No one ever talks about Miles' outfits - here still without a wig - as if they didn't matter, as if they weren't part of his identity.
Instead, I believe he dressed divinely.
I heard him play three times: in Rome (DOC), Udine, and Montreux.
But I only met him once, alone, him, on the street, at night, during Umbria Jazz 84, if I remember correctly.
I was with my girlfriend, a minor completely captivated by that Jazz world of which she knew nothing, except that those who played in the street were some seriously cool guys!
“Damn,” I said to her, “that’s Maildévis!”
As if I had told her it was Nilla Pizzi.
Short red leather jacket over a kind of Hawaiian shirt, high-waisted maroon patterned pants, very soft-looking black shoes, huge sunglasses. He was a little shorter than me, and I’m one seventy.
What do you say to God when you bump into him by chance, knowing he hasn't given interviews in ages?
“Mandi Màils: cemût bùtie?”
He was clearly high, but I swear that casual gesture with his left hand like saying: “leave me alone, it’s a rough day” seemed directed right at me!
I broke up with my girlfriend the same day: óu! I talked to Miles Davis - even if he didn't hear me - and you ask me to buy you an ice cream at four in the morning?
Women! I adore them!
