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TIME: Almanac 1995
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TIME Almanac 1995.iso
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1995-02-26
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<text id=93TT0349>
<title>
Oct. 04, 1993: Reviews:Music
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1993
Oct. 04, 1993 On The Trail Of Terror
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
REVIEWS, Page 89
Music
The Last Great Set
</hdr>
<body>
<p>By DAVID E. THIGPEN
</p>
<qt>
<l>PERFORMER: Miles Davis</l>
<l>ALBUM: Miles & Quincy Live At Montreux</l>
<l>LABEL: Warner</l>
</qt>
<p> THE BOTTOM LINE: Nearing the end of his brilliant career, the
jazz master raged valiantly against the dying of the light.
</p>
<p> Like a man who had struck a deal with the devil, Miles Davis
possessed astounding creative powers, but was cursed with a
dark, heavy spirit. His music and his mercurial moods--he
sometimes performed with his back to the audience, and a vicious
temper coiled behind his hoarse whisper of a voice--made him
jazz's most troubled and intensely gifted star at the time of
his death in 1991.
</p>
<p> In his lifelong obsession with breaking new ground, Davis revolutionized
jazz time and again. One such turning point was the legendary
series of albums (among them, Miles Ahead and Sketches of Spain)
that he recorded in the 1950s and '60s with arranger Gil Evans.
Borne on Evans' rich orchestrations, Davis' risky improvisational
strategies and restless experimentation lifted jazz onto higher
planes of complexity and excitement.
</p>
<p> In the late '70s, Davis' pal Quincy Jones began urging him to
revisit the Evans sessions, but for 15 years Davis declined.
Then, at age 65, perhaps sensing that his time was running out,
he relented. At the famous jazz festival in Montreux, Switzerland,
Jones assembled the original Evans scores and led the orchestra
with Davis on solo. The result, Miles & Quincy Live at Montreux,
is Davis' final live album. Recorded only weeks before he died,
it is an excruciatingly openhearted struggle by a master defiantly
raging against the dying of the light.
</p>
<p> Dogged by respiratory problems, Davis' once assertive, quicksilver
trumpet tone flickers and flares like an oxygen-starved flame.
On Miles Ahead he sits out long passages, but with trumpeter
Wallace Roney backing him up, Davis' pride and defiance burn
through as he suddenly leaps into the final chorus, bobbing
atop the careening rhythm with a tone that begins as a crackle
and winds up pure and delicate as crystal. On the slow-building
Solea, he struggles to find himself, then, catching his wind,
lets fly a cascade of notes that arc and shimmer with the same
brassy authority he wielded 30 or 40 years ago. It was a final
courageous flourish, and typically Davis. From struggle and
defiance he drew his power, right to the end.
</p>
</body>
</article>
</text>