Firing like a machine gun over a heavily armored and equipped outfit of young, brawny assassins, Miles Davis ruled the world at the end of 1970. A year removed from his "corruption" at the hands of rock-- if you believe dozens of decaying jazz critics, that is-- Davis had the band and the vision to play music that no one would ever play again. His arsenal: "Directions", "What I Saw", "Honky Tonk", "Inamorata", "It's About That Time"; with only Joe Zawinul's "Directions" having been played by any of Davis' groups before, the trumpeter had to know he was making a statement. In fact, none of the new stuff had more than a few notes, a couple of chord changes to distinguish it from "formless jamming" (to borrow another phrase from a critic), and if fans thought Bitches Brew was out there, what would they make of this? A few months removed from playing to 600,000 at the Isle of Wight, Davis had the nerve to hole up at The Cellar Door in Washington D.C., a small club holding no more than a couple hundred people. And he killed them. He and his band launched bomb after bomb for four nights; he slew every last person at the show, and listening to this noise now, it makes me want to kick the nonbelievers in the teeth.
Fans will already know some of the music on the overwhelming 6xCD The Cellar Door Sessions 1970 because much of its final disc (from the band's last date at the club) was issued on 1971's Live-Evil. Of course, it was cut-up, rearranged, and interspersed with studio tracks, so even familiar performances sound new here. The box contains six of the 10 sets Davis' band played, remixed and sounding great (especially via an increased presence from Michael Henderson's bass), and extensive notes from everyone who played there-- except Davis. It's a shame we don't know what the band's leader thought of this stuff, because there is a case to be made that Henderson, drummer Jack DeJohnette, saxophonist Gary Bartz, keyboardist Keith Jarrett, and Brazilian percussionist Airto Moreira comprised his last indisputably great band. When guitarist John McLaughlin shows up for the last set, things seems even more fiery, more volatile, and I always have to fight the urge to blast my neighbors into next week. In any case, I can only guess Davis was pleased-- in fact, he leaves most of the lengthy solo pace to his bandmates, content to let this stew brew and brew and brew.
The first disc (from the band's first set on Wednesday night) begins right on Davis' solo from "Directions". DeJohnette is already playing like a motherfucker, nailing polyrhythms straight out of a drum'n'bass tune, and Davis flutters from behind a wah-wah pedal in turn. When he removes the effect, he plays high-pitched jabs-- a favorite move at the time-- and mixes in some furious runs, the kind he was gradually learning to leave behind as his music became more aggressive, more primal, LESS JAZZ. On the spacious "Yesternow" (originally from the Jack Johnson LP), the band stretches out. Nevertheless, Davis' solo is a strident mix of punches and runs, with Jarrett echoing him on the left after each phrase. Jarrett had already lit the fire under the track during his lengthy intro solo-- in fact, he was given a very long leash during these dates, frequently being allotted complete freedom to bring in tracks with unaccompanied performances. The band closes shop with the funked-out "Inamorata" and Davis' screaming melody. We're just getting started.
The second disc, from the next night, begins with DeJohnette's deft pulse on "What I Say", Henderson hitting the downbeats like a rock. Jarrett again begins things with a flighty, short-breathed solo on electric piano before Davis comes in with the piercing "melody" (which is mostly more high-note jabs that I imagine took out the eyes of the first row of club patrons). Bartz takes off after a particularly agitated Davis solo, and the tune seems to jump into another gear altogether-- and the audience responds in kind with the first of many animated reactions to his solos. On "Honky Tonk", something of a gospel blues vamp, the band brings everything way down, as Henderson plays the main riff under Jarrett's shimmering piano asides. Davis' solo afterwards sounds almost suffocated by the dirge of a pulse, but given that remainder of the band's set featured blow-outs like "It's About That Time" (here, with an unbelievably funky coda) and "Inamorata", he may just have been venting his anticipation.
Friday night's shows are spread over discs 3 and 4, the first of which contains epic versions of "What I Say", "Directions", and "Honky Tonk". I should note that the band never sounds out of breath in the slightest. Moreira's cuica squeak is all over the intro, as if chomping at the bit to let the floodgates open; Davis comes in about three minutes into the tune, nailing a wailing pitch into his solo and taking flight with a runs as if this was the first shot he'd ever gotten to play this stuff. Likewise, Jarrett's opening solo on "Honky Tonk" runs the gamut from blues, to modern jazz to an early run at the kind of exploratory impressionism he'd play on his own The Köln Concert years later-- these guys held a grand total of zero back. "Inamorata" from the fourth disc winds up for a minute before launching its main riff, as if the band were stretching its collective muscles and firing one last silo before disappearing into the night. Davis crawls out from between the twin locomotives of DeJohnnette and Henderson with a wah-wah'd solo, and it's obvious they probably could have gone on for hours.
The Saturday night shows on discs 5 and 6, and the introduction of guitarist McLaughlin (whose late flight only allowed him to make the tail end of their gigs), brings home an abundantly clear point: This period was apex for Davis and his band. Reissue co-producer Adam Holzman makes the point that this music was a sort of end-game for Davis' Bitches Brew ideas, before leaping off into the funky underworlds of On the Corner and the hazy, quasi-psychedelic shows of his touring band from 1973-75. McLaughlin's jaw-dropping solo on "Directions" from the last disc serves notice to anyone who forgot that Davis really did want to play rock music, but with the intelligence and technique of jazz. It's tough to find very many examples on record of people playing with as much intensity or inspiration. Funny enough, some of the guys mention in the box's notes that they weren't quite sure what to expect with McLaughlin's arrival. I guess it only goes to show you can't stop genius in the making. In December 1970, you couldn't stop Miles Davis.
