Miles Davis
Sketches Of Spain

For a budding reviewer, Alias Quijote (the hidalgo of La Mancha) it is almost a duty to start here. "Sketches of Spain" by Miles Davis enchants and surprises. You love it if you love Miles' trumpet, and if you also love the Andalusian atmospheres in which our magical piper perfectly immerses himself, well then what can I say... I would start with the soft sound of the trumpet: strong and gentle at the same time - which in the "Sketches" takes on a character of dramatic melancholy - to move on to the impeccable arrangements of a Gil Evans in a state of grace and the magic and power of a nineteen-piece orchestra... in short, calling it a beautiful album is an understatement.

I prefer vinyl: also to give a bit of breath to a truly enjoyable cover. The colors of the homeland of Flamenco below, and above the black man with the trumpet: the same color as the bull, mirrored and charging. The allusions would be too many for us and this is not the place. The liner notes curated by Nat Hentoff (The Jazz Review) inform us about the genesis of the work. Year 1959: a friend of Miles plays him a recording of Concierto de Aranjuez by Joaquin Rodrigo. Two weeks of intensive listening and the Neo Matador decides he has to get inside it, so he proposes to Gil to create their own version, replacing the original solo guitar with the instrument of the growling mute. Thinking about it, it's a crazy thing, but once again the black man is right. Certainly forget the bee-bop, and also the modal artifices of Kind of Blue. Here the contamination is real; it's strong stuff, and as always, when the going gets tough... 

The first track, Concierto de Aranjuez, is also the most important: enjoy it in the shadows, better if on headphones. Close your eyes and think of Spain, its greatness and tragedies. Everything is in the perfect orchestral arrangement whose measured rhythm constitutes the perfect base for the  haunting sound of Miles' trumpet in his Cante Hondo that proceeds solemnly and without smudges, elongating the spaces until it becomes martial, almost funereal, to then be reborn in a flash of hope, when sinister omens loom threatening... until the end, imminent and perfect. It is surprising how easily our hero dons the garments of the Andalusian gypsies, dressing in their atmospheres and transforming them into strong and pure sentiment. It is said that the other tracks were cleverly added to cover the two sides of an LP. Either way, they don't disappoint at all. Will O' The Wisp (ignis fatuus) opens with the orchestra introducing a motif with a foreboding sound of mystery. The theme, once announced, is repeated obsessively. Here the tone is biting and evocative until it gets lost in descending dissonances that lead to the end of the piece. Less than four minutes and here we are at the end of side A of the vinyl.

I turn the record and slowly lower the arm.

The muted trumpet appears out of nowhere, hinting at the intro of The Pan Piper. We are on the other side of the ocean with a piece taken from Peruvian folklore. It is about the Pan Flute Player, an Andean folk song in which the orchestra counterpoints the soloist in a sort of calm call and response in Flamenco flavor. With Saeta the album reaches another notable expressive peak. If you visit the city of Seville during Holy Week, you will probably come across a "Saeta". A procession solemnly heads towards a square from which a "Saetero" appears. It's the solo singer who, in the sudden silence that ensues, intones his deep, often improvised chant that strikes the heart like an arrow (this is the meaning of "saeta") - the arrow that pierces Mary's heart at the death of her Son. I've practically told you everything; listen to the piece and prepare to shed more than one tear. The work closes with Solea. This is the name of one of the basic styles of Flamenco. In traditional Solea, the  solo singer expertly mixes extemporaneous improvisation with respect for traditional songs and texts. What emerges is a blend of remarkable artistic prominence. Gil Evans chooses this musical form to exalt Miles' artistic talents. It's the terrain in which the Jazz artist moves best, and this piece perhaps more than the others gives us ample demonstration of this. In a mix of nostalgia and despair, Miles rides on the beats of the orchestra that advances relentlessly. The tradition of Flamenco blends with the blues lament of African Americans. Great piece and great performance, no doubt about it.

While the arm returns to its resting position, I try to take a concluding stock of this LP.

Placing this work in the extensive discography of Miles Davis is difficult if not purely chronological. It is a unique interpretation that is not easy to fit into his artistic trajectory. In my opinion, a cameo of great value that proves once again, if ever there was a need, how he was one of the major protagonists of the Jazz scene of the 20th Century, capable of challenging himself on multiple artistic levels and continually reinventing his instrument and his music.