From the archives
Geoffrey Smith discovers trumpeter Miles Davis and his coterie of legendary musicians on stupendous form
The year 1969 was a watershed for Miles
Davis – and jazz itself. After years of trailblazing innovation, the trumpet superstar found himself slipping behind the curve, as audiences began to desert avant-garde sophistication for the populist joys of rock. Jazz-rock fusion was on the march, and later that year Davis shocked his purist fans by throwing in his lot with the new hybrid, recording In a Silent Way and then the full-frontal Bitches Brew.
But at first, Miles’s crossover was only evident in the recording studio. For most of 1969, he was on the road with an elite quintet, still pursuing the cutting edge. The band – comprising Davis’s long-time right-hand man, saxophonist
Wayne Shorter, and a dazzling young rhythm team of Chick
Corea (keyboards), Dave Holland (bass) and Jack Dejohnette (drums) – was something of an unrivalled powerhouse, overwhelming listeners with its freedom and energy. Unfortunately for us, the group left few recordings, which is why it became known as The Lost Quintet, and why a newly issued CD of that name is such a revelation – and welcome news (Sleepy Night Records SNRCD 013).
The recording was made at a significant moment: the group’s last-ever concert at the end of a European tour. Davis is on fiery form throughout, leading from the front with expressionist shrieks, wailing runs and bluesy tremolos. There are delicate moments as well, including subtle electronic doubling. The programme’s four tunes are played as one unbroken segue, in a mood of ever-shifting intensity, driven by the rhythm section’s constant fluidity and invention. Though there are touches of rock, the groove is less about a beat than a kind of organic impulse, linking the whole group wherever it leads.
The results are utterly exhilarating, and only occasionally over the top, as in the furious, 25-minute Sanctuary which, despite its name, seems to leave the audience exhausted. By contrast, listeners enthusiastically applaud Wayne Shorter’s thoughtful, meditative tenor solo on Mastuero, which brings the concert and this remarkable recording to a close. It’s an invaluable addition to the Miles Davis legacy, catching him at a creative high, surging along on the dangerous edge of things.