Miles Davis And Horns by Mark Prindle (2011) From http://www.markprindle.com/davis.

htm It has now been a full decade since I posted my original, highly valued Miles Davis review page on the Internet -- and five years since I last put pen to screen to get ink all over my screen. In this time, I have learned a lot, grown a plenty, lost a wife, gained a girlfriend, drank 5,000,000 gallons of vodka, stopped drinking even a sip of vodka and, most importantly, nurtured an honest and unexpectedly deep respect for Miles Davis as a man and musical pioneer. Five of these songs of bitches were recorded on January 17th, 1951. These are lo-fi and far too devoted to soloing to hold my interest much past the opening riffs. See, this is what bores the pantsuit off of me about Cool Jazz and Bop: I understand that it must've been terribly exciting for these musicians to remove the shackles of pro-written melody and just go wild with their note-happy finger talents, but my musical brain finds nothing of interest in a bunch of random notes blurting all over the place for minutes at a stretch. Sure, I'm impressed that these guys can solo over multiple chord changes without ever hitting a wrong note, but how many goddamned variations on this schtick am I expected to sit through without longing for a motherfucking MELODY to happen along? Some have told me, "When they solo, it's like they're telling a story," but how good a story is it going to be if they only have 12 notes to work with? Am I likewise supposed to be spellbound by a story with only twelve different words!? Here, let's see:

A man walked outside, saw a dog, saw another man and laughed heartily at the sun. Another man walked a dog and laughed. Heartily, the dog saw

the sun and walked at another man. The sun laughed heartily. Another man walked outside and laughed at the saw. The saw walked at the sun. Heartily, the saw saw another sun outside the dog. A man and another man laughed outside at the sun dog. The sun heartily laughed at a man and saw another dog. A saw outside walked a man.
There! Did you enjoy my solo?

Reader Comments: Dear Mr. Prindle: I appreciate your irreverant and often accurate critiques of the excesses of jazz. I do love jazz when it's performed with balanced egos and a balanced mix. I'm glad to read to that you gave praise to the Laswell reconstructions of Miles, as I think he managed to improve vastly upon the original versions. However, I must question this point: "Am I likewise supposed to be spellbound by a story with only twelve different words!?" As you know, most Western music - including rock based on the 12 tones of the diatonic scale. So why wouldn't this same criticism be equally damning of all this music, not only jazz? One could offer other equally valid metaphors, also. Why not consider the 12 tones as letters of an alphabet, from which one can generate an infinite number of words and sentences? Extend this to the other octaves, and there are at least 88 such letters on a piano keyboard. Include note length, accent, dynamics, pitch bending, etc., and the language becomes even more complex and varied. --Mark