The First Miles
“Who is it?”
“Miles, its Bobby… Bobby Irving.”
The door flung open. Miles looked at
me with almost joyful surprise.
“Bobby?” He said, imparting a brisk
godfather kiss on each of my cheeks
in congruence with that familiar
gravelly voice that associated him
with Marlon Brando’s depiction of
Don Vito Corleone in The Godfather.
Miles possessed that same voice of
confidence and authority, along with a
large serving of coy coolness smoothed
out—even more— with a sprinkle of
soulful jazziness.
“Damn Bobby, you’re short like me!
Shit, you know, on the phone you
sounded six-feet tall, man… come on
in. Man, look at you!”
His cat-like manner felt as silky as
the black pants and tank top he wore
underneath a red smoking jacket
trimmed in black velvet.
“That’s funny Miles,” I said, “cause I’ve
seen photos of you, and you seemed
larger than life too!”
BRN-FALL-2013.indb 7
The couple of black and white photos
I’d seen of Miles didn’t convey the
true essence of his striking features.
His generously melanized skin would
certainly blend in with a moonless
night in the forest, making him
invisible. The shamelessly inquiring
gaze of his gazelle eyes would, however,
betray his presence. You couldn’t
bullshit those eyes. If you tried you’d
only be fooling yourself. A prosecutor
with his eyes would lay one bare,
eliciting the whole truth. I likewise
noted the peculiarity of his nose in
juxtaposition to his ebony hue. It was
almost the nose of Michael Jackson’s
dreams. His deep skin tone, mysterious
penetrating eyes, finely sculptured nose
and cool raspy voice, were the physical
characteristics that made him such a
distinctive looking human being. But
I soon learned that his ears— that is
to say, his superior ability to listen and
hear beyond the obvious provided the
integral key to his musical genius.
7
It was early October 1979. The black
stretch-limousine arrived at Miles
Davis’ distinctive four-story brownstone
building located at 312 West 77th Street
near West End Ave. The west bank
of the Hudson River flowed just two
blocks away. The drive didn’t seem
all that far from the Sheridan Center
Hotel. It would have been a nice walk.
I thanked the driver for opening the
door for me as he nodded toward the
short-railed gate through which I
entered and rang the bell. No sign of
activity inside. I decided to wait at least
one minute before ringing again. After
what seemed to be a long two minutes,
I wondered whether the limo driver
had pointed me to the correct building.
I reassured myself that it ‘felt’ like the
right place. Besides, I didn’t want Miles
to deem me impatient, so I waited
another minute. Convinced now that
he didn’t hear the bell, I politely gave
it another quick push. Just at that
same moment, his immediate response
somewhat startled me.
BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE
Skin, Eyes, Ears, Nose and Throat
9/13/13 12:47 AM