Miles Davis
Live at the Fillmore East (March 7, 1970): It's About That Time
[Legacy/Columbia; 2001]
Rating: 9.5
Would you know greatness if you saw it? This is the eternal question for people
like me, posting their supposedly well thought-out pontifications for anyone with
a computer and an Internet connection to read. The issue of being able to
distinguish what's good from what isn't seems like a job ill-suited for anyone
who doesn't have the power of omniscience, or at least a good track record with
uncovering genius. And yet, this is a request made by artists all the time--
that of acceptance, or some kind of recognition of what they've produced.
Maybe it's not really a matter of taste, but closer to keen perception and
foresight. But while some folks may pride themselves in their ability to find
interesting art, it takes popular consensus to brand a piece or work "great" or
"revolutionary." Herein lies the dilemma: if you aren't able to recognize the
inherent greatness of a particular piece of art, how can you appreciate any art
at all? Or, if you do think you see genius somewhere, how do you communicate
this to somebody else? These are the kinds of questions I have for the audience
assembled for the Miles Davis Quintet performance at the Fillmore East in New
York City on March 7th, 1970.
Live at the Fillmore East (March 7, 1970): It's About That Time is the
official release of an oft-bootlegged performance of Davis' "lost quintet."
His cohorts were Wayne Shorter, Chick Corea, Dave Holland, Jack DeJohnette
and Airto Moreira. Not a bad lineup for a band that never existed, save a
few fiery performances in 1969 and 1970. In fact, at the time, the status
of Davis' proper quintet (featuring Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter, Tony Williams
and Shorter) was a little hazy. Williams had left to run his own show with
Lifetime, but Hancock and Carter would continue to play with the trumpeter on
and off for a couple of years. Also, the issue of the new quintet actually
being a sextet added to the confusion of just who, exactly, was a part of Davis'
band.
One other oddity confronted the lucky few who were able to witness these guys
live: almost all the music being played was unreleased, and unlike anything ever
produced by jazz musicians. Most of the tunes performed at this Fillmore date
(not to be confused with another release, Miles Davis at Fillmore: Live at
the Fillmore East, recorded in June of the same year) were from the landmark
Bitches Brew LP. Although Bitches Brew had been recorded the
previous summer, it wouldn't be released until a few weeks after this performance.
And as any of that album's millions of fans will tell you, its music isn't really
the kind that sinks in on the first listen.
The Davis Quin/Sextet was opening for Steve Miller and Neil Young for these
sets. But if the jazz community was bitterly divided over the notion of Miles
Davis playing "rock" music, I can only imagine what was going through the heads
of people accustomed to hearing "Cinnamon Girl," rather than "Miles Runs the
Voodoo Down," for an encore. Judging by the audience response here, they
probably didn't really know what to think. The applause is polite, but hesitant,
and the two or three guys who wanted more at the end may have been anomalies,
because it was pretty obvious the band had left it all onstage after the last
number. To recognize greatness: it is elusive, and most likely, beyond the
sensibilities of most hippies and/or mere mortals.
The first set begins as Holland, DeJohnette and Corea vamp to a furious funk
groove. Heavy bass and some well-placed exotic percussion (supplied by the
redoubtable Moreira, whose playing receives the ultimate dis by being labeled
"superfluous" in the liner notes) kick things off, and by the time Davis enters,
the brew is already quite hot. The tune is "Directions," and apparently, it
refers to many at once. Miles seems to be aiming straight for the jugular while
Holland takes the straight and steady, and when Shorter comes in, he leads
DeJohnette and Corea on a path so ridden with turbulence and strife, it derails
the entire tune. About five minutes in, it becomes impossible to remember that
most of these same musicians had produced something like In a Silent Way,
only a year earlier.
Afterwards, the band segues into "Spanish Key," one of the more straightforward
pieces on Bitches Brew, but here already transformed into a three-headed
monster by a band that obviously couldn't sit still on a bet. The three heads
in question: a rhythm section which never actually came down from the highs of
the previous rave, Davis, who was playing more aggressively and with more muscle
than he ever had, and Wayne Shorter, who was playing like he never would again.
Of course, he wouldn't, at least with Davis. After this date, Shorter would
leave the group to form the seminal fusion outfit Weather Report. When he
first performed with Davis in the early 60s, he'd received the rap of being a
Coltrane disciple (not a criticism, really), but had always possessed a natural
calm that his spiritual mentor would discard in favor of pure expression and,
often, fury. On this date, Shorter meets his maker, full of fire and machine
gun lines on soprano and tenor sax that had only been hinted at on the great
releases by the second Davis Quintet.
During the second set, whatever jazz history had not been rewritten got its due
and then some. "Directions" (it appears twice, since these two discs document
both an early and a late show) starts off innocently enough, with a low, humming
growl from Holland, but quickly develops into the Apocalypse. There are moments
when the music seems to cross over into the avant-garde and free jazz realms,
especially whenever Shorter is playing a solo. Reportedly, Davis never
considered himself a part of those camps, but it's clear he wasn't afraid to let
his band steer the ship in that general direction, so long as they kept the
groove alive. Corea brings it down a little with a few choruses of comparatively
traditional playing, even if it isn't less intense than the others'.
The tune segues into "Miles Runs the Voodoo Down"; very different, far greasier
and Fatter (with a capital 'F,' as you can see) than the studio version on
Bitches Brew. It could almost pass for hard blues-rock, if not for
DeJohnette's relentless cymbal attack and Davis' distorted howling. Here,
though, it seems to serve as a kind of breather so the band can rev up for
"Bitches Brew," arguably in its finest version anywhere on this CD. It begins
with ominous, woozy percussion, and some agitated horn punches from the leader.
Then, out of nowhere, everything gets funky. Holland lays down some serious
dirty pimp low end, filtered through that infamous "ring modulation" to give it
the extra ass-mangling quality so desired in serious jazz performance. After
a bit, Shorter drops another trip-bop bomb, and then the quiet comes back.
Davis takes it out with a few quick, muted jabs, while the beat simmers below.
And if I never heard another track by that band again, I'd still rank them
alongside Davis' other classic groups.
The set ends with a version of "It's About That Time" (from In a Silent
Way), spliced with something called "Willie Nelson." The first part takes
the original and applies the underlying aggression of this set to its once
peaceful groove. The second half takes the bottom out, and showcases at once
the band's penchant for repetitive riffing and complete irreverence towards the
way jazz solos were supposed to be played (I'm not sure there's a straight
chord progression on the entire record).
When the track is over, the audience, who probably weren't sure of what had
just happened, offers cautious appreciation via some very polite applause.
The emcee announces the group again (Miles never spoke during performances),
and there are a couple of calls for an encore. Moreira lets everyone know
it's over by blowing his whistle, and I surmise that many of the people
there were letting out sighs of relief. There's no way to know if they
were aware of the jazz revolution starting right under their noses. Over
thirty years later, I'm not sure I understand what the preceding hour-and-a-half
was all about, except what I consider exceptional musicians taking exceptional
chances. It's undoubtedly pointless trying to reduce music to levels of "genius,"
so from now on, I'll take whatever those guys had to say without much inclination
of trying to put it into words.
-Dominique Leone, October 11th, 2001