Miles Davis
Star People

LA RECENSIONE

Self-celebrating his return to the music scene with “The Man with the Horn” (“Describe a Man so Rare / like Fine Wine”) and the live “We Want Miles,” Davis rediscovers, if not quite the inspiration of the electric shaman he once was, at least the creative presence, desire for an audience, and polemic force.

The early eighties reserved for the Dark Magus enthusiastic receptions at concerts, full recognition of belonging to the star system, and a series of retrospectives on “his” jazz, from which he was increasingly distancing himself. The clash with Wynton Marsalis, who will attack him in the name of philologically correct jazz (and museal, which for a 22-year-old says it all), is proof of this, and Miles will brush him off as such: “they come to consider him (Marsalis) better than Dizzy and me in jazz, and he knows well that he can't even hold a candle to us, with all that we have done and will do in the future... (referring to baroque music interpretations) there's Wynton there playing this dead crap... playing those tired-ass moans.”

“Star People” (1983) marks the end of the collaboration with Teo Macero, the entry of John Scofield as the second lead guitarist, to support and contrast with Mike Stern (with an increasingly problematic relationship with the leader), and once again features Gil Evans, though not credited on the album, as the arranger, dealing with pieces transcribed from group improvisations. "Come Get It” at the opening is a muscular funk, driven by Marcus Miller and Mike Stern who grind out a powerful groove, designed to launch solos and destined for more technical, less lyrical palates. If not already here, elsewhere it will become jazz-rock of manner. “Its Gets Better,” is a minimal beat blues, with conventional guitar accompaniment, where the laid-back sound of the muted trumpet uproots and tears apart a sedated atmosphere, in a refined performance, directly descending from Clark Terry and St. Louis, and justifies the purchase. “Star People,” with Miles's Oberheim intro (the new toy) stitched in during remixing, is the second virtuosic blues characterizing the album: alternating trumpet solos, thundering Stern, and the sax of Bill Evans, while Al Foster urges on with a drum sound that's at least “singular,” which prompts Richard Cook to write “the cymbals sound like saucepan lids” (sic!).

Tom Waits would have hired him on the spot for the apocalyptic “Bone Machine.” With the usual line-up changes, after “Star People” one would recall the pop masterpiece “You’re Under Arrest,” the undeservedly obscure “Aura,” and the overly celebrated “Tutu” where Tommy LiPuma's production and Marcus Miller's “perfect” compositions end up reducing Miles's contributions to touches of exquisite class.