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Rating: Recorded in 1956, "Cookin' With The Miles Davis Quintet" is an example of the essence of the most classic, sparkling, and engaging post-war jazz. Although not a bulky work, the substance of the pieces present is undeniable. From the soft standard "My Funny Valentine" to the more dynamic "Airegin", leading to the overflowing "Tune Up". This work sees Davis' quintet, in a very friendly key (the title predisposes to a supper evening among friends), cooking your soul through the notes of great classics that are the protagonists of fiercely immortal jazz. It's not just the presence of Coltrane or the skill of Garland on the piano, the agility of Chambers on the double bass, or the readiness of Philly Joe Jones on the drums that convey the immense quality of the material presented. It's also a more than friendly engagement with these standards, which are brought back to life under the skillful blows of a quintet that cooks hard and soft without ever losing composure. A pinnacle of skill expressed in every form: from brazenly aggressive to slyly controlled.
Yet at the beginning of the 1950s, Davis faced the first crisis of his career. Lack of work and his heroin addiction threatened to undermine the talent he had demonstrated so far. But no. In 1955, Davis presented his quintet and revolutionized the jazz scene of the era.
In the trumpeter's previous works, there were already attempts to find his own instrumental language, starting from elements such as sound and dimension. With the quintet, these concepts extend and transform into aesthetic forms. Interestingly, the trumpeter's model was the trio of pianist Ahmad Jamal, in which he saw an innovative sense of musical space and time. Following a suggestion from Davis, Garland incorporated some of Jamal’s characteristics into his original style, which is also inspired by Bud Powell.
The quintet recorded 5 records with the Prestige label, and "Cookin'" is the last of this series, precisely from 1956. Davis had learned from Parker that records should be made on the fly, without repetitions, and he applied the lesson with a clean slate. This choice further highlights the wonderful understanding among the quintet members. The personalities of the three soloists contrast and complement one another: Davis weaves very sober lines filled with daring gaps, while Coltrane (then a little-known saxophonist from Philadelphia) pushes forward urgently, with sudden phrasing that foreshadows future adventures. Meanwhile, Garland brings a sort of jovial melodic delicacy that soothes the tension created by the winds. The rhythm section, for its part, responds to these developments as if they are part of a pre-established plan. Everything happens without emphasis, starting from very light structures, with a basic repertoire of standards and bebop classics that harbor no revolutionary intentions.
The group's emotional range is very extensive: from Davis’ mournful abstraction in "My Funny Valentine" where Coltrane is absent, to the climatic peak of "Tune Up" (one of the trumpeter’s most famous compositions), marked by the overwhelming impetus of Chambers and Jones, leading to the reinvented swing of "When Lights Are Low", a song of which there are some legendary versions, but which is nonetheless assimilated here with such ease that it seems to have been written by Davis himself for this immortal session.
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