An icon, an iconoclast: Both terms apply equally to Miles Davis, who was born a century ago, on May 26, 1926. If that sounds like a paradox, it's just one among many in the life and career of this trumpeter, bandleader and composer, who looms as large in the popular imagination as any jazz artist you can name. He means many things to many people, precisely because of the myriad things he embodied or articulated himself.
Davis began his career during the explosive rise of bebop, cutting his teeth with its chief catalyst, Charlie Parker. But he was quick to seek out a less frenetic variation on modern jazz, finding it both in loosely drawn combo settings and in a more chamberlike contour on Birth of the Cool. During the 1950s, Miles became the most persuasive avatar of cool, both in the cut of his Brooks Brothers silhouette and in the spatial and spiritual dimensions of an album like Kind of Blue, which stands today as the best-selling jazz album ever made, and an indisputable cultural touchstone.
For many artists, that would be enough. For Davis, you could just chalk it up to his "
Blue Period" — borrowing a term from the career of Pablo Picasso, one
of the few other 20th century artists so compelled toward self-reinvention. Miles would go on to streamline and supercharge small-group modern jazz in the 1960s, and then rupture its framework with funk rhythms and psychedelic effects in the '70s. His post-Woodstock album Bitches Brew is another landmark, and it served as a hinge, swinging the door open to an era of jazz-rock and other fusions. For some, this is the Miles that matters.
Whatever the case, it's clear a century after his birth — and some 35 years after his death in 1991 — that Miles Davis represents more than one set of coordinates.
Take our word for it: Even if you home in on one particular point of origin, namely the public radio system, you'll still find dozens of takes on what Davis mea
nt to jazz, to innovation, to reinvention, to i
nfluence and to legacy. (And hey, we happen to have collected many such stories below for your reading and listening pleasure.) To remember him properly is to contend with the contradictions. The music carries the message, still, and all of its implications.
Start with the music itself
On Davis' centennial, May 26, my station, WRTI, is spending every single hour of the day playing his music. If you're in the Philadelphia area, listen at 90.1 FM. Online, you can listen at the player below, or stream all day on wrti.org. It's a treat you can revisit throughout the day.
The History
If you want to really feel the impact of Davis' art, there's no better place to turn than a duo of hour-long specials from the Jazz Profiles series hosted by Nancy Wilson. First, you should listen to the episode focused on how Davis and his musical styles evolved over his career. After that, segue right into one devoted entirely to one album: Of course, it's Kind
of Blue.<br/> <br/> Speaking of Kind of Blue: back in
2000, NPR aired The NPR 100, a series on the 100 most important musical works of the 20th century. Davis' signature album, and the entry point for so many jazz fans, was the subject of one of the series' first installments, reported by Tom Moon.
Fresh Air has always been a home for jazz lovers as much as for admirers of Terry Gross' interview skills. So it's no surprise that in 1991, when Miles Davis died, the show paid tribute with an obit by Kevin Whitehead that focused on the music with some unexpected choices. In under seven minutes, it can still help you understand the way this great trumpeter kept pushing jazz forward decade after decade. (While you're there, dig into Fresh Air's archive, which has so many pieces on Davis, dating all the way back to 1982, that it could keep you busy all day.)