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OT: Miles Davis 1985 interview - 'Coltrane was greedy'
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Oscar
Nov 7, 2012, 8:13:29 AM11/7/12
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Some classical composers and works are referenced, but this entire interview by Richard Cook with one of the greatest musicians of the 20th Century is a must-read. In it, Davis compares the 1946 Charlie Parker side, Moose the Mooche, to Alban Berg; calls Coltrane 'greedy' and Bird a 'big hog.' Here's an excerpt, originally published in NME in 1985 http://tiny.cc/esmenw
<< When he gets into reminiscing, Miles leafs through years as if it were all some vast scrapbook he can turn to at a moment's notice. Follow some of this.
"That was one of Charlie Parker's styles, because his father was a tap dancer. Ba-ba-bip da-dah-d'n-da dee-da-dee-deh – like tap dancers dance! That rhythm, you hadn't heard no shit like that! Hey, you got it on that tape! Give it to me so I can put something to that rhythm!
"And Bird played like that. Nobody wrote like that before. The first time they saw the music to Moose the Mooche – before that Stravinsky and Alban Berg was the hardest thing. Lucky Thompson was saying – what? What is – ? The notation! Everybody had to learn that.
"That was one style. Sonny and I used to play that style. Now Sonny's the only one playing it, only one who could. And me.
"Coltrane could do it. He started with a style imitating Eddie Lockjaw Davis. But he was something else. People don't know it but it took him a long time. I was going with a girl who was an antique dealer in France. She gave this soprano sax to me and I gave it to Coltrane. I gave that thing to Trane, man, and it's probably still in his hand. He probably died with it in his mouth! He never did take that thing out of his mouth.
"Then I gave him some progressions. I said, Sonny – I mean, Trane. I had them both in the band but I have no tapes of that band, shit. We had this thing by Khatchaturian – you know Rachmaninoff's modulations and stuff like that, three or four keys? I gave him a tone centre of E natural and said, you can play F, G minor, E minor triad, C triad, all these chords … and he'd play all of them. In two bars. In that order, and then in a different order.
"I gave him all these little things, like – play this for me, Trane. And it'd sound like – blablablablublurp.... that's the way it sounds, if you play without stopping you sound like Coltrane. But you have to be doing something. It has to fit the chord, the day, the weather and everything."
Wasn't there a time when Coltrane thought he must have played everything?
"You would say that, you're not Coltrane! He was a very greedy man. Bird was, too. When I was 17,18, my allowance was like $40 a week. My wife would cook something, a little cornbread, and I'd say to Bird, Come on downstairs and eat. And he would eat all of the cornbread! He would sit down and leave a little piece like that and then leave! Did that a couple of times and I said, Fuck Bird! After a couple of times I didn't leave him anything to gobble up.
"Like when Bird died. They asked me to say something about Bird. I said, Man, if I said something about Bird, you wouldn't believe it. Don't ask me that! He was a big hog. A pig. No such thing as no with him. And Trane. And Sonny. Only three people I knew like that. And Dizzy, when he was young. I suppose geniuses are like that.
"Trane would find a note he liked and run all kinds of chords on it. But he was a big hog. I seen him with a whole ounce of dope once, the dope was spilling over and he wouldn't give it to nobody. So much that it was running all over everything! Guys would ask him for some, he'd say no."
Stories, stories – maybe he embellishes, but who knows? Will we ever see his memoirs?
"My wife keeps asking me to do that," he says, almost smiling. "I say, Cicely, I can't tell them things. I can tell you about Coltrane, but I can't tell you about the women.
"Bird – that's why we called him that, he used to squeak on reed a lot – and Trane had the same trouble. When I first recorded Trane, the guy from the record company, said, Miles, who is that out there playing saxophone? I said, man, just record the shit. You want us to play, we'll play, if not we'll go home. I mean, Trane was a big thing to be dropping on people! That was hard shit to just think of!
"We were in California once and he said, I can't make rehearsal. I have to get my teeth fixed. I said, Don't do that. Because he had one tooth out, and that's how he got that sound. Next thing I know, man, he was smiling and he looked like a piano. And I said – Oh shit! There goes the sound!"
There goes the sound. A high trumpet, singing very sweet, played by a funny, shrewd, grouchy, fatherly, fragile man, who has to keep playing. Miles closes his sketchbook. A couple of hours later, he leads his group through nearly two and a half hours of hard music.
A few hours after that, at a breakfast table, I am coughing with fatigue into my coffee. This dark, ancient voice addresses me. "Hey, man. Don't you wave?" I look up. Shit. He's waving to me. The Prince of Darkness is waving to me. I wave back. >>
<< When he gets into reminiscing, Miles leafs through years as if it were all some vast scrapbook he can turn to at a moment's notice. Follow some of this.
"That was one of Charlie Parker's styles, because his father was a tap dancer. Ba-ba-bip da-dah-d'n-da dee-da-dee-deh – like tap dancers dance! That rhythm, you hadn't heard no shit like that! Hey, you got it on that tape! Give it to me so I can put something to that rhythm!
"And Bird played like that. Nobody wrote like that before. The first time they saw the music to Moose the Mooche – before that Stravinsky and Alban Berg was the hardest thing. Lucky Thompson was saying – what? What is – ? The notation! Everybody had to learn that.
"That was one style. Sonny and I used to play that style. Now Sonny's the only one playing it, only one who could. And me.
"Coltrane could do it. He started with a style imitating Eddie Lockjaw Davis. But he was something else. People don't know it but it took him a long time. I was going with a girl who was an antique dealer in France. She gave this soprano sax to me and I gave it to Coltrane. I gave that thing to Trane, man, and it's probably still in his hand. He probably died with it in his mouth! He never did take that thing out of his mouth.
"Then I gave him some progressions. I said, Sonny – I mean, Trane. I had them both in the band but I have no tapes of that band, shit. We had this thing by Khatchaturian – you know Rachmaninoff's modulations and stuff like that, three or four keys? I gave him a tone centre of E natural and said, you can play F, G minor, E minor triad, C triad, all these chords … and he'd play all of them. In two bars. In that order, and then in a different order.
"I gave him all these little things, like – play this for me, Trane. And it'd sound like – blablablablublurp.... that's the way it sounds, if you play without stopping you sound like Coltrane. But you have to be doing something. It has to fit the chord, the day, the weather and everything."
Wasn't there a time when Coltrane thought he must have played everything?
"You would say that, you're not Coltrane! He was a very greedy man. Bird was, too. When I was 17,18, my allowance was like $40 a week. My wife would cook something, a little cornbread, and I'd say to Bird, Come on downstairs and eat. And he would eat all of the cornbread! He would sit down and leave a little piece like that and then leave! Did that a couple of times and I said, Fuck Bird! After a couple of times I didn't leave him anything to gobble up.
"Like when Bird died. They asked me to say something about Bird. I said, Man, if I said something about Bird, you wouldn't believe it. Don't ask me that! He was a big hog. A pig. No such thing as no with him. And Trane. And Sonny. Only three people I knew like that. And Dizzy, when he was young. I suppose geniuses are like that.
"Trane would find a note he liked and run all kinds of chords on it. But he was a big hog. I seen him with a whole ounce of dope once, the dope was spilling over and he wouldn't give it to nobody. So much that it was running all over everything! Guys would ask him for some, he'd say no."
Stories, stories – maybe he embellishes, but who knows? Will we ever see his memoirs?
"My wife keeps asking me to do that," he says, almost smiling. "I say, Cicely, I can't tell them things. I can tell you about Coltrane, but I can't tell you about the women.
"Bird – that's why we called him that, he used to squeak on reed a lot – and Trane had the same trouble. When I first recorded Trane, the guy from the record company, said, Miles, who is that out there playing saxophone? I said, man, just record the shit. You want us to play, we'll play, if not we'll go home. I mean, Trane was a big thing to be dropping on people! That was hard shit to just think of!
"We were in California once and he said, I can't make rehearsal. I have to get my teeth fixed. I said, Don't do that. Because he had one tooth out, and that's how he got that sound. Next thing I know, man, he was smiling and he looked like a piano. And I said – Oh shit! There goes the sound!"
There goes the sound. A high trumpet, singing very sweet, played by a funny, shrewd, grouchy, fatherly, fragile man, who has to keep playing. Miles closes his sketchbook. A couple of hours later, he leads his group through nearly two and a half hours of hard music.
A few hours after that, at a breakfast table, I am coughing with fatigue into my coffee. This dark, ancient voice addresses me. "Hey, man. Don't you wave?" I look up. Shit. He's waving to me. The Prince of Darkness is waving to me. I wave back. >>
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