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Music has always been
like a curse with me.

I've always felt driven
to play it.

It's the first thing in my life.

Go to bed thinking about it
and wake up thinking about it.

It's always there.

It comes before everything.

Living is an adventure
and a challenge.

It wasn't about standing
still and becoming safe.

But I've always been
the way I am,

been like this all my life.

If anybody wants to keep
creating,

they have to be about change.

I was born in Alton, Illinois,

a little river town up
on the Mississippi River.

My father moved the family
to East St. Louis.

East St. Louis and St. Louis
were country towns

full of country people.

Especially the white people
from around there.

Really country,
and racist to the bone.

Miles grew up
in a wealthy situation.

His father was a dentist.

He also had a farm
and raised cattle and hogs.

They were the
cream of the crop in the city.

He was the second richest guy
in the state of Illinois.

Black man.

But, during the period
that he grew up in,

it's still Jim Crow America.

And so, his father's wealth
wouldn't have protected him

from segregation and racism
in a place like East St. Louis.

On my 13th birthday, my father
bought me a new trumpet.

My mother wanted me
to have a violin,

but my father overruled her.

This caused a big argument
between them.

They had been
at each other's throats

since I was a little kid.

He would hear his mother and
father talking and fussing.

I guess that's what got
in his mind as a young boy.

Miles absorbed that.
He absorbed all of that.

The anger, that kind of
attitude toward women.

I remember my mother
picking up things

and throwing them at my father.

He got so mad with her
he punched her.

He knocked a couple of teeth
right out of her mouth.

It had to affect us somehow,

although
I don't really know how.

Miles was considered a genius,

but he was also considered,
I guess, weird.

Miles would go into the woods,

listening to the animals
or listening to the birds,

and play what he was hearing.

He always had his own way
of doing things.

Miles started very early as a
member of the trumpet section

in Eddie Randle's Blue Devils.

Miles is young and small

and can barely fill the suit
he had to wear for these gigs.

While the other guys
in Eddie Randle's band

were working their day jobs,
this teenager, Miles Davis,

quickly becomes
the musical director

for this popular dance band.

The real pivot point for Miles

is when, during his summer
after high school,

he is invited to sit in with
the Billy Eckstine band.

Both Charlie Parker and Dizzy
Gillespie are in that band.

You've got the laboratory,

the future of modern jazz,
right there in this big band.

The greatest feeling I ever had
in my life, with my clothes on,

was when
I first met Diz and Bird.

I was 18 years old.

I decided right then and there
I had to be in New York,

on 52nd Street,
where the action was.

Walter Cronkite reporting.

War years always bring on
new fads and tastes

and the strangest taste around

is the excitement generated by
the musical noise called jazz.

This strange music has been
accused of everything,

including the bad weather and
the present decay in morality.

52nd Street was a mecca
of jazz clubs.

They had jazz clubs
on both sides of the street.

I had never heard

no shit like they was playing
on 52nd St.

We would go down there and
listen in amazement.

That shit was so good
it was scary.

Each little place had
a speaker outside

where you could hear
what was going on inside.

You could stand outside
and hear the music

until the club's doorman
would chase you away.

Miles enrolled at Juilliard
'cause he wanted to learn music,

and because his mother
wanted him

to be a trained musician
and all that.

He is serious about Juilliard,
he's seriously committed to it.

And he values what Juilliard
might have to offer.

A lot of the old guys thought
that if you went to school,

it would make you play like
you were white.

If you learned something
from theory,

you would lose
the feeling in your playing.

I would go to the library
and borrow scores

by all those great composers.

I wanted to see what was
going on in all of music.

And yet he knows there's
something else going on,

and it's not happening
at Juilliard.

So, he was to go
to Juilliard in the daytime,

and at night, he'd be
on 52nd Street.

I spent
my first week in New York

looking for Bird and Dizzy.

I spent all my money
and didn't find them.

Then, one night, I heard this
voice from behind me say,

"Hey, Miles, I heard you’ve
been looking for me."

I turned around
and there was Bird.

Bebop musicians
were rocket scientists.

You can compare bebop
to the Manhattan Project.

It was developed by some
serious sound physicists

blowing their brains out to push
this music as far as they could.

So, Miles stepped into a hotbed

of music research
and development.

Bebop was a black music.

It was a music
by black musicians

who wanted to get away from
any kind of hint of minstrelsy.

No smiling, laughing,
grinning and dancing.

No entertaining, man.

They wanted to be an artist
just like Stravinsky,

just like Stravinsky
who was just a pure artist.

Miles saw these very
elegantly-dressed characters.

The dignity and the nobility
that came with that.

And the swagger.

Very soon after Miles starts
his Juilliard studies,

Irene arrives,
his high school sweetheart,

with their child and with
another baby on the way.

All of a sudden, there she was,

knocking on
my motherfucking door.

My mother had told her to come.

It seems almost impossible,

what he would have been trying
to do at that age.

There's the domestic
situation with children,

there's the kind of time
required of anyone

who's a serious student
at Juilliard,

but there's also the kind of
time and commitment

that this music will take.

And, at some point,
something has to give.

Music was everything.

It was everything.

It was sexual, sensuous.

Everything, power.
Everything, humor.

And he could not share that.

So, somebody had to play
second fiddle to that.

One day, the teacher said,

"The blues grew out of the
downtrodden suffering of slavery

and the crying and wailing.

This became the blues of people
in chains."

Miles has been back in the room
somewhere

and he raises his hand while
she's talking.

She says, "Yes?"

He said, "You're
a goddamn liar."

He walked out of the room.

Miles, within months,

is hanging with Bird,
he's recording with Bird.

He really arrives, like,
right away.

Every night, he'd get on
the stand with Bird,

Bird would play the head
of the tune

and just leave him on stage
by himself.

He said he threw up every night

because he was so stressed out
and humiliated.

Those 'cats' could wear him out
on the horn any night.

But he figured
something else out.

He comes up with a style that is
truly reflective of who he is.

Straight tone, lyricism.

It is him.
It is uniquely, organically him.

Miles meets Gil Evans

and there's this level
of mutual respect

and mutual dedication to the
music that will last a lifetime.

I liked the way Gil wrote music

and he liked the way I played.

We heard sound in the same way.

By the end of the '40s they're
working on a project together.

It's called 'Birth of the Cool'.

A nonet that would create

a kind of melding of modern
classical ideas with jazz.

Right now, ladies and gentlemen,

we bring you something new
in modern music.

'Impressions in Modern Music'

with the great Miles Davis and
his wonderful new organization.

I think the intention was
to create a listening music,

a concert music that,

very deliberately,
did not have the drive

and the funk
of 52nd Street on it.

It's mainly about trying
to create new colours,

in a way, where you widen
the palette of jazz.

I think he was conscious
of the fact that,

to move the music forward,

you've got to go some place
it hasn't gone before.

The heart
of European civilization

is beating strong again.

Paris ls free.

This is the end of four years
of Nazi rule in Paris.

Once more, it is
'The City of Light'.

After the war, France was
different, Europe was different,

and they needed a new sound
to that era.

And that was jazz.

You can now hear the Miles Davis
and Tadd Dameron Quintet.

Here is Miles Davis.

This was my first trip
out of the country.

I loved being in Paris,
and loved the way I was treated.

He said that the food
even tasted better in France.

The smell in the air was even
more beautiful in Paris.

That moment, for him, was
something that was galvanizing.

Music had been my total life.

I was always so into the music,

I never had time for
any kind of romance,

until I met Juliette Gréco.

Juliette and I used to walk down
by the Seine River together,

holding hands and kissing,

looking into each other's eyes
and kissing some more.

I cared a lot for Irene,

but I had never felt like this
before in my life.

She brings him into a circle

of other artists,
intellectuals, philosophers,

the greatest minds of that time.

Jazz was really seen as the
height of artistry at that time

inside of French intellectual
and creative circles.

He meets Pablo Picasso,

Jean-Paul Sartre.

He's treated as an equal

by some of the most creative
giants of the day.

Paris, for Miles, is an opening
up of possibility and potential.

This sense that one
can be fully oneself

beyond the boundaries of race.

That it isn't something
to hold you back.

In fact, it might be something
that contributes

to your ability to ascend.

Paris was where I understood

that all white people
weren't the same,

that some weren't prejudiced
and others were.

It had only been
a couple of weeks,

but I was living in
an illusion of possibility,

maybe a miracle had happened.

I was so depressed coming back
to this country on the airplane

that I couldn't say nothing
all the way back.

I didn't know that shit was
going to hit me like that.

Every African-American artist
who has spent time abroad

talks about the profound
disappointment

in coming back to
the United States.

You see your country as you knew
it but in an even starker light

because you've experienced
something different.

It was hard for me to come back

to the bullshit white people
put a black person through

in this country.

I lost my sense of discipline,

lost my sense of control
over my life,

and started to drift.

Before I knew it,
I had a heroin habit,

which meant getting and shooting
heroin all the time,

all day and all night.

That's all I lived for.

His career is spiraling
out of control.

There's no expectation that
Miles is gonna survive,

let alone whether he's going to
be a successful musician again.

I had a little club in...
I think it was Hartford.

I booked
the Symphony Sid All Stars.

And Symphony Sid said,
"Don't give Miles any money."

Miles came up to me
the first night and says,

"George, give me five dollars."

I said, "Miles, come on, man..."

"George, give me two dollars."

And I, "Come on, Miles."

"George, give me 50 cents."

And I, "Hey, man, you know..."

"George, give me a penny."

That's my first meeting
with Miles.

We were playing at a club
in New York,

and his father came
from East St. Louis.

He came to the club
and took him off the stage,

he left his horn and everything.

He said, "Come on, you're going
back home with me."

I felt like a little boy
going with his daddy.

I had never felt
like that before

and probably haven't felt
like that since.

On the way home, I told him
I was going to give up dope

and that all I needed
was a little rest.

Before I knew it,
I was shooting up again,

borrowing money from my father
to support my habit.

You could see him
moving through the night.

You'd run into him somewhere,

you didn't even know
it was Miles.

He might even have on clothes

that made him look like
he was homeless.

We wanted him to be Superman,

and it just doesn't work
that way.

I really hated to see him
go down like that.

But I don't want
to talk about it.

I went out to my father's farm
in Millstadt.

I was sick.

If someone could've guaranteed
that I would die in two seconds,

then I would've taken it.

This went on for about
seven or eight days.

I couldn't eat.

Then, one day, it was over,
just like that.

Over.

I felt better, good, pure.

This young white guy had started
a new jazz label called Prestige

and he was looking for me
to make a record for him.

I figured there was nowhere
for me to go but up.

I was already on the bottom.

We, the negro citizens,
had it not to rise...

Miss America Contest...

Dodgers go wild...

Emmett Till was taken by...

Amazing new
Motoramic Chevrolet...

This afternoon, Disneyland,

the world's most fabulous
kingdom...

I was in a club in New York

and Miles is at the back
of the club.

Miles stopped me
coming out of the club, he said,

"Are you going to have
a jazz festival up at Newport?"

I said, "Yeah, Miles."

He said, "You can't have
a festival without me."

I said, "Miles, you want to be
in a festival?"

He says, "You can't have
a festival without me."

So, I said, "All right,
I'll call your agent."

Newport was like an audition.

Listening in the audience

were executives
from Columbia Records.

Columbia Records was the Tiffany
of labels at the time.

He knew what this meant.

He knew what this meant for him.

So, if he had that opportunity,
as he had at Newport,

he was going for it,
and with a vengeance.

Miles put the bell of his horn
right into the microphone

and changed the whole world
of jazz right there.

And changed his career
right there.

Because the beauty of that song

and the beauty
of Miles's trumpet

made bebop a music that
could be accepted by everybody.

They could now
put on Miles's music

while they were making love.

It takes a lot of courage
to play a ballad.

It's easy to hide with a bunch
of notes all over the place,

and, "Look what I can do..."

"Look what I can do."
You know, okay.

Most men are afraid
to be vulnerable,

that's what women love the best
about a man.

I think Miles, on one hand,
he comes out like this,

but then he starts playing and
people are like, "Oh..."

He just disarms you.

Miles's sound is unique
from the first note.

There's a sense
of pleasure, beauty.

There's something very romantic,

but it's romantic
without being sentimental.

He's spilling his guts to you

so directly to the heart,
to your vitals.

I want to feel
the way Miles sounds.

Miles had a way of playing

that sounded like a stone
skipping across a pond.

He just touched on the waves.

Sometimes he leaves a note out,

and I've seen people
literally like this,

waiting for that next note.

His sound was so pure

and elegant and tasty,
musically tasty.

Miles could play one note,
I've seen him play one note,

and some of these high rollers
that came to the club would say,

"That did it for me!
I just got my money's worth!"

And they're ready to leave.

Miles would say, "Bam!"
They'd say, "That's it, man."

In February or March 1956,

I had to have a non-cancerous
growth on my larynx removed.

It had been bothering me
for a while.

I wasn't even supposed to talk
for at least 10 days.

One week went by and
he was in pretty good shape.

The second week, he couldn't
keep his mouth shut.

Everybody was "a sack full
of motherfuckers".

And that was it.

He got that rasp
and it never healed.

At that time, nobody knew that
Miles had had an operation

and that his voice
had suffered from it.

He came on the stage

and began to announce,
in that gravelly voice,

what he was going to play
for that evening.

I think he got two or three
sentences out,

and the audience,
a large number of them,

began to laugh at him.

Miles turned around
and looked at the audience.

He had this very strange look
on his face, and he left.

I could communicate
with the band

just by giving them
a certain look.

That's what I'm doing

when I have my back turned
to the audience.

I can't be concerned with
talking and bullshitting

while I'm playing,

because the music is talking
to them when everything's right.

George Avakian, the jazz
producer for Columbia Records,

wanted to sign me
to an exclusive contract.

I told him that I wanted to go
with Columbia

because of all the shit
that he offered me.

George Avakian says,

"Here's a list of demands
that I'd like you to meet,

you've got to be clean and
have a consistent band."

And the last thing is,

he's got to get free
of his Prestige contract.

I’ll play it
and tell you what it ls later...

He had a new quintet

with John Coltrane
as the tenor saxophone player.

And he took that quintet into
the studios of Rudy Van Gelder

and he called tune, after tune,
after tune,

and recorded enough music
in a couple of days

to get rid of his obligation
to Prestige.

He basically took the handcuffs
off the musicians and said,

"Here, do you, be you."

"I'm just going to let
the music live, let it breathe

and let it develop
as we feel it."

Miles thought he was just

dispatching his obligation
as fast as he could,

but in fact they are gems
of spontaneous jazz music.

Two marathon sessions, three
hours or more of recorded music.

One of the great feats, really,
of jazz history.

I first met Miles Davis,

I was performing with
the Katherine Dunham Company.

It was the introduction
to so many different people

that I met at that time
in the show business world.

I mean, I was in Paris, I was
in Berlin, I was everywhere.

I was told I had the best legs
in the business.

Hugh O'Brian wanted to date me.

Rory Calhoun wanted to take me
to Las Vegas.

Oh God, trying to think of all
the different gentlemen.

Well, as a dancer, I was
spectacular on that stage

and I guess they just wanted
to find out more about me.

I didn't know that much
about jazz.

Who I did know about
was Johnny Mathis.

I was performing at Ciro's
and Miles saw the performance.

And he was smitten right away,
but so was everybody else.

This was just another chapter

of gentlemen
wanting to be with Frances.

Sammy Davis Jr. asked me to join
this new play that he was doing

called 'Mr Wonderful'.

On my way to rehearsal one day,
Miles is coming down the street

and we looked at each other and
he looked at me and he said,

"Now that I found you,
I'll never let you go."

And what happened was,
I moved in with him.

Frances Taylor was really
a muse, an inspiration.

She was the most inspirational
person he had partnered with,

the one he was with the longest.

She was someone who gave him
stability and love

at a time when he produced
some of his most groundbreaking

and popular work.

He had to go off to Paris
and he left me the music.

I fell in love with his sound,
it got to me.

And I just played it
over and over.

And that was my introduction
to his music.

That's not very daring.

Miles happened to be in Paris

at the time when Louis Malle
had finished his movie,

'Ascenseur pour L'Échafaud',
'Elevator To The Gallows'.

Malle was very young and was
at the beginning of his career.

He wanted also to make
different cinema

and change the way
of doing films

like having real people
in a real setting.

He approached Miles
with the idea,

"Would you be willing to create
a jazz soundtrack?"

Miles didn't write any music.

He played the entire music

directly along to the screening
of the movie.

Just improvising
and creating the sound

in reaction to the images
of the film.

That soundtrack
made the film famous.

A lot of people,
they heard the record first,

and then they wanted
to see the movie second.

During the recording of
'Elevator To The Gallows',

Miles experienced a new way
of approaching improvisation.

That's something he'd develop
in the next following years.

So, something started
in the recording studio

of 'Elevator To The Gallows'.

Start again, please.

Here we go.
300622981, number 2, take 1.

Wait, one minute!

I was probably
the first one there

because I had to set up
the drums.

So, I had my drums, set them up

and waited until everybody else
filed in.

He just came in
with little notes that he had,

he didn't even have
sheet music for that.

And the only thing
he'd tell me was,

"Just swing, just swing."

I didn't write out the music
for 'Kind of Blue',

but brought in sketches,

because I wanted a lot
of spontaneity in the playing.

I knew that if you've got
some great musicians,

they'd deal with the situation
and play beyond what ls there

and above where they think
they can.

The first part of 'So What'...

Then, Paul would go into
the bass saying...

Man, that was the first thing
I ever heard from Miles.

I grabbed the record out of my
father's collection, put it on.

The first thing that catches
your ear

is Paul Chambers playing
that bass line.

We can't even question
the sacred texts that we have,

like, why is the Bible
the Bible?

It's the Bible, you know.

Why is 'Kind of Blue'
'Kind of Blue'?

It's 'Kind of Blue'.

It just is and it changed
the sound of jazz.

The cymbal crash
at the start of 'So What',

I thought I had overdone it.

It sounded louder
than it should've been to me.

It seems to ring forever but it
brings you right into the tune.

It's like you've hit
the highway,

and the rest of the tune
just takes off.

On 'Kind of Blue',
what he asked them to do

was to think deeper about what
kind of sound can you create.

He said, "I have these few
ideas. Let's go."

And this is something that Miles
does for the rest of his life.

'Kind of Blue' doesn't really
give away his passion so easily,

but at the same time,
once those musicians open up,

they show you how inventive
and ingenious they can be,

and how incendiary.

'Kind of Blue' really signified

a different way of thinking
about your music,

a different way
of playing the music,

and approaching the music.

For Coltrane, it was the door he
needed to find his own identity.

Few people hear the potential
in the young John Coltrane,

but Miles brought him along
and provided Coltrane the space

to become the artist who
we would later love and revere.

People that don't even like jazz
like that album.

Every decade, there's new people
talking about 'Kind of Blue'.

"That's what started
me to listening to jazz music."

You can listen
hundreds of times,

it always has
something new to say.

And that, for me, is the
definition of a masterpiece.

I don't think Miles knew that
that was gonna be a record

that would sell more records
than any record

in the history of
the jazz music.

If Miles thought that
that was gonna be like that,

he would've asked
for the building,

and he would've asked for two
Ferraris outside right now.

He would've really gone crazy.

If he thought anything
like that was happening,

he would've gone out of Harlem.

'Kind of Blue'
becomes successful immediately.

He's becoming a popular,
mainstream star.

The Columbia deal gets his music
into mainstream America

like never before.

He elevates himself into
music maestro land.

All I ever wanted to do

was communicate what I felt
through music.

Going with Columbia did mean
more money,

but what's wrong with getting
paid for what you do

and getting paid well?

It was the black man's era

when he wanted to show his pride
of what he was

and Miles was Exhibit A.

And he would look clean
as he could, man.

Miles Davis
was the personification of cool,

that mythological hero.

He becomes our black Superman.

When the new
Miles album came out, man,

we would walk around
with the album.

Being into Miles was, in itself,
a definition of being hip.

Miles Davis wore slick clothes,
drove fast cars,

and had all the women
and everything.

We didn't just wanna play
with Miles Davis,

we wanted to be Miles Davis.

I'd say, "Miles, what are you
doing with your children

when you wanna take them out
with you?"

He said, "I tell them
to get a taxi."

Miles becomes representative
of a kind of cool,

a kind of sophistication,
a kind of masculinity.

A kind of black man
who takes no shit.

Being cool and hip and angry,

and sophisticated
and ultra clean,

I was all those things and more.

But I was playing the fuck out
of my horn and had a great group

so, I didn’t get recognition
based only on a rebel image.

People were starting to talk
about the Miles Davis mystique.

I think the darkness
of Miles Davis' skin,

instead of seeing that
as a liability,

he saw that as an asset.

It was very different from
anything that was projected

on television or in movies
at that time.

Miles turned that into something
cool, something desirable.

I was sharp as a tack
every time I went out in public,

and so was Frances.

A real black motherfucker
like me

with this stunningly
beautiful woman.

Man, it was something,

people stopping and looking
with their mouths hanging open.

Miles would buy clothes for me

because everybody knows
I have great legs.

He was chic, I was chic,

and then of course getting
in and out of a Ferrari.

I mean, we were a hot couple,
there's no two ways about it.

Miles and Frances on fire.

As a kid, when I would see them
together, it was just like wow.

They dressed to the nine.
Just clean.

And in love.

It was like a prince
and a princess.

I had a friend who was a writer,
his name was George Frazier,

and he picked up on a word
which he applied to Miles.

It had to do with the Spanish
matadors, the bull fighters.

A lot of guys could kill
the bulls.

Some of them were very
exciting fighters.

But others would just
walk in the ring

and stand there, hold the cape,
and the bull would charge,

and the audience would just gasp
their breath.

That fighter had "duende".

And Miles had "duende".

Miles was the kind of guy,
he had things that he liked.

If he liked you, he liked you.

If he didn't like you,
he didn't like you.

He was just that kind of guy.

If you were on his right side,
that's where you were.

And if you were on
his wrong side,

that's probably
where you stayed.

I was just cold
to mostly everyone.

That was the way
I protected myself,

by not letting anyone inside
of my feelings and emotions.

And, for a long time,
it worked for me.

I went to the Village Vanguard
where Miles was performing

and I said, "Mr Davis,
my name is Archie Shepp,

I wonder if you'd let me
sit in."

And he said, "Archie who?"

And I said, "Archie Shepp."

He said, "Fuck you.
You can't sit in with me."

Miles didn't care.

Miles didn't have to please
anybody but Miles.

Miles was not interested.

You know what I mean?
He wasn't interested in people,

because he was Miles Davis.

There were all these
personality quirks that he had.

He was angry, antisocial,

but often times those
insecurities and those demons

are the very things
that are the basis of arts

so that art becomes a way
of healing.

It gave him an opportunity
to show a vulnerability,

and to show a side of him

that, in the real world,
he could not show.

We were working at Birdland

and we got through a set and
Miles came upstairs to smoke.

I'm standing there, in front of
Birdland, wringing wet,

because it's a hot, steaming,
muggy night in August.

I had just walked this pretty
white girl named Judy out

to get a cab.

This white policeman comes up
to me and tells me to move on.

Miles said, "Why?
I'm smoking a cigarette.

I'm working downstairs
and I'm smoking a cigarette."

And he was standing right by
the sign with his name on it.

"M-I-L-E-S... M-I-L-E-S. Miles.

That's me. Who are you?"

'Kind of Blue' has just come
out, he is the talk of the town.

He is at the top of the marquee,
top of his popularity.

The guy said, "I don't care,
you just can't stand there."

Miles said,
"Well, I'm not moving."

I just looked at his face

real straight and hard,
and I didn't move.

Miles, at that point,
was in such good shape

that it was hard for them
to actually get a hand on him.

From out of nowhere,
this white detective runs in

and, bam, hits me on the head.

I never saw him coming.

I received a telephone call

that I should come down
to the police station.

And I saw his face.

It was just terrifying.

I was in tears.

I'd have expected this kind of
bullshit back in East St. Louis,

but not here in New York City,
which ls supposed to be

the slickest, hippest city
in the world.

It was racial,
the whole thing was racial.

The whole city was racist,
the whole world, I guess,

so, what is it, you know?

I can't see it
being nothing else but that.

It is a reminder
that no level of accomplishment,

no level of achievement,
no level of financial success,

or recognition, even, for that,
actually protects you

from the racial hostilities
of the United States.

Damn. Like, there is
no way out of this thing.

That incident
changed me forever,

made me much more bitter and
cynical than I might have been.

He used to flash back,
we'd be talking

and randomly he'd just go,
"Those fucking cops, man."

Just out of nowhere,
it'd be completely random,

he'd flash back to that.

Man, that stuff don't go away

just because all of a sudden
you got a little success.

That stuff that happens to you
when you're young,

that stays with you
for the rest of your life.

'Miles Ahead' was the first
collaboration

between Miles Davis
and Gil Evans

after Miles signs
with Columbia Records.

It's one of the reasons why
Miles went to Columbia Records

because Columbia had the budget

and the wherewithal to make
a project like this possible.

Gil and I were something
special together musically.

I loved working with Gil

because he was so meticulous
and creative,

and I trusted his musical
arrangements completely.

We worked together at the piano
all the time,

always saying, "How about this,
how about that?"

I was just crazy about his
interpretations of the songs.

They just fit in so naturally.

When 'Miles Ahead' comes out,

there's this young white
female model

on the deck of a sailing ship
as the original cover.

This was meant to evoke
the high life, the good life.

And it would allow the album
to be marketed

to a broad,
that is, white, audience.

Miles goes up to
George Avakian and he says,

"What's that white bitch doing
on the cover of my album?"

He becomes aware of his power

as an artist who is generating
a tremendous amount of income,

for his record label as well,

that he has some say
in these decisions.

The next pressing
of the same music comes out

under another title,
with another cover.

And Miles Davis himself
is on the cover.

'Miles Ahead' was the first of
three wonderful collaborations

with Gil Evans
and the 19-piece orchestra.

Two years after 'Miles Ahead'
came 'Porgy and Bess'.

And then,
two years after that...

I had spent time in Barcelona.

After we would finish our shows,

we'd watch and listen
to flamenco music and dance,

and I was just taken with that.

I said to Miles, "I want you to
really see what I see,

and feel what I feel
with flamenco music."

He didn't want to go,
but finally he gave in.

And we'd go to see flamenco
music and dance.

When we left the theater,

we went right to
the Colony record shop

and he bought every flamenco
album he could.

That was the hardest thing for
me to do on 'Sketches of Spain',

to play the parts on the trumpet

where someone
was supposed to be singing,

especially when it was
ad-libbed.

My voice had to be both joyous
and sad in this song,

and that was very hard, too.

If you do a song like that
three or four times,

you lose that feeling
you want to get there.

It seemed to work out all right,
everyone loved that record.

Once there was a princess...

Was the princess you?

And she fell in love.

Was it hard to do?

Oh, it was very easy.

Anyone could see
that the prince was charming.

The only one for me.

Miles always loved
a strong melody.

He really felt like
those melodies

would allow him to speak,

saying here's something
that you're familiar with.

I'm going to show you
how beautiful it can really be.

So, he could take something like

'Someday My Prince Will Come'

from a Walt Disney movie

and he could invest that
with amazing feeling and depth.

He said, "I'm playing it
for my wife Frances."

And you can feel the love
and care in his playing.

'Someday My Prince Will Come'

was the first album cover
I was on for Miles.

He was out of town and I
remember going to the shooting,

and he was calling every
two minutes

to see what I was wearing
and how I looked.

He wanted to make sure
that I looked perfect

and, of course, I thought I did.

I put the mole
on my little cheek

'cause I thought it had flair.

It was on
'Someday My Prince Will Come'

that I started demanding
that Columbia use black women

on my album covers.

It was my album
and I was Frances's prince.

So, I was able to put Frances
on the cover.

He was standing up
for the beauty of black women.

And saying, "This beauty here is
the beauty that I'm projecting

through this music,
through this song."

A major statement to make.

And I'm sure it was just because
he thought his wife was hot,

and fine too.

Everybody wanted to be
in 'West Side Story'.

Jerome Robbins, Stephen
Sondheim, it was, like, the one.

There were at least,
I'd say, 300 girls auditioning.

I got on stage,
and I stood up there

and I snapped my fingers,
and I went...

I did an Ella Fitzgerald scat.

Jerome Robbins and
they all freaked out.

I was in, I was in.

Around this time, I was drinking
more than I had in the past

and I was snorting
a lot of cocaine.

That combination can make you
real irritable.

Frances was the only woman
that I had ever been jealous of

And being jealous
and using drugs and drinking,

she just looked at me
like I was crazy,

which I was, at the time.

I thought I was sane
and on top of the world.

He was a jealous person
when it came to me.

He just couldn't handle me being
with these people

and getting all
of this attention.

That's when he came
to the theater

and picked me up in his Ferrari,
and said,

"I want you out
of 'West Side Story'.

A woman should be with her man."

I froze.

But I was in love with him
and I did as he said.

I quit the show.

He sent for his children

Cheryl and Gregory
and little Miles.

What I ended up doing
was performing in the kitchen.

I came to New York and Frances
got us enrolled in schools.

And we started going to school,
coming home, doing our homework.

So, it was a big change for her.

I didn't know how to cook
or anything.

I'd been on the road, I mean no.

He said to me, "Look, listen.
Watch what I'm doing and do it."

So, I learned to cook.

She would be downstairs cooking

and every now and then she would
go upstairs and disappear.

Later on, she told me,

"Remember when I used to
disappear, go upstairs?"

I said, "Yeah."

She said, "I went upstairs
to look at my ballet slippers."

She always seemed to be
holding in certain feelings

about what she could've
been doing.

My hip was operated on
in April 1965,

and they replaced the hip ball
with some bone from my shin,

but it didn't work and so they
had to do it again that August.

I was in a lot of pain
all the time.

I was starting to drink
more than I had in the past

and I was taking
pain medication.

And I was starting to use
more coke,

I guess, because of
the depression.

It was a combination of
jealousy, cocaine,

Percodan, scotch and milk.

That's the combination
that I found out later.

And...

This combination causes you
to snap, which he did.

I was with Miles at Birdland
one evening,

and Quincy Jones was there.

When we got home that night,

I just mentioned to Miles
that Quincy Jones is handsome.

And before I knew it,

it was so fast and I saw stars,
I was on the floor.

It was the most unbelievable
thing that ever happened to me

because I'd never been hit
in my life.

That was the first,

and it wasn't going to be
the last, unfortunately.

I didn't know at the time,
that I was close to leaving,

but that's when it happened.

I can say this right now,

Frances was the best wife
that I ever had.

I realised how badly I treated
her and that it was over.

I know that now and I wish
I had known that then.

He was always talking about her,

even after it was all over,
four or five years later,

he would say, "See that suit
that girl's wearing?

I bought Frances
a suit like that once."

After I left, I heard Miles say
that he really screwed up.

He also said, "Whoever gets her
is a lucky motherfucker."

That's what I heard he said.

Well, he was right.

In the last years
that Trane was with my group,

he started playing for himself

When that happens, the magic
is gone out of a band

and people who used to love
to play together

start not caring any more.

And that's when a band
falls apart.

I'd be lying if I said
that it didn't make me sad,

because I really loved playing
with this band.

I think it was the best
small band of all time,

or at least the best I had heard
up until then.

I had always been looking for
new things to play,

new challenges
for my musical ideas.

Now it was time
for something different.

I was working at a place
called The Half Note.

Miles came in during
the course of the set

with his black cape and his
black hat, looking mysterious.

He said, "I'm looking for a bass
player, are you interested?"

Well, at the time, the only
thing hotter than Miles Davis

was the pancake.

My phone rang,
and I hear this guitar,

somebody strumming a guitar.

Then this voice said,

"The guitar is a motherfucker,
ain't it?"

"Come to my house
tomorrow at 1:30," click.

He never said his name.

He never gave me his address,
phone number, nothing.

But Miles called me.

He sent me a first class ticket

and sent me to his tailor
to get a tuxedo made.

And I flew to California.

Miles, what are you gonna play
this time?

Somebody else tell me
because Miles has laryngitis.

Blues of some kind, or other.

All right, once again,
the Miles Davis Quintet.

Miles's great quintet
of the 1960s

created a way of improvising
that was totally new,

that allowed this incredible
level of democracy

to enter into the music.

And anyone could take the music
where they wanted to.

He consistently

surrounded himself with young,
emerging, unknown voices.

He allowed them to develop their
musical identity in that band.

And he continued
to just keep regenerating

over and over for the remainder
of his career.

At the time I joined
Miles's band I was 23 years old.

Tony Williams, the drummer,
was 17 years old.

We were kids. Just kids.

Creativity and genius in any
kind of artistic expression

don't know nothing about age,
either you got it or you don't,

and being old is not going
to help you get it.

We were looking at it like every
night going to a laboratory.

Miles was the head chemist.

Our job was to mix
these components,

these changes, this tempo,

into something that explodes
safely every night

with a bit of danger.

And it happened every night.

Miles wanted us to live on the
stage in front of the people,

creating in front of the people.

In other words, don't lean on
what you know,

what he was looking for is
the stuff that you don't know.

I like that idea.
I hate to rehearse.

All the good ideas get shot.

I wanna make mistakes on the
bandstand and fix them there.

Miles even told us,

"I pay you to practice
on the bandstand

in front of the people."

I said, "The public's not
going to like that."

He said, "I'll take care of
the public. You just play."

Teo, you know
I can’t play this shit, man.

Yes, you can.

- You're getting there.
- You know what I mean?

Herbie, can we do it like that?

-We gonna divide it up.
- Yeah, that's a good idea.

Six!

Wait a minute, Teo,

I don't even know
what to play there.

-Don’t play that first beat.
-Play that, Teo.

Once, he does a take where the
horn players all play the melody

correctly, without any major
kind of flub.

That take's going on the record.

I had this book I have with me

that I'd been using
when I was in the Army.

I'd wrote stuff down a bit and
he said, "You got any music?"

I said, "Yeah.
I got some stuff in this book."

He opened the book and he said,
"Let's try this."

-What's this called?
-'Footprints'!

'Footprints'?

Then we... just no rehearsal,

just looked at the music,
went over it a little bit

and then recorded.

And the next time we went
to the recording studio,

he'd say, "We're gonna record
next Wednesday. Bring the book!"

In 1969, historically,
a man had walked on the moon,

and the United States is still
in this bloody, Vietnam War.

I think Miles sensed
the importance

of the younger generation,

'cause Miles was always
looking forward.

1969 was the year rock and funk
were selling like hotcakes.

People were packing stadiums
to hear and see stars in person,

and jazz music seemed to be
withering on the vine.

We played to a lot
of half-empty clubs in 1969.

That told me something.

The music of Jimi Hendrix,
Sly Stone, and James Brown,

it made Miles aware
that you could play one concert

and hit a lot of people.

You could make more money

playing one concert
for 45 minutes

than you might make playing
a week in a club,

three sets a night.

One reason
he got the electric band

was because he had hung out
with Sly & the Family Stone.

Sly was telling him
how much money he made.

And Miles said, "What? What?"

So, after that, Miles kind of
changed his stuff up.

I started realizing

that most rock musicians didn't
know anything about music.

I figured if they could do it,

reach all those people
and sell all those records

without really knowing
what they were doing,

then I could do it, too,
only better.

Miles asked to see me

and it was a very, very
tense meeting.

He said, "these fucking
long-haired, white kids"

were stealing his music,
his riffs.

He was irate, and asked to be
released from the label.

I said, "Look,
I can get you dates

playing with musical artists
of a different generation,

playing a different
kind of music.

I just know that
if you play those dates,

something will happen."

Around this time,

I had met a beautiful young
singer and songwriter

named Betty Mabry.

She was full of new things
and surprises,

and helped point the way
I was to go.

Betty Davis was just a very
fierce, dynamic sister

who was a part of that whole New
York and California rock scene.

She totally changes his sense
of what's happening in music.

Betty was a big influence

on my personal life,
as well as my musical life.

She also helped me change
the way I was dressing.

I went by his house, he had a
bunch of funny-looking suits,

and things hanging
in his closet,

funny-looking shoes,
hats and all of that.

I said, "What's going on, man?"

So, he changed up,
he went from that to that.

I wanted to change course,

I had to change course
for me to continue to believe in

and love what I was playing.

My interest was in an electronic
bass player.

It gave me what I wanted to hear
instead of the stand-up bass.

He called me and said,
"I want to talk to you."

I said, "OK."

He said,
"Look, all you got to do

is play like
you're playing upright."

I said, "It's not the same."

"The notes, the sound
and the impact are different.

The note length and placement
are different.

The only thing the same, Miles,
is the same fucking notes.

I'm hearing this
since I was 18, man.

Why the fuck would I give it up?

To join you... No, man,
I'm not going to do that."

He said, "OK."

So, I put my hat on
and got in the wind.

The group broke up when
Ron decided to leave for good

because he didn't want to play
electric bass.

Now, I was starting to think
about other ways

I could approach the music.

I went into the studio
in August of 1969.

Miles had said to be at Columbia
Studios at 10 o'clock.

I was there at 9:30.
The cleaning lady let me in.

I brought in these musical
sketches that nobody had seen,

just like I did
on 'Kind of Blue'.

I told the musicians that they
could do anything they wanted,

play anything they heard,
so that's what they did.

There were four
percussion players

playing at the same time,

two bassists playing
at the same time,

two or three keyboard players
playing at the same time,

a guitar.

It was a great,
massive improvisation.

All he had me bring
was a cymbal and a snare drum.

And we went over the first part
of 'Bitches Brew'...

and then...

You hear Miles's trumpet
bouncing against the buildings

at night,
3 o'clock in the morning.

It sounds like New York
is a grand canyon of buildings.

It's this ominous thing,

it's like something getting
ready to happen.

Moving like an amoeba
that just moved along,

and it did like this, and then
something would stick out.

It was like this whole thing
just moved like this, together.

I had the jazz station on
and the guy was like,

"Oh, my God.
The new Miles just came in."

Then he said the name of it.

I was like, "Can you even
say that on the air?"

He said, "Forget the music.
Y'all gotta see this cover."

'Bitches Brew' sold faster

than any other album
I had ever done,

and sold more copies than
any other jazz album in history.

After he did 'Bitches Brew',

he started at the Fillmore East
and all of that stuff.

We're in the dressing room
and Miles got the check.

He's looking at it and we heard
him say, "I feel like a thief."

It was an Indian restaurant
on 125th Street.

We're sitting there, eating
and talking for about two hours.

So, we get up,
and as we're walking out,

he says,
"So, what do you think?"

I'm like, "First of all,
think about what?"

I mean, I'm trying to get my
brain into the conversation.

He said, "What do you think
about the music?"

And I do this because
they're playing Indian music.

And he said, "That's where we're
going on the new album,

'On the Corner'."

He said, "I'm gonna mix
tablas and sitar,

electric sitar with the funk."

The 'On the Corner' album,
there's no ambiguity.

We're going for this.

Bap! Boom! Bap!

It just got more intense.

Four, one, two.
That's what funk is.

They were just taking off.

They were making the Big Bang,
upping the ante every night,

just so gnarly
and dangerous with it

in terms of
the use of percussion

and the use of distortion.

This cosmic jungle music.

That's when we really
locked in to Miles

as kind of our
Hoodoo-voodoo priest of music.

This is acid music.

People who smoke weed
and they go there high

all of a sudden
they're straight.

And people who are straight,
they're high.

He totally changed everything
just by the way he was playing.

Miles's audience was changing
because his music was changing,

absorbing what was
happening now.

What was happening now.
Not ten years ago. Now.

I never understood what was
so appealing to so many people.

I was trying to figure out
what he heard in it.

I didn't understand it.

Plus, it didn't sound good.

People who say that,

I just always looked at them
like, "You're really ignorant

and what drove you to say that
is because you're jealous

because you could never be,
or have, or even comprehend

something that is beyond your
limited, twisted, crooked mind."

"Damn, Carlos,
that's a little harsh."

But it's accurate.

When you listen to
that slew of records

he made in rapid succession
about '69 through '75,

I mean, you hear the template
for hip-hop, for house,

drum and bass, electronica.

Miles was doing all of that
in the early '70s.

He's creating new music and
kind of disturbing the fabric.

When I was with him
he was pretty healthy.

He was doing very well.

Eating a good healthy diet,
keeping his body clean.

Of course he worked out
in the gym every day, boxing.

Those things were very important
at that time,

and that was really good.

I knew that Miles
was getting back into drugs,

even though he hadn't been
doing them around me,

because he was
getting paranoid a lot.

He was violent, he was abusive.

I said, "I'm not going to
live like this."

In October 1972,
I fell asleep at the wheel

and ran my Lamborghini
into a divider.

I was laid up for almost three
months and when I got home,

I had to walk on crutches
for a while,

which further fucked up
my bad hip.

That was probably the most
pivotal moment in his life.

The abject pain that he was in
from awakening to going to sleep

forced him,
and I say "forced him" to use

prescription medicine, cocaine,
alcohol, cigarettes,

anything to dull the pain.

He started taking fewer
and fewer jobs and tours.

Eventually, there was no band,
there was no Miles Davis band.

I was spiritually tired

of all the bullshit
I'd been going through

all those long years.

I felt artistically drained.

I didn't have anything else
to say, musically.

I knew that I needed a rest,
and so I took one.

I put down the thing
I love most in life, my music.

And the more I stayed away,

the deeper I sank
into another dark world.

His apartment building
was his cave

and he sequestered
himself there.

There were days,
weeks, he wouldn't go out.

When I was 15 or 16,

I would go and stay in New York
during that dark period.

I remember it being dark,
always dark in the house.

I just remember cigarettes,
beer bottles and cocaine.

I remember going to visit him
a couple of times.

It was a dark time for him.

He was... I wasn't...

I was a little bit scared
of him.

He was in there by himself,
just dealing with pain

and not playing.

I know, for him, not playing is
like not having water any more.

I just wanted it to stop.

I wanted the darkness to stop.

He was like a person
I never knew.

And I wanted him to get back
to being my uncle, my superhero.

I remember going up to Harlem

and there would be a woman
in the car with us.

She'd be sitting next to me
and Miles would drive up there

and then just say, "Wait."

He'd come out of the building
that he was in very high.

There would be cocaine smudges
on his face

and I'd wanna say something
but I was too afraid.

He would kind of nudge me over,
and he'd say, "You fucked her."

And I'd say,
"I didn't fuck her."

He goes, "We're not leaving 'til
you tell me you fucked her."

He'd shut the car off.

I said, "All right. I fucked her
on the hood. Can we go?"

And he goes, "And I thought
we were friends."

This is an evening with Miles.

Miles would come around
during that time.

He needed money
and we'd lend him some money,

which we figured was gone.

Whatever the case, we left there
one day, and I said to Marie,

I said, "I think that's the end,

there's no way he can come back
from this."

And I said, "But you never
can tell."

Around this same time,

Cicely Tyson started coming
to see me again.

She had been dropping by
throughout all of this,

but now she started coming by
more often.

He was in terrifically bad
health in those years.

It was thought by many people
he was in such bad shape

that he would never play
music again.

He even thought he might never
play music again.

Cicely inspires him

to see, once again,
that he has something to offer,

that with his creativity,
his creative voice,

he has not reached
his creative peak.

She helped run all those
people out of my house.

She kind of protected me
and started seeing

that I ate the right things
and didn't drink as much.

She helped get me off cocaine.

She would feed me health foods,
a lot of vegetables,

and a whole lot of juices.

He was running
up and down the beach

and trying to be a vegetarian,

which was amazing
because he couldn't do it.

Miles would say, "Come by
the house, pick me up, man,

take me somewhere
where they got meat.

Just let me smell the smells

and then get me
a hot link sandwich."

Miles needed those years
to summon up the strength

to kick drugs, to play again,
to handle the public,

to handle the touring,
to handle the critics, to live.

From 1975 until early 1980,
I didn’t pick up my horn.

For over four years
I didn’t pick it up once.

In the end,
it was almost six years.

He kept bringing tapes
to my office

of a different sounding band,
electronic band.

I said, "I'll pay you $70,000
to do two concerts

at Avery Fisher Hall."

He looked at me as if I was
crazy, nobody did that.

I wrote out a check for $35,000
and gave it to him.

I held my breath.

I bought a brand-new,

canary-yellow 308 GTSi Ferrari
sports coupe, with a targa top.

I was ready to go back to music.

He bought that car
just to show up at that gig.

Yeah, man. I bought a new shirt,
he bought a Ferrari.

Miles was back.

And he had this whole new sound
with all the young musicians.

He was seven years out

and all of a sudden
he came back.

I mean this cat could've stopped
completely and said,

"I've done enough."

And everybody would have said,
"You sure have."

But he wanted to keep going.

It wasn't just a comeback
of an artist,

it was a comeback
of a human being.

I never saw anybody do that
like he did.

Do you still enjoy playing jazz
festivals in Europe?

Yes. I love to play in Europe
jazz festivals.

What about Molde?
You're arriving late.

I was sick this morning.

Starting with the first tour,
we were in a different city

or a different country
every single day.

Say a show starts at 8 o'clock,

we'd get back to the hotel
by midnight,

after that, he wants to paint.

He'd just pick up whatever
writing device he had

and start to draw.

When we were on the road,

he drew on the plane,
he drew in the car.

He drew in the lounge
waiting for the plane.

We get to the gig, he's drawing
in the dressing room.

It was literally flowing
through his arm,

into his hand, onto the paper.

When you make a wrong line,

does it feel with you like
the same as in music?

The note next to the one
that you think is bad,

corrects the one in front.

It was early morning
and I was going running.

I was waiting by the elevator
and the elevator opened

and there he was.

My heart was racing.
It was like in a movie

when you meet the vampire

and you know you're gonna die
and you don't care.

I looked back and he said,
"You better run fast

'cause when I get back
I'm gonna catch you."

And that was it.
We started painting together.

There was just all this interest
in everything he was doing

coming from everywhere.

Miles, what got you
into painting?

He was never more in demand.

Who are you guys?

It seems almost as if he forgot
who he had been.

It's like a brand-new start
for me.

He was on talk shows...

Hello, good evening.
This is Miles Davis.

...on late night television.

Miles Davis.

Miles Davis.

Miles Davis.

Miles Davis.

Miles Davis!

He was accepting interviews
in every city he played in.

He was a totally different
seeming person.

He was even going out
and sitting in with Prince.

He loved Prince. It was destiny
that they worked together.

I got a call from Tommy LiPuma

who was an A&R
vice president at Warner Bros.

He said, "Miles Davis
just left Columbia

and he's coming to Warner Bros."

I said, "Really?
Congratulations!"

He said,
"Do you have any music?"

As soon as I hung up the phone,
that bass line to "Tutu" hit me.

When I'm writing a song for
somebody if I can see them going

like grooving to the song, I go,
"OK, this is right for him."

I'm looking across the studio
and I'm looking at Miles.

And then he just started playing
stuff on the piano for me.

Looking back on it,

I realise this dude never
recorded like that before,

with headphones,
playing to a track

with drum machines
and all that stuff.

He was into it,

he wasn't just like stepping
gingerly into it, he owned it.

Yeah!

At the core, he's just
staying that young kid

who came to New York
to play the hip music.

He wanted to always have
that feeling.

Miles never talked about
his old records.

He didn't keep them
in the house.

He didn't have any of them.

Not one of them and he didn't
want them in there.

He wanted only the stuff
he was working on.

When I first got in the band,
Miles seemed cool.

He was alert and on top of it,

but soon after that,
he started looking not so good.

If you see a concert we did
on Saturday Night Live,

you'll see
what I'm talking about.

He's just kind of moving
and his sound is very fragile.

He was tormented
'cause he couldn't get the tone.

Sometimes he'd hobble
around the stage.

But he was still Miles.

I'd been trying
for fifteen years, man.

I kept bugging him about it.
Kept bugging him about it.

And he said, "OK, motherfucker."

If he never played another note,
he doesn't have to

because he has led the way
on the cutting edge

for the last 50 years.

To see him at 65 years old

trying to recreate his 25-year-
old self was just amazing, man.

My love, my brother,

and one of my favorite musicians
and idols, Miles Davis!

Yeah, I loved him, man.

It just makes my soul smile.

There was a tune
called "The Pan Piper".

I knew that
that was a hard piece,

and I wasn't sure that he'd
be able to play that one.

He would never say that.

So, when it was time for us
to do it, I remember jumping in.

I remember him telling me,

"Listen, if I ever went back
to that old stuff, I'd die."

I sat there in front of the TV
and I was like, "He's sick.

He's sick."

He said, "When God punishes you,
it's not that you..."

It's so sad.

"...It's not that you don't get
what you want.

You get everything that you want
and there's no time left."

Miles Davis!

Quincy Jones!

Miles went into the hospital,
Labor Day weekend of 1991.

We were talking
and listening to music.

I looked at him and he looked
funny, like, still.

Then I looked up and a doctor
came in to the door,

he walked over
and it was just a second.

I was sitting with his head
in my lap

and the doctor started
pounding on him.

Then he beeped something
and then another doctor came in

and a bunch of doctors
and nurses came in.

And I was still sitting
on the bed and he was blank.

I mean, he was breathing.
I knew he didn't die.

It was horrifying.

They're working on him and
pounding him and injecting him,

and then they roll us
both out like that

into the elevator,
into the hall.

They didn't even notice
that I was on the bed

when his head was still
next to me.

We were surrounded by people,

we're in the elevator and
they said, "He had a stroke."

Deborah, my ex-wife,
called me, and she says,

"I think you'd better hold on
to something."

I said, "Well, what's going on?"
and she says,

"Miles Davis just passed."

And it just felt like...

someone hit me with a jackhammer
over the head.

I think Miles was definitely,

without a doubt, the most
unique person I've ever known.

He did things in a different way
than everybody else.

He looked at things differently,
he saw things differently.

You have to be true to yourself,

and I think a lot of that
was his philosophy.

How can someone come up
with such beautiful music

when you can have
that other side?

Sometimes I couldn't take it.
Sometimes it was just perfecto.

I don't regret, I don't forget,
but I still love.

I miss him.

I miss him.
I dream about him a lot.

He...

What a big presence.

Of course I loved him.

He was like a brother who did
dumb things and you accepted it.

He was real.

Very real.

There won't be
many Mileses again.

That's enough. I'm through.