The Man With No Horn
He didn’t seem to hear or understand
the response clearly. It could be that
he was still half asleep. Just then, I
remembered the group was coming
over. About that time Vince said;
“Uncle Miles, its Buffalo.”
“Oh shit, Buffalo… why the fuck didn’t
you just say so?”
“Come on, taste this Bobby,” Miles said,
hand-feeding me my first bite of the
highly intoxicated perch.
“Oh my goodness Miles… this is so, so
good! Incredible! I can taste the subtle
balance of all the flavors.”
Miles looked at me, nodded and
winked, reaffirming the sanctity of our
secret. It was safe with me… that is, for
one day. Randy insisted on knowing how
Miles had prepared the exceptionally
delicious fish and I couldn’t wait to tell
all. He too, found it hard to believe.
Miles’ generosity as a host equaled
that of my most hospitable relatives in
North Carolina. Of course, the crew
felt at home with my dirty rice. At
the time, I still had not consciously
connected my family lineage of cooks
and restaurateurs with my own talents
in the kitchen. But, in retrospect, it
makes perfect sense that my first
collaboration with Miles would be the
creation of music you can taste.
Over the next few days we ordered the
musical equipment needed to set up
a workshop space alongside the stack
of Heineken beer cases that stood like
a pyramidal sculpture on the ground
floor of Miles Davis’ upper Manhattan
brownstone building. Studio Instrument
Rentals delivered my requested Fender
Rhodes electric piano, a Horner
clavinet and a Minimoog synthesizer
along with drums and four amplifiers.
Miles seemed to be beyond nirvana
with the new portable Farfisa organ
they set up for him in the far left hand
corner of the room. In, fact, he appeared
to be perpetually high on the
transformation of this Spanish stucco
portion of his living space into an
electronic musician’s haven. Our
youthful energy seemed to animate
him. We were all about half his age.
In fact I was born in ’53, which
happened to be Miles’ current age.
This meant that I was almost 27, the
same age Miles was on the day I was
born. For me this felt like a strange
numerological alignment joining our
life paths and destiny. He seemed to
treat us with the same nurturing that
his early mentors, Dizzy Gillespie and
Billy Eckstein imparted to him as a
young man. I know this because Miles
beamed with a boyish sparkle on his
face while sharing frequent stories of
the good times with them. Today Miles
extended his usual hospitality saying;
“Fellas, there’s the Cuban/Chinese
restaurant, La Caridad 78 is just two
blocks away, so if you get hungry I can
call in an order… and of course, there’s
plenty of cold beer.”
17
I exhaled as Miles released the lock and
invited them in. The energy suddenly
shifted from fearful to fun. It was
our first knowledge of that nickname
for Vince. Led by the hilarious wit
of bassist Felton Crews, the band
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