MILES DAVIS

The Lost Septet

DAVIS IS ETCHED INTO THE SOUND EVEN WHEN

HE’S NOT PLAYING.

Miles gets his wah-wahs out.

Galvanised by rock music’s contrasting dynamics and its wider sales potential, Miles Davis famously reinvented his sound by plugging in and turning up. His groundbreaking albums In A Silent Way, Bitches Brew and Jack Johnson helped forge a fusion finishing school whose members would go on to form Weather Report, Return To Forever and Mahavishnu Orchestra.

However, electric-era Miles’ brand of jazz-rock isn’t for the faint-hearted. Its flinty abstraction and fierce accelerations of mood and timbre can be challenging. Yet this uncompromising aspect is part of the appeal, requiring both performer and listener to feel their respective ways through a turbulent but invigorating terrain.

With a high turnover of personnel being the cost of his evolution, by the time Davis arrived in Vienna in November 1971, he was joined by Gary Bartz (sax), Keith Jarrett (keyboards), Michael Henderson (bass), Leon Chancler (drums), with Don Alias and James Mtume on percussion. Driven by Chancler’s urgent barrage, Davis’ terse and argumentative jabs are elasticated by extensive use of the wah-wah pedal, a testimony to Jimi Hendrix’s influence on the trumpeter. That this septet never made it to a recording studio is what makes this live double CD such an exciting prospect regardless of its rough-sounding audio source. Within these sprawling improvs, there’s a lot of contrarian tension rippling throughout thanks to Davis adopting a ‘team of rivals’ approach to his onstage band direction.

Unbeknown to the others in the group, Davis instructed Henderson to stay in the groove rather than respond to those around him. The result was a misconceived sense from some that the ex-Motown bassist wasn’t interested in interacting with their playing. Davis also told players to lay out or hold back if Jarrett’s lyrical approach sought to steer things in a jazzier direction, a factor that only added to the sense of isolation Jarrett felt during his time with Miles.

Such a raw moment is captured during Funky Tonk, as the pianist’s staccato clarion calls are pointedly ignored. When Bartz’s glorious sax cedes the solo spot to Jarrett on the storming What I Say, the previously pent-up flow subsequently unleashed by Jarrett is utterly thrilling. Davis’ presence is deeply etched into the collective sound even when he’s not playing.

Given the amount of live Miles Davis material that already exists, although not with this particular line-up, Prog readers might be forgiven for asking whether they really need another one? The quick answer is: “Yes, you do!”