Earworms: In A Silent Way by Miles Davis

One of those records that never fails to hit me right in the feels!

I was only ten years old in July, 1969, when In A Silent Way first appeared in stores. I didn’t hear it until probably 1986 when the CD remastered version was released (though I had the LP, as I didn’t get a CD player until 1989). By that time, I had seen Miles (in 1983) in a thoroughly electric performance, had heard a few of his earlier releases but was probably as well acquainted with albums such as We Want Miles or Star People. I can’t imagine what it was like to pick up a new Miles Davis record in 1969 and have it be this one.

The record consists of two long cuts. “Shhh / Peaceful,” and the title track are each nearly 20 minutes long, with both using obvious studio edits which completely repeat the first few minutes as the ending. Jazz recordings had always been thought of as live in the studio, a bastion of spontaneous improvisations on tunes that could have gone in entirely different directions. Nobody expected whole sections of performance to simply be edited in and out, even if they did form exquisite suites of sound.

Electric pianos had turned up on tracks on the two previous Davis albums, Miles in the Sky and Filles de Kilimanjaro but for this record, he used three of them, and brought in an electric guitar at the same time. Thus, this is the album considered to be the beginning of jazz-rock fusion, though really, Bitches Brew, released the next year, was much closer to what most people consider that approach. In many ways, In A Silent Way has always felt to me as a spiritual twin to 1959’s Kind of Blue, where the prevailing mood is one of contemplative solitude, an almost zen-like resonance.

The personnel on In A Silent Way included members of his working quintet at the time – Wayne Shorter, the only holdover from the classic second quintet of just a year and a half earlier, playing soprano saxophone instead of tenor, and Dave Holland on acoustic bass.  (Shorter happened to pass away a couple days ago, but I’d already planned to write about this tune. His legacy is enormous before and after this performance.) Davis brought in from the previous quintet Tony Williams to play drums and Herbie Hancock to play one of the electric pianos alongside current quintet member Chick Corea and ringer Joe Zawinul. Zawinul would contribute the title track, though Miles changed the structure enough to make Zawinul record his own version several years later. “Shhh / Peaceful,” written by Davis, is louder, almost danceable in places, and probably the more famous side. But I want to talk about what happens on side 2.

There is a bass tone holding the bottom, while John McLaughlin’s guitar plays a simple, elegant, spare melody, echoed by one electric piano, and accented by another. Shimmers from the pianos bounce off the bass note and around the delicate picking of McLaughlin, who throws in his own grace notes and lines as space becomes available. Everything is quiet, peaceful, a feeling of calm.

Shorter uses the upper registers of his horn to play a slightly different version of the melody, while the guitar and pianos comment and that bass note drones on. At first you can’t tell if it’s soprano sax or trumpet, but the tones of the saxophone hit in a different way. Then Miles doubles the melody line, muted but powerful, louder than everything else. The commentary from the other instruments becomes stronger, more insistent, more willing to break from the repetition. Then everything stops.

Cymbals clash, an insistent clipping drum beat is established, and Zawinul has switched to swathes of organ lines while the two other pianos bounce around. The bass is now playing three notes over and over. Miles lays down a forceful melody with open trumpet. He stops, one of the pianos repeats the chords. The guitar comments around that with notes that glide up the fretboard, then glide back down. Everything is stasis with movement, a feeling that makes sense when you actually listen. Louder, quieter, steady, racing, the organ rejoins, the guitar plays something closer to a solo, but still simple. Miles told McGlaughlin to play like a beginner, which he couldn’t really do, but he simplified his style immensely, and makes the music richer.

The groove is so tight, the chords of the piano ringing, the guitar cascading drops of sound, then the organ creates the catchiest riff of the piece, echoed by the bass. All this time, the drums have carried that same beat, but then they suddenly drop out, as does the organ, and it’s just doubled pianos and bass carrying on before the drums come back, and Shorter begins his beautiful solo. He’s played expressively his whole life, but somehow this soprano solo feels different, somehow cutting to the core of a connection to this new way of playing. Halfway through, as he slows down, leaves long open spaces between lines, the organ and bass are back to doubling up that riff. Shorter and Zawinul obviously enjoyed their roles enough here to form their own band, Weather Report, a year later.

The solo winds down, and just the guitar and bass lock together as a piano comments, and the drums keep that clipping beat up. Miles comes in loud and forceful, but full of silences as well. He plays firmly, aware that he is the man responsible for this new approach to jazz, this opening up of sound and feeling and construction. Halfway through, Tony Williams lets loose, and by pounding the cymbals and hitting fills all over the snare, pushes Miles to higher and faster notes. The silences remain – this is in a silent way, of course. Things slow back down, Williams returns to the clipping, the organ and pianos are delivering short phrases, and Miles is pushing the groove, leading the band to fall into a lockstep not achieved anywhere else in the piece.

He drops out, the guitar and bass double up their riff briefly, and then the second clear edit comes in. Unexpectedly, we’re back to the beginning of the tune, with the guitar playing that delicately lyrical opening as the pianos dance around it, and the bass note drones on again. The passionate middle has returned to the contemplative opening, as if there is no escape from that quiet feeling. Shorter’s playing hits right in the gut here – it’s exactly the same recording we heard before, but this time it feels deeper, richer. Then when Miles doubles up with him, and those electric pianos sound as if they’re falling out of the trumpet, while the guitar keeps up with the wind instruments – it’s as if we’ve found the greatest relief from any trouble we’ve had. It all fades down, leaving only the last second or two of the bass drone, and boom. Silence.