Kind of Blue - 50th Anniversary Collector’s Edition
In the five decades since its release, Kind of Blue has crossed every genre and stylistic boundary, and ripened into its status as one of the twentieth century’s major artistic landmarks, en route to becoming the biggest- selling jazz LP of all time. Indeed, no single recording has been responsible for more converts to the jazz faith than Kind of Blue, and a great deal of the album’s lasting commercial success can be attributed to its appeal to serious musicians and laymen alike (a trait which remains somewhat irregular in the jazz world). Part of the lure surrounding the record lies in the music’s infectious nature, and its ability to gently tug at the listener until they suddenly find themselves fully immersed in its enchanting late- night romanticism. It seems, maybe more so than any piece of music that I have ever encountered, to actually be a living, breathing entity unto itself. I cannot count the number of times I have spotted some sign of the album in the most unexpected of places, and it has seemed to almost smile softly at me with comforting assurance. Close listeners certainly cannot deny the almost empyrean state which the music so effortlessly evokes. Such overt spiritualism is hardly an oddity considering the major personalities involved in the making of the album. Practically all of the great groups led by Miles Davis featured sidemen who would go on to fame themselves, but it is still staggering to think of a musical frontline consisting of John Coltrane, Bill Evans, and Cannonball Adderley, along with Miles. On paper, these individual forces seem almost too dominant to function together cohesively, but this is obviously not the case at all. Evans’ floating pastel harmonies provide an ideal cloud- like blanket for the poetic explorations of the horns, each of which display their own signature voice -- Coltrane’s impassioned whirlwind, Cannonball’s buoyant funk, and Miles’ lonely introspection-- but, while they all solo with stunning lyrical grace, no particular individual overpowers the others. Rather, Miles acts as a kind of master painter who utilizes the colors of the entire band, including the unbeatable rhythm section of Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb, along with Wynton Kelly (who plays piano on one track), to paint a sort of blue dream, drenched with a cool melancholy. The empathy shared by the musicians throughout the recording is something that can never be fully accounted for. It is as much a result of luck as it is physical or intellectual labor. But if there was ever an individual who could facilitate such sparks it was Miles Davis. As timeless as Kind of Blue sounds, it is, like all great works of art, very much a product of its time. By the late 1950s, Miles had begun pursuing the latest evolution of his remarkably protean career. Seeking liberation from the harmonically dense structures of bebop, the trumpeter was enlightened to the world of modality, or scalar playing, through his friendship with composers Gil Evans and George Russell. Prior to the recording sessions for the album, Miles had yet to make the full conversion to modal playing, despite some very successful dabbling, most noticeably in his atmospheric soundtrack to the French film, L’Ascenseur pour L’Echafaud and his composition “Milestones,” from the album of the same name. For this new recording, however, he had very specific ideas in mind. In an era when even the best jazz records were something of a hodgepodge of scattered bop, ballads, blues, and originals, Miles’ genius saw the LP as being capable of a unified creative statement. The album format could work in a manner more akin to a novel, with each track representing a new chapter, rather than a collection of unrelated short stories. As a young boy visiting relatives deep in Arkansas, Miles was haunted by the sad, old gospels that leaked out into the dusty summer twilight. It was that feeling of loss, of passed time and nostalgic regret and loneliness, that became the basis for Kind of Blue. Of central importance in evoking that subtle ambience was the piano playing of Bill Evans. Outwardly, the pairing of Miles, the physical embodiment of cool, with the shy, bespectacled, Bill, could not have been more disparate. Musically, however, they shared a great bond, and together they explored the burgeoning world of modes, while exposing one another to the works of classical masters such as Ravel and Rachmaninoff, both of which would become crucial in their intensely lyrical playing. Though Evans had departed from Davis’ band prior to the sessions that would produce Kind of Blue in March and April 1959, Miles’ vision of a spacious panorama was built around Bill’s glistening impressionism, and the pianist was called back for the dates. As the final result affirms, few collaborations have ever rendered such sympathetic interplay. How, for example, could Bill Evans, a white guy from New Jersey, complement what was perhaps Miles’ most vivid reminiscence on those back road gospels, the swirling “All Blues,” so eloquently with a sustained piano trill which owes itself more to a classical conservatory, rather than the roar of 52nd street? This is just one of an entire album’s worth of remarkable musical perfection. While the music itself remains impeccable, the numerous releases of the album over the years have been mired with various deficiencies. Its initial release in August of 1959 featured name misspellings and confusion over song titles (the penultimate track was entitled “Flamenco Sketches,” but was actually the 6/8 blues which is now known universally as “All Blues”), both of which seem to be ultimately harmless miscues. Prior to the second pressing, Miles purportedly told producer Teo Macero of the slip, and all subsequent official releases have featured “All Blues” followed by “Flamenco Sketches.” However, if one reads Bill Evans’ original liner notes, the Zen-inspired “Improvisation in Jazz” essay, the issue of track names really becomes puzzling, as he describes ‘Flamenco Sketches’ as “a six-eight, twelve measure blues,” and ‘All Blues’ as “a series of five scales, each played as long as the soloist wishes.” On the original pressing, these notes correspond with the track listing which has since been altered, so the “true” titles are anyone’s guess. But it is interesting to see that the album’s two main architects and composers had some confusion over the matter themselves. Incorrect spellings and sloppy cover reissues can be bothersome, but really have no effect on the content. The most glaring blunder of Kind of Blue releases does, however, impact the music. On the first session, which yielded “Freddie Freeloader,” “So What,” and “Blue in Green,” one of the master tape machines was, unbeknownst to the engineers, running just a touch too slow, later resulting in a recording that was somewhat sharper in pitch than what the band was actually playing. This too is a subtle nuance, but thankfully the music was finally issued at the corrected speed during the CD era, allowing listeners to hear what was really being played that day. For a recording of less magnitude, this difference may be insignificant, but for a masterpiece the caliber of Kind of Blue, the closer one can get to what was actually being created, the better.
But, musically, the real gem is the inclusion of the band's 1958 sessions. [See Editor's Note] At the time, the roughly thirty minutes of music recorded was too little for a full album, so the cuts were repeatedly issued as part of assorted packages, and never received the attention they deserved. Apart from simply sounding gorgeous, they are full evidence that the magic of Kind of Blue was no stroke of lightning, but rather that, with Bill Evans at the piano, this historic band was capable of a boundless, soaring quality. The only other recordings made of the group, live dates at New York’s Plaza Hotel and the 1958 Newport Jazz Festival, show a far more aggressive, bop- oriented flavor compared to the sensitive nature of Kind of Blue. This scarcity makes these four tracks (five if you include the outtake of Miles’ tune, “Fran- Dance) all the more monumental. Aside from the two CDs, the box set also includes a DVD that features the fifty- minute documentary "Celebrating A Masterpiece: Kind of Blue", which does just what its title proclaims, as well as the band’s (with Wynton Kelly on piano) television performance highlighting “So What,” along with the rich orchestral jewels that Miles and Gil Evans were then collaborating on. In place of bland liner notes, an entire 60- page book, housing wonderful photographs and fine essays by noted music historians Francis Davis, Gerald Early, and Kind of Blue authority, author Ashley Kahn, provide a nice overview of the recording’s significance. There are also a slew of wonderful collector’s items, including an LP pressed on blue vinyl, a collection of six black-and-white frame-worthy prints, and a facsimile of Bill Evans’ original hand-written, haiku-like “Improvisation in Jazz” essay, among other visual delights. Together, all of these unique items stimulate even further indulgence into what is already one of the most analyzed pieces of music of all time, and with this elegant edition, there is a good chance that you will never need to own another copy of what, in another fifty years, will still be the greatest jazz recording ever made. -- John Varrallo Editor's Note: The tunes recorded May 26, 1958 at the same NYC studio for Columbia Records were Stella by Starlight, On Green Dolphin Street, Love For Sale and Fran-Dance. John Varrallo is a long-standing Bill Evans fan and a student at the State University of New York at New Paltz This article is © John Varrallo 2009, and is en exclusive to The Bill Evans Webpages website. All opinions expressed
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There is, to a certain degree, something contradictory about the recording of improvised music. In its truest sense, jazz is made in and of a fleeting moment in space and is never repeated. Like heavenly stars whose light continues to illuminate after their death, by the time the sounds of the greatest jazzmen have reached an audience, the sentiment behind those notes may already have evaporated. This sense of impermanence associated with the jazz or improvising musician is in stark contrast with the creative ambition of high art, which, in striving for lasting beauty, offers its practitioners solitude for discovery and the chance to refine their work. And, despite the fact that this unique discipline has been responsible for some of the most innovative and alluring music of the past century, there remains something extraordinary about how a group of musicians, albeit perhaps the greatest jazz band ever assembled, could transform two routine recording sessions into the slice of immortality that is Kind of Blue.
With the release of the 50th Anniversary Collector’s Edition, it now seems as if we finally have a definitive release of Kind of Blue. Few recordings inspire such steadfast devotion as this one, and for the many of us who seek to saturate ourselves as thoroughly as possible in its bliss, this lush box set is very special. In terms of actual musical content, the two recording sessions for the album combined to produce only about 45 minutes of music, all of which has already seen official release. Included in this collection is absolutely everything that was picked up on tape during those two dates -- the five cuts that make up the original release, one alternate take of “Flamenco Sketches,” and about ten minutes of assorted false starts, studio chatter, and song run-downs. These studio segments, never officially released, allow us a fascinating glimpse into the relaxed creative environment that the music was made in, as well as the unique personalities who created it. There’s Miles’ deep purr calmly and coolly running the show, Cannonball’s contagious laughter, Bill’s quiet reserve and goofy humor, Coltrane’s brooding intensity- it’s all here. In fact, it is almost surprising to hear such open and pleasant conversation in the midst of something that conveys such passionate and personal emotion.