On the bandstand, Trumpeter Miles Davis resembles a man who wandered in off the street for a nightcap and decided to stick around for a few licks on a borrowed horn. He will noodle his way through a solo, turn to chat with another player, stroll to a nearby table for a drag on a cigarette. But the relaxed air is deceptive. Davis pays scrupulous attention to the group and individual sounds of his combo, often lies awake nights rehearsing new arrangements in his head.
Back in 1948, when everybody was trying to blow like...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
