Miles Davis
Filles De Kilimanjaro

Year of grace: 1968, Columbia releases "Filles de Kilimanjaro," continuing the glorious tradition of featuring enchanting wives on the cover, which started with dancer Frances Taylor on "ESP" (1964) and was followed by actress Cicely Tyson on "Sorcerer" (1966). All titles are charmingly in French, almost as a tribute to the muse Betty Mabry, who, legend has it, introduced the trumpet player from St. Louis to the stars of rock 'n roll (and to the legendary Hendrix in particular).

The first side presents three tracks that continue the quintet's slow absorption of muscular funk and rhythm 'n blues rhythms and the abandonment of the abstract esotericism of "Sorcerer" and "Nefertiti." While in the previous "Miles in the Sky," the two styles still coexisted ("Stuff" by Davis vs. "Paraphernalia" by Shorter), Davis here completely takes back the reins of the compositional section, directing it towards the return to the true roots of Afro-American music, following the directive in reverse: jazz-rock - blues - African music.

It begins with Tony Williams incessantly hammering the dull rhythm of "Frelon Brun" (Brown Hornet) alongside Chic Corea's electric piano (one of the many pianists pushed by Davis at that time to abandon the piano to experiment with electric sounds) used in a purely rhythmic function. Then a cell from Hendrix’s "The wind cries Mary" is modified to create that wonderful microphysics of the blues that is "Mademoiselle Mabry," in which the disjointed initial blues phrases by Corea and Holland (freely counterpointed by Williams on tom-toms) are recomposed in the two stunning solos by Davis on trumpet and (especially) Shorter on sax. Finally, it reaches the title track (the "Filles D'Avignon" in the shadow of Kilimanjaro), in which Davis finally recovers that dreamy "sense of Africa" (which the following year he would explore in "Bitches Brew" in its more visceral aspects): here, instead, it is still the grace incarnated in Miles' trumpet (probably at his technical peak) soaring over the arabesques drawn by Hancock on the electric piano and over the rhythmic carpet of Carter-Williams.

"Filles de Kilimanjaro," a seminal and mysterious work: one of the Miles records I love most.