Hair Trigger 2.0 Issue Two

Unapologetic Vision: Miles Davis and the
Lesson of “Sid’s Ahead”
excerpted from This Is: Essays on Jazz
Aaron Gilbreath
On March 4, 1958, Miles Davis’ sextet entered Columbia Records’ 30th Street
Studio in Manhattan. It was their second session for what became the album
Milestones. The first, in February, had gone smoothly, yielding the bulk of the
albums’ tracks, including one of John Coltrane’s best speeding solos—on “Straight,
No Chaser”—and Davis’ first modal composition, “Milestones,” a song which
foreshadowed his album Kind of Blue the following year, one of the best-selling
albums in jazz history. This second session proved fruitful, yet unbeknownst to
them, its turbulence signaled the demise of the band’s famous rhythm section,
and another major shift in Davis’ perpetually evolving musical sensibility.
On that day, the musicians stood by their respective microphones. Red
Garland sat at his piano. Before the engineer rolled tape on the song “Sid’s
Ahead,” Davis leaned over Garland’s shoulder and fingered the keys to show him
something. Nobody knows what exactly was said. Maybe Davis told Red how to
play a particular part. Maybe he criticized his approach to the song. Or maybe he
insulted his playing in general. Whatever the specifics, Garland didn’t like the
critique. Furious, he stood up and stormed out of the studio, leaving Davis with
booked session time and no pianist.
It’s easy to imagine Davis’ possible reactions. You can picture him
hurling insults at Red’s turned back: “You baby!” You can picture him
glancing at his remaining musicians and, in the new silence of Garland’s
absence, saying, “Oh well, let’s play,” in that gravely, low voice of his. Or
maybe his response was more indifferent, a distant, unaffected call to the
engineer—“You ready?”—after which he took his place at the microphone, counted
off with four snaps of his fingers, then blew his horn. Davis had a legendary temper
compounded by shyness, insecurity, cockiness and sensitivity. It’s not
unreasonable to imagine him saying something to the effect of “Fuck him, then,”
and shrugging rather than laughing off Garland’s insubordination. After all, it
was Miles’ band. To save face, he needed to at least maintain the appearance of
control.
Whatever Davis’ reaction, we know his next move. When the tape started
rolling on “Sid’s Ahead,” he raised the trumpet to his lips and played the song’s
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Aaron Gilbreath