976, a time when my teenage ears were filled with post-Woodstock rock, and the first bursts of punk. Springsteen was a recent discovery as was Bob Marley. One day a mate whose musical taste I trusted implicitly yanked a worn copy of Miles’ LP out of my father’s collection – which I avoided as a matter of principle and teenage independence. Holding it out to me, he declared it a classic. I looked at it anew and came to enjoy its mood-setting atmosphere. I also came to realise how narrowly I had been casting for new sounds. I had been standing on the shore of a vast ocean of musical possibilities, yet fishing in one small inlet.
I didn’t fully realise it then, but Kind of Blue helped me see the vastness before me and rejoice in its expanse. I’ve been sailing the waters, listening and learning, ever since.
If those 5,000 per week sales figures are any indication, I’m not alone. As a measure of impact – I can think of nothing more significant than the music that first unmoors one from preconceptions and the need to stay in one place. For this alone, for serving for so many as a portal to an entire world of creative music, I agree that Kind of Blue continues to earn its status as a number one.