Exploring... Miles Davis' 'Kind of Blue'

Welcome to our "Exploring..." series, where we take a look at some of our favourite jazz records to uncover what makes them so powerful... For our first exploration, we take a look and listen to Miles Davis' seminal recording Kind of Blue that introduced a whole new view on jazz.

Who are our cultural jazz explorers? Ally, a 23 year-old digital editor and self-professed jazz devotee, makes the case as to why 'Kind of Blue' is so important. Jon is a content producer who is a lapsed clarinettist with a weakness for wine, considers himself a jazz novice in search of a trusted guide...

Ally: If there is something you should definitely start with it's Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue from 1959. The album was released in between Miles' 'Round About Midnight (1957) and just before Sketches of Spain (1960). The album features a ridiculous line-up of "Cannonball" Adderley (alto sax), John Coltrane (tenor sax), Bill Evans (piano), Paul Chambers (double bass) and Jimmy Cobb (drums).

Although it's contentious, many consider the record to be the best selling jazz albums of all time. Kind of Blue was different from any jazz album that had come before it – it's an exploration of what’s referred to as ‘modal jazz’, which uses modal scales as the basis of it's harmonies and progression. Some say revolutionary too, even beyond the jazz world. It's an incredible album. And its accessible too – full of colour. Simply beautiful. There is nothing quite like it. Take a listen and see what you think...

Jon: One thing that really hits me hard when I start listening to this (at the time of writing it’s the fourth listening through end-to-end) is the sense of freedom and expanse promised in the opening track. There’s a sense of expectation too in the opening melody.

I get that jazz is rooted in taking a melodic idea and passing it through a series of improvisations – I understood that much already. But listening afresh to 'So What' at a point in time where our individual experience of the world has contracted dramatically in a short space of time, the idea that something as short as the riff at the beginning of So What promises (and does!) take me on a nine minute journey to seeming never-land … well, it’s the equivalent of being told the planes are back in the sky and I go wherever I want in the world for a holiday. 'So What' opens the album with that promise of abandon I need right now.

'Freddie Freeloader' begins with a texture I feel as though I can almost touch – the reediness of the saxophones combined with the soft-edged trumpet line is sweet and endearing. It’s the aural equivalent of the feel of a new felt tip pen on a blank piece of paper. And as much as I know the sound of a trumpet (I’m a classical musician who spends a lot of time listening to orchestras play either in concert halls or in recordings) there is something soft and lulling about the sound of Davis on horn. And as the trumpet lines and tightens at the top of the phrase, the piano continues to chug out its chords reliably and effortlessly.

There’s a whiff of the joy of Bach in 'Blue in Green' – not musically necessarily but in the effect that is created by the close-to-the-mic intimate feel. An associate of mine who lives out in California just recently completed a choral reimagining of some solo cello sonatas by Bach. The intention was to make explicit what was implied in Bach’s writing – to expand the one solo line out across 8 voices. The effect was mesmerising. There’s a similar thing going on in 'Blue in Green'. Five instruments playing single lines – so seemingly sparse that there’s a lot more being implied in between. That’s one sentence away from Lisa Simpson saying “You have to listen to the notes they’re not playing,” I know. But this setting casts a spell. The music projects an image that is captivating and, paradoxically completely indescribable at the same time. It is quite a remarkable thing. I am a big fan of a plucked bass right at the beginning of the track which on my headphones almost makes my head shake.

'All Blues' is far and away my favourite from the album. I’m obsessed by the rocking motion in the piano. That and the rhythm section makes me a think of a train chugging across the landscape. As each variation kicks in so a different personality emerges. The train images disappears into the background and we’re at times left with a conversation between horn and keyboard. Infinitesimal changes in the riffs make for some utterly compelling, almost as though I’m staring at a massive painting on the wall and picking out of the detail. All the while the same underlying rocking machine keeps the thing moving further along leaving me at the end in a trance needing someone to shake me awake. It is quite a remarkable discovery.

I hear 'Flamenco Sketches' as a kind of prayer. It is perfect for 4pm in the afternoon and catching up on copywriting, emails and detail-orientated tasks. It is a taut sound too – horn at the top of its range, plucked bass and oh-so-gentle chords in the piano. It’s as though the band are barely playing at all, or doing it with so little movement they’re creating something effortlessly smooth.

I know too that at this time of self-isolation there’s a growing enthusiasm for listening to albums end-to-end – a refreshing antidote in an on-demand track-led world. Similarly so with this album. For me, the opening of 'So What' offers me a 45-minute odyssey through a number of tracks which I don’t want to have anyone or anything distract me from listening to in order. It’s quite a special excursion.

Marcus Brigstocke focussed on Miles Davis's Kind of Blue on Jazz Family Trees, which you can listen to here

• exploring...
• Miles Davis
• kind of blue