Cab ride en route to night club performance. Ordinary.
Cab ride with Charlie Parker smacking his lips eating his favorite food, fried chicken. Unusual.
Cab ride with Charlie Parker telling woman to suck his dick while eating fried chicken. Aberrant.Cab ride with Charlie Parker noticing “that Miles Davis was getting kind of uptight with the woman sucking all over his dick and everything, and him sucking on her pussy”. Thoughtful.
Cab ride with Charlie Parker “asking if something was wrong with Miles, and if his doing this was bothering him. And when Miles told him that he felt uncomfortable with them doing what they was doing in front of him, with her licking and slapping her tongue like a dog all over his dick and him making all that moaning noise in between taking bites of chicken.” Chicken blowjob chaos.
Cab ride with Charlie Parker telling 19 year old Miles to turn his head and not pay attention. Obvious solution.
Cab ride with Miles “sticking his head outside the taxi window, but still hearing them motherfuckers getting down and in between, Bird smacking his lips all over that fried chicken.” Priceless.
I initially set out to study Miles Davis’ autobiography to gain deep insights on his musical process but got seriously sidetracked by the raucous account of his life where he invoked the word “motherfucker” no less than 337 times. (Miles’ use of motherfucker was liberally applied but nuanced. If he didn’t like you, you were a “motherfucker”—and if he did like you and you were a badass musician, then maybe you were a “motherfucker,” too.) Instead of reading about tidy jazz riffs and innovative chord changes, like a dirty sponge I absorbed Miles’ stories of chicken grease stains in inappropriate places, master student cab ride initiation rituals, devouring barbecue pig snouts, and assisting leggy dancers by holding up mirrors so they could shave their pubic hair.
Off the page, Miles’ experiences flowed like stream of consciousness jazz improvisation. His personality and experiences were as colorful, unpredictable and irreverent as his music. Not surprisingly, Miles’ recount of his initiation of classically trained pianist Bill Evans into his septet to create modal jazz sound was not some dry fusion of musical academics.
“He was so quiet, man. One day, just to see what he could do, I told him, ‘Bill, you know what you have to do, don't you, to be in this band?’
He looked at me all puzzled and shit and shook his head and said, ‘No, Miles, what do I have to do?’
I said, ‘Bill, now you know we all brothers and shit and everybody's in this thing together and so what I came up with for you is that you got to make it with everybody, you know what I mean? You got to fuck the band.’ Now, I was kidding, but Bill was real serious, like Coltrane.
He thought about it (gay orgy) for about fifteen minutes and then came back and told me, ‘Miles, I thought about what you said and I just can't do it, I just can't do that. I'd like to please everyone and make everyone happy here, but I just can't do that.’
I looked at him and smiled and said, ‘My man!" And then he knew I was teasing.’”
I initially set out to study Miles Davis’ autobiography to gain deep insights on his musical process but got seriously sidetracked by the raucous account of his life where he invoked the word “motherfucker” no less than 337 times. (Miles’ use of motherfucker was liberally applied but nuanced. If he didn’t like you, you were a “motherfucker”—and if he did like you and you were a badass musician, then maybe you were a “motherfucker,” too.) Instead of reading about tidy jazz riffs and innovative chord changes, like a dirty sponge I absorbed Miles’ stories of chicken grease stains in inappropriate places, master student cab ride initiation rituals, devouring barbecue pig snouts, and assisting leggy dancers by holding up mirrors so they could shave their pubic hair.
Off the page, Miles’ experiences flowed like stream of consciousness jazz improvisation. His personality and experiences were as colorful, unpredictable and irreverent as his music. Not surprisingly, Miles’ recount of his initiation of classically trained pianist Bill Evans into his septet to create modal jazz sound was not some dry fusion of musical academics.
“He was so quiet, man. One day, just to see what he could do, I told him, ‘Bill, you know what you have to do, don't you, to be in this band?’
He looked at me all puzzled and shit and shook his head and said, ‘No, Miles, what do I have to do?’
I said, ‘Bill, now you know we all brothers and shit and everybody's in this thing together and so what I came up with for you is that you got to make it with everybody, you know what I mean? You got to fuck the band.’ Now, I was kidding, but Bill was real serious, like Coltrane.
He thought about it (gay orgy) for about fifteen minutes and then came back and told me, ‘Miles, I thought about what you said and I just can't do it, I just can't do that. I'd like to please everyone and make everyone happy here, but I just can't do that.’
I looked at him and smiled and said, ‘My man!" And then he knew I was teasing.’”
No comments:
Post a Comment