Miles Ahead

Let's try it.

- Ready for sound? - Yeah. Always.

There you go.

- Give me that blue tape. - You know the fucking mystery.

All right.

That's what it's about.

- Yeah? Well, that's... That's... That's... - Hey.

That's right.

I need some tea. Something for my throat.

My throat sounds scratchy.

Is that chair going to be all right for your hip?

- Yeah. - Okay. We getting close here?

- Almost. - All right.

Speed the spool up. Videotape forward there.

Okay, wait, wait. This one right here.

Stop it. Stop it right there.

- Agharta? - That's it.

Let me see.

Osaka, Japan. 1975.

- Funky. - Yeah.

Well... Well, cut the sound down.

So, Miles, I know it's always go forward, move ahead.

And I don't want to just go down that whole litany of things.

The drugs, women, your muse.

But if we can go back a bit, for context,

and explore your earlier stuff, modal jazz,

- and its influence... - I don't like that word, "jazz."

Don't... Don't call it "jazz," man.

- That's some made-up word. - All right.

Trying to box somebody in. Don't call my music "jazz."

All right.

- It's social music. - Okay.

Social music. Perfect.

Well, what made you stop in the first place?

I didn't have... I didn't have nothing to say.

I just didn't have nothing to say.

Well, what were you doing all that time?

A lot of shit, it had nothing to do with music.

Miles Davis, five years, no playing at all. I mean, it's...

How did you find your way back to it?

You know. A lot of shit.

A lot of shit goes through your mind when you're quiet, you know.

You have a lot of thoughts.

And they can sometimes be fighting each other. You know, like a war.

And I'm a Gemini, so I'm... I'm two people anyway, you know?

I was born modal. This and that.

Then someday you sit there and something click.

And that's it. You start playing.

That's it.

Are you getting... Are you getting some of this?

Guys, for fuck's sake, are we ready yet?

I've been ready.

Then why did nobody let me know, for Christ's sake, if you're ready?

All right. I'm ready.

In three, two...

In 1975, one of the most prolific voices in music

went silent for five years,

- leaving the world to... - Man, you ain't no Walter Cronkite.

If you're going to tell a story,

come with some attitude, man. Don't, you know...

Don't be all corny with this shit.

All right, well, you are the artist, Miles. How would you say it?

Shit, that fucking tape. Fuck's sake!

Lose this motherfucker!

Go, go, go, go, go!

Make a right! Go right!

Shit! Is that him?

Shit! Turn! Turn!

Shit, it stalled! Get out! Go, go, go!

Miles, get out!

Jesus Christ, go!

- My music! - Don't go back for it! No! No!

Miles!

At precisely three minutes to 1:00, Jack Johnson...

Johnson is always the first to enter.

So seriously does he take this ritual...

Mr. Davis, if you could just open the door for a moment.

While outside, hundreds unable to buy tickets await the outcome.

Jeffries bears the reputation of being the strongest man ever to enter the ring.

The fuck you looking at?

What?

Don't play around with your life, junkie.

I fronted you the coke. Do you know what that means?

Fuck you, Mack. Get in line.

It's all on film for the world to see.

High overhead, a desert sun scorches...

The temperature is rising and so are tempers.

The bell rings for round 15.

A vicious uppercut and three stinging lefts!

Jeffries goes down!

Phil Schaap with you on WKCR-FM New York,

the Miles Davis festival.

That was the seminal So What from Kind of Blue, 1959.

That's one for the time capsule, folks.

That's one they'll be talking about in 1, 000 years.

- The one you'll save from a burning building. - This motherfucker.

The culmination. The mountaintop.

Over 100 records, and now silence.

Five years is just too long.

The world misses you, Miles. Please, come back.

WKCR-FM.

Yeah, it's Miles Davis. Put Phil Schaap on.

- Really? - Yeah, it's really me. Put him on.

Yeah. Okay, okay. Sure.

Really?

My goodness, folks, I believe we have the Miles Davis on the line.

Mr. Davis, is this really you?

- Yeah, it's me. - What an honor.

- I was just telling my listeners... - Listen, Schaap. Listen.

You talk too goddamn much, man.

Time capsule? Time capsule is for old shit.

Dead shit, okay? And I missed on Kind of Blue.

Missed? But Mr. Davis,

I think people would say it's a masterpiece.

How exactly did you miss?

Hey, this ain't an interview, okay?

Man, if you tape this, I'll kill you. You got it?

- Yes, sir. - Good.

Yes, sir. I didn't mean to upset you, Mr. Davis. I'm sorry if I...

Nah. Nah. You know, forget it, man.

Listen, play me some of that Sketches of Spain.

Solea.

This one's for you, Mr. Davis.

Solea from Sketches of Spain.

Frances.

Frances.

Excuse me, man, do you know if he's in or not?

How should I know?

Mr. Davis, just a moment of your time.

I've been at your front door for some time now.

I feel sure you're in there.

George Butler's office.

- It's Miles. - Yes, sir.

- Hello, Miles. - My check didn't come today, George.

Where's my money? 20, 000?

You trying to piss me off, man?

Of course not, but where is the session tape?

We can't release more money until...

- It's the same bullshit. - Until Columbia gets that new music.

20, 000 is chump change compared to the business we're going to do.

I know there's gold on that session tape, man.

Let's get you into fighting form again and start working on that comeback.

Hey, I didn't go nowhere, George.

Now you want some music, send me my fucking money.

Fine...

Mr. Davis, if you could just open the door for a moment...

- What? - Mr. Davis,

I'm sorry to take up your time.

My name is Dave Braden, Rolling Stone magazine.

I'm here to do your comeback story.

- Okay, move back a little bit... - Yeah.

Get off my motherfucking...

Motherfucker!

Hey, there's no need for that. Fuck!

Open this fucking door!

Motherfucker!

- Hey! - Hey, calm down, Mr. Davis!

Hey, open this goddamn...

You lost your fucking mind?

Crazy motherfucker!

I'm not playing with your ass!

Hello?

Open this door, God damn it!

You better not be touching nothing in there, motherfucker!

Open the goddamn door!

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

Inside the master's disheveled lair,

rumor becomes reality.

Jazz's Howard Hughes reviled and revealed.

Open the fucking...

All right. I'm coming. I'm coming.

All right, Mr. Davis, I'm going to open the door,

but I need you to calm down. There's no need for violence like that.

Open the door!

- Mr. Davis. Please. - Get the fuck out of my house!

- Get the fuck out of my house! - Just... Just relax!

You going the wrong way, motherfucker!

Listen, there's no need for that.

I'm just here to speak to you.

Shit! Shit!

Columbia!

Your record company set it up.

- Columbia? - Yeah, I'm just a writer, man.

Can you drive, motherfucker?

Prick.

Open the door.

- What? - Open the door.

- What's that? - You mind?

Man, take that fucking thing off my dashboard.

Irish motherfucker.

Let's go.

There... There he is! Miles!

Miles!

Look, I think we just got off on the wrong foot.

I just need a little background.

I mean, I could write some bullshit out of a magazine,

but I'd rather hear it in your own words, you know?

Miles Davis' story. My words.

That would be great.

Go right.