SOUND PROJECTIONS
AN ONLINE QUARTERLY MUSIC MAGAZINE
EDITOR: KOFI NATAMBU
SUMMER, 2018
VOLUME SIX NUMBER ONE
SONNY ROLLINS
Featuring the Musics and Aesthetic Visions of:
TEDDY WILSON
(July 14-20)
GEORGE WALKER
(July 21-27)
BILLY STRAYHORN
(July 28-August 3)
LEROY JENKINS
(August 4-10)
LAURYN HILL
(August 11-17)
JOHN HICKS
(August 18-24)
(August 18-24)
ANTHONY DAVIS
(August 25-31)
RON MILES
(September 1-7)
RON MILES
(September 1-7)
A TRIBE CALLED QUEST
(September 8-14)
NNENNA FREELON
(September 15-21)
KENNY DORHAM
(September 22-28)
FATS WALLER
(September 29-October 5)https://www.allmusic.com/artist/ron-miles-mn0000285648
/biography
Ron Miles
(b. May 9, 1963)
Artist Biography by Matt Collar
A highly regarded trumpeter, composer, and educator, Ron Miles
is a progressive artist with a bent toward harmonically nuanced,
genre-bending jazz. A star of the Denver, Colorado jazz scene and a
longtime professor at the Metropolitan State University of Denver, Miles is a lauded performer who has worked as both a leader and a collaborator with such similarly inclined luminaries as Bill Frisell and Fred Hess.
Born in 1964 in Indianapolis, Indiana, Miles
moved to Denver with his family at age 11. Around the same time, he
started playing trumpet, taking classical and jazz lessons throughout
high school. Also during his formative years, he played in school band
ensembles as well as a local all-city combo. After high school, he
earned his undergraduate degree from Denver University, during which
time he first met saxophonist Fred Hess,
often traveling to Boulder to play with him. Toward the end of his
undergraduate studies, the trumpeter won a classical competition at the
International Brass Clinic that was held at Indiana University in
Bloomington. The accolade helped garner him a scholarship to attend New
York's Manhattan School of Music, where he eventually earned his
master's degree. In 1987, he made his recorded debut with Distance for Safety, followed two years later by Witness.
Also around this time, he toured as a member of the Mercer Ellington Orchestra, and traveled to Italy in the summer of 1992 with the musical Sophisticated Ladies. He also recorded with Hess, and played frequently with guitarist Bill Frisell. In 1996 he released his third studio album, My Cruel Heart,
which found him exploring his increasingly distinctive brand of modern
creative jazz with rock influences via a handful of guitarists including
Todd Ayers, Farrell Lowe, Arnie Swenson, and Eddie Turner. That same year he appeared on the Bill Frisell album Quartet, and he returned in 1997 with the grunge and post-rock-influenced Woman's Day, which found him working again with Frisell and his rhythm section, featuring bassist Artie Moore and drummer Rudy Royston.
In the late '90s, Miles
joined the faculty of Denver's Metropolitan State College, where he has
taught for over two decades. He then rounded out the decade by pairing
with drummer Ginger Baker for the Cream member's jazz-leaning album Coward of the County. Several intimate solo efforts followed, including 2000's Ron Miles Trio, 2002's Heaven, and 2003's Laughing Barrel. There were also additional well-regarded sessions with Frisell and Hess, as well as Colin Stranahan, DJ Logic, Jenny Scheinman, Otis Taylor, and more. In 2007 he appeared on the Frisell project Floratone, and followed up a year later with his own trio album, 3ology with Ron Miles.
Along with his continued work as an educator, he
remains a highly prolific artist, issuing dates such as 2012's Quiver with Frisell and drummer Brian Blade. Also in 2012, he appeared on Hess' big-band date Speak, and reunited with Floratone for a second outing. He then returned to his solo work for 2014's Circuit Rider with Frisell and Blade. From there, he joined pianist Myra Melford for 2015's Snowy Egret, appeared on Ben Goldberg's Orphic Machine that same year, and contributed to drummer Matt Wilson's 2017 Carl Sandburg homage Honey and Salt. In 2017 Miles also delivered his own I Am a Man, with pianist Jason Moran, Frisell, Blade, and others.
https://www.allaboutjazz.com/ron-miles-jazz-gentleman-ron-miles-by-florence-wetzel.php?page=1
AAJ: One distinctive aspect of your career is your songwriting, which has been present since your first release as a leader, Distance for Safety (Prolific Records, 1987). During these early years of junior high and high school, did you study composition as well?
RM: No, I never did. I didn't really write any music until I got to college. I really didn't have a good sense of harmony until that point, because I played just a single-line instrument, the trumpet. I would hear stuff and work things out, but it wasn't until I got to college that I really composed. And then I'd do the typical thing: I'd write a song over rhythm changes or over a blues.
It took a long time to understand how important it was to get a grasp of the piano. I didn't even have the piano on my first records, not really; those were still pretty much single-line recordings. And a lot of the music I listened to was that way, too; by the time I was in college, I listened to a lot of the post-Ornette Coleman bands like drummer Ronald Shannon Jackson's Decoding Society and those kind of groups, and Art Ensemble Of Chicago, which didn't have piano. And even in classical music, I mostly listened to atonal music, Webern and post-Schoenberg music. I feel like it wasn't till my record My Cruel Heart (Gramavision, 1996) where I was really, really working with harmony in a mature way. Before then, my writing was mostly counterpoint, single lines working together.
AAJ: So you definitely had the influences of pop music and rock 'n' roll, and you ...
RM: Yeah, but I must say that when I started to play the trumpet, that all went away. Like, totally; I didn't listen to any pop music. I only listened to KADX, the jazz station, and KVOD, the classical station. My younger sisters would have Michael Jackson and Prince posters on their wall, but a group like the Police—I didn't buy a Police album until the Police broke up, actually. But when Sting started his band, I bought his album The Dream of the Blue Turtles (A&M, 1985) because saxophonist Branford Marsalis and all those guys were in the band, and I was like, "Oh, that music's interesting." Then I started to go back and reinvestigate my love for popular music, because it had really gone totally away. I mean, I didn't listen to any pop music at all. Then I fell in love with Prince's music, and then all that music came flooding in at that point.
AAJ: So that was more in the mid-'80s, maybe?
RM: Yes, it was. I think I was in graduate school at Manhattan School of Music when I started buying those records. So I made my way all the way through undergraduate school without really having any connection to pop music at all.
AAJ: So then from 1981 to 1985, you went to University of Denver (DU), studying both music and electrical engineering.
RM: Yes, I studied both the first couple years. In high school, I had gotten an internship to work at a laboratory, so electrical engineering seemed like a real logical thing. Those first couple years at college were really rugged because I was doing this double major and I was playing in every group, like both jazz bands, both wind ensembles, orchestra, brass quintet—I was in school all day. Every morning, I'd get on the number 24 bus, ride it out to DU and then come home at night. Sometimes I'd have to walk home from DU because it would be too late to get the bus. I lived in Park Hill, so I lived exactly where I live now, pretty much, and it was a long walk from DU back to Park Hill! But my folks usually would give me a ride; they were very supportive.
After a couple years at college, I had a conversation with pianist Ron Jolly, who also teaches here in Denver and who was my improvisation teacher at DU. I remember one day him telling me that I could actually play. And I was like, "Really?" He said, "No, you could really do this." So I asked my folks if I could just concentrate on music after my second year, and they said I could. So my last two years at college were just concentrating on music, and I dropped electrical engineering.
AAJ: Is college also when you first met bandleader and multi-instrumentalist Fred Hess?
RM: Yes, it was about that time. I think maybe I had met Fred a little bit before, when I was 19. He ran the Boulder Creative Music Ensemble, and I remember sitting in at a gig; I think the trombone player Wade Sander had told Fred about me. Fred and Wade were really impressed by my playing, so they invited me to play, and the group rehearsed every Sunday for years. At that time, I didn't know how to drive; I didn't learn how to drive until I was 30 years old, so somebody would come by and pick me up, or I'd ride the bus, so it would be a whole-day affair for me to get to Boulder and get back home to my folks.
It was just wild playing with those folks. Fred was writing this graphic-notated music and structured improvisations, and then I was hearing about multi-instrumentalist Anthony Braxton and saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell—I'd heard about Roscoe from the Art Ensemble of Chicago, but I really got deeply into that music then. Also, this was the first real professional-level group that I had played in. It wasn't just students; it was people who were really tried and true.
https://www.allaboutjazz.com/ron-miles-jazz-gentleman-ron-miles-by-florence-wetzel.php?page=1
Ron Miles: Jazz Gentleman
by
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
[Editor's note: Last month, All About Jazz contributor Florence Wetzel conducted a two-hour interview with Ron Miles. The result is the most extensive interview piece ever written about the Colorado-based trumpeter. Part 1 covers his early years and education; Parts 2 and 3, bringing Miles up to the present, will be published on consecutive days.]
Now at the midpoint of his career, trumpeter Ron Miles has created a musical output of astonishing versatility and depth. He has nine releases as a leader, including the upcoming Quiver (Enja, 2012) with guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Brian Blade, and he has also appeared as a sideman on dozens of other projects. Miles accomplished all this from his home base of Denver, Colorado, far from the New York City jazz scene. But talent sets its own geography, and over the years Miles has been the trumpeter of choice for artists as diverse as Frisell, bandleader Mercer Ellington, drummer Ginger Baker, clarinetist Don Byron, and pianist Jason Moran. Musicians and listeners alike are drawn to Miles' unique trumpet style, which is a powerful blend of unpretentious clarity and deep heart. As his frequent collaborator Bill Frisell says, "Ron Miles is an inspiration to me. Nobody sounds like him."
Other factors set Miles off as a singular force in the jazz world. First, he is a prolific composer and arranger; his nine releases all feature his distinctive compositions, and he is a skilful interpreter of other writers' material, whether it's bandleader Duke Ellington's "Doin' the Voom Voom" or bassist Charles Mingus' "Pithecanthropus Erectus." He's also a devoted jazz educator; Miles has taught at Metropolitan State College in Denver for almost 25 years, and he is now running the school's innovative jazz education program. In addition, Miles is beloved throughout the jazz community for his humility and good heart; as pianist Art Lande says about Miles, "You can hear kindness in his playing; it comes through in his sound."
Miles is also full of surprises: he cites U2 and Janet Jackson as musical influences, one of his albums features a cover of the Partridge Family's "I Woke Up in Love This Morning," and he has been known to carry his mutes onstage using a Scooby-Doo lunch box. This playfulness and open-mindedness is just another facet of Miles' talent, which is firmly rooted in his strong work ethic and solid moral compass. The combination of all these elements makes Miles both an outstanding musician and an admirable human being.
Chapter Index
Early Years and Education
All About Jazz: You were born May 9, 1963, in Indianapolis, Indiana. What was your relationship to music in your earliest years, before you got your first instrument?
Ron Miles: Well, my folks listened to music a lot. We moved around a lot, but they always had records. I remember certain records being around; I remember Drums Unlimited (Atlantic, 1966) by drummer Max Roach, seeing that cover around. So there was music always playing. But as far as listening to music, the first record I bought was by this band Redbone; they did that song "Come and Get Your Love." And then I bought Jackson 5 records and stuff like that. I also watched the Archies cartoon every Saturday. So I really didn't have much trumpet music that I was listening to; it was more just pop music of the day.
AAJ: So when did you start playing an instrument?
RM: When I was 11. It was actually the summer before we moved here to Denver. My mom taught summer school, and she wanted me and one of my sisters to do something during the summer, and so she signed us up for band. We both went into this band room and they said, "Pick an instrument." The trumpet looked shiny, so I picked that. My sister picked the clarinet, and then we were playing. Then when we moved here to Denver, we just kept in band from that point on. That was the start of it.
AAJ: Can you go into detail about your formal education in middle school and high school, in terms of your classes and learning the trumpet?
RM: When I got to Denver in 1974, I started sixth grade at Phillips Elementary School and played in beginning band. Then I went to middle school—I went to Smiley Junior High School, which is now called Smiley Middle School. I was in beginning band, and I had braces at that point, so the trumpet was really, really rugged. And I remember that having this name "Ron Miles" was just a horrible burden because I was so bad. People would say, "Oh yeah, Ron Miles! Wow, let's hear you play!" Then I would go [makes horrific, garbled noise]. They'd say, "Oh, wow. Really?" So it was really, really, really rough.
But the second year of junior high school, the teacher Dale Hamilton showed up, and he excited us about music. At that time the trumpeters Maynard Ferguson and Chuck Mangione were really big, so he'd bring their records in, and we'd also hear those guys on the radio. Dale was also like, "Yeah, Maynard Ferguson's great, but there's also trumpeter Clark Terry, and there's also these other cats." Dale would give me records to listen to, particularly Clark Terry; I really liked Clark Terry a lot. So my ears kind of expanded, but I was still Maynard-ed out, just because that music was so exciting for me. Dale also got me lessons with this great player in town, Gordon Dooley, who's still around—a beautiful player with a beautiful sound. So that's when I first got private lessons.
Then when I got to high school, Jerry Noonan was our band director, and like Dale Hamilton he was really good, because they both would always stress the music above everything else, more than flashy technique or whatever. And they would always try and get us to listen to real musical tunes and play real musically, with dynamics, with subtlety and nuance, and they kept enforcing that. So that was great for me.
Then in high school, too, I also played in this career-education center, a kind of all-city combo. And some of the players around town now, like the drummer Jill Frederickson—she's great, she played in that group when I was in there. Pianist Neil Bridge was the director, and he's around town still. And same thing, Jerry would try to get us to listen to tunes and really try to be better musicians, with music always being really, really important, more than flash or anything else. So that was great. Mr. Dooley also got me into classical music, Maurice Andre and all that kind of stuff, so that expanded my horizons a bit, too.
So by the time I got to college, I was actually playing pretty good. It was definitely a slow climb. Once the braces came off, it was a big jump at that point, but it was kind of a steady incline.
AAJ: So all these classes and all these courses were actually jazz trumpet, as opposed to classical trumpet?
RM: Well, my lessons were both classical and jazz, and the ensembles were both, too. I played in everything: I played in orchestra, I played in wind ensemble, I played in jazz band. They were all part of the curriculum back then; of course, it was different in school than it is now. So orchestra was first period, and concert band was fourth period, and jazz band was sixth period, so you were in that zone for most of the day.
[Editor's note: Last month, All About Jazz contributor Florence Wetzel conducted a two-hour interview with Ron Miles. The result is the most extensive interview piece ever written about the Colorado-based trumpeter. Part 1 covers his early years and education; Parts 2 and 3, bringing Miles up to the present, will be published on consecutive days.]
Now at the midpoint of his career, trumpeter Ron Miles has created a musical output of astonishing versatility and depth. He has nine releases as a leader, including the upcoming Quiver (Enja, 2012) with guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Brian Blade, and he has also appeared as a sideman on dozens of other projects. Miles accomplished all this from his home base of Denver, Colorado, far from the New York City jazz scene. But talent sets its own geography, and over the years Miles has been the trumpeter of choice for artists as diverse as Frisell, bandleader Mercer Ellington, drummer Ginger Baker, clarinetist Don Byron, and pianist Jason Moran. Musicians and listeners alike are drawn to Miles' unique trumpet style, which is a powerful blend of unpretentious clarity and deep heart. As his frequent collaborator Bill Frisell says, "Ron Miles is an inspiration to me. Nobody sounds like him."
Other factors set Miles off as a singular force in the jazz world. First, he is a prolific composer and arranger; his nine releases all feature his distinctive compositions, and he is a skilful interpreter of other writers' material, whether it's bandleader Duke Ellington's "Doin' the Voom Voom" or bassist Charles Mingus' "Pithecanthropus Erectus." He's also a devoted jazz educator; Miles has taught at Metropolitan State College in Denver for almost 25 years, and he is now running the school's innovative jazz education program. In addition, Miles is beloved throughout the jazz community for his humility and good heart; as pianist Art Lande says about Miles, "You can hear kindness in his playing; it comes through in his sound."
Miles is also full of surprises: he cites U2 and Janet Jackson as musical influences, one of his albums features a cover of the Partridge Family's "I Woke Up in Love This Morning," and he has been known to carry his mutes onstage using a Scooby-Doo lunch box. This playfulness and open-mindedness is just another facet of Miles' talent, which is firmly rooted in his strong work ethic and solid moral compass. The combination of all these elements makes Miles both an outstanding musician and an admirable human being.
Chapter Index
Early Years and Education
All About Jazz: You were born May 9, 1963, in Indianapolis, Indiana. What was your relationship to music in your earliest years, before you got your first instrument?
Ron Miles: Well, my folks listened to music a lot. We moved around a lot, but they always had records. I remember certain records being around; I remember Drums Unlimited (Atlantic, 1966) by drummer Max Roach, seeing that cover around. So there was music always playing. But as far as listening to music, the first record I bought was by this band Redbone; they did that song "Come and Get Your Love." And then I bought Jackson 5 records and stuff like that. I also watched the Archies cartoon every Saturday. So I really didn't have much trumpet music that I was listening to; it was more just pop music of the day.
AAJ: So when did you start playing an instrument?
RM: When I was 11. It was actually the summer before we moved here to Denver. My mom taught summer school, and she wanted me and one of my sisters to do something during the summer, and so she signed us up for band. We both went into this band room and they said, "Pick an instrument." The trumpet looked shiny, so I picked that. My sister picked the clarinet, and then we were playing. Then when we moved here to Denver, we just kept in band from that point on. That was the start of it.
AAJ: Can you go into detail about your formal education in middle school and high school, in terms of your classes and learning the trumpet?
RM: When I got to Denver in 1974, I started sixth grade at Phillips Elementary School and played in beginning band. Then I went to middle school—I went to Smiley Junior High School, which is now called Smiley Middle School. I was in beginning band, and I had braces at that point, so the trumpet was really, really rugged. And I remember that having this name "Ron Miles" was just a horrible burden because I was so bad. People would say, "Oh yeah, Ron Miles! Wow, let's hear you play!" Then I would go [makes horrific, garbled noise]. They'd say, "Oh, wow. Really?" So it was really, really, really rough.
But the second year of junior high school, the teacher Dale Hamilton showed up, and he excited us about music. At that time the trumpeters Maynard Ferguson and Chuck Mangione were really big, so he'd bring their records in, and we'd also hear those guys on the radio. Dale was also like, "Yeah, Maynard Ferguson's great, but there's also trumpeter Clark Terry, and there's also these other cats." Dale would give me records to listen to, particularly Clark Terry; I really liked Clark Terry a lot. So my ears kind of expanded, but I was still Maynard-ed out, just because that music was so exciting for me. Dale also got me lessons with this great player in town, Gordon Dooley, who's still around—a beautiful player with a beautiful sound. So that's when I first got private lessons.
Then when I got to high school, Jerry Noonan was our band director, and like Dale Hamilton he was really good, because they both would always stress the music above everything else, more than flashy technique or whatever. And they would always try and get us to listen to real musical tunes and play real musically, with dynamics, with subtlety and nuance, and they kept enforcing that. So that was great for me.
Then in high school, too, I also played in this career-education center, a kind of all-city combo. And some of the players around town now, like the drummer Jill Frederickson—she's great, she played in that group when I was in there. Pianist Neil Bridge was the director, and he's around town still. And same thing, Jerry would try to get us to listen to tunes and really try to be better musicians, with music always being really, really important, more than flash or anything else. So that was great. Mr. Dooley also got me into classical music, Maurice Andre and all that kind of stuff, so that expanded my horizons a bit, too.
So by the time I got to college, I was actually playing pretty good. It was definitely a slow climb. Once the braces came off, it was a big jump at that point, but it was kind of a steady incline.
AAJ: So all these classes and all these courses were actually jazz trumpet, as opposed to classical trumpet?
RM: Well, my lessons were both classical and jazz, and the ensembles were both, too. I played in everything: I played in orchestra, I played in wind ensemble, I played in jazz band. They were all part of the curriculum back then; of course, it was different in school than it is now. So orchestra was first period, and concert band was fourth period, and jazz band was sixth period, so you were in that zone for most of the day.
AAJ: One distinctive aspect of your career is your songwriting, which has been present since your first release as a leader, Distance for Safety (Prolific Records, 1987). During these early years of junior high and high school, did you study composition as well?
RM: No, I never did. I didn't really write any music until I got to college. I really didn't have a good sense of harmony until that point, because I played just a single-line instrument, the trumpet. I would hear stuff and work things out, but it wasn't until I got to college that I really composed. And then I'd do the typical thing: I'd write a song over rhythm changes or over a blues.
It took a long time to understand how important it was to get a grasp of the piano. I didn't even have the piano on my first records, not really; those were still pretty much single-line recordings. And a lot of the music I listened to was that way, too; by the time I was in college, I listened to a lot of the post-Ornette Coleman bands like drummer Ronald Shannon Jackson's Decoding Society and those kind of groups, and Art Ensemble Of Chicago, which didn't have piano. And even in classical music, I mostly listened to atonal music, Webern and post-Schoenberg music. I feel like it wasn't till my record My Cruel Heart (Gramavision, 1996) where I was really, really working with harmony in a mature way. Before then, my writing was mostly counterpoint, single lines working together.
AAJ: So you definitely had the influences of pop music and rock 'n' roll, and you ...
RM: Yeah, but I must say that when I started to play the trumpet, that all went away. Like, totally; I didn't listen to any pop music. I only listened to KADX, the jazz station, and KVOD, the classical station. My younger sisters would have Michael Jackson and Prince posters on their wall, but a group like the Police—I didn't buy a Police album until the Police broke up, actually. But when Sting started his band, I bought his album The Dream of the Blue Turtles (A&M, 1985) because saxophonist Branford Marsalis and all those guys were in the band, and I was like, "Oh, that music's interesting." Then I started to go back and reinvestigate my love for popular music, because it had really gone totally away. I mean, I didn't listen to any pop music at all. Then I fell in love with Prince's music, and then all that music came flooding in at that point.
AAJ: So that was more in the mid-'80s, maybe?
RM: Yes, it was. I think I was in graduate school at Manhattan School of Music when I started buying those records. So I made my way all the way through undergraduate school without really having any connection to pop music at all.
AAJ: So then from 1981 to 1985, you went to University of Denver (DU), studying both music and electrical engineering.
RM: Yes, I studied both the first couple years. In high school, I had gotten an internship to work at a laboratory, so electrical engineering seemed like a real logical thing. Those first couple years at college were really rugged because I was doing this double major and I was playing in every group, like both jazz bands, both wind ensembles, orchestra, brass quintet—I was in school all day. Every morning, I'd get on the number 24 bus, ride it out to DU and then come home at night. Sometimes I'd have to walk home from DU because it would be too late to get the bus. I lived in Park Hill, so I lived exactly where I live now, pretty much, and it was a long walk from DU back to Park Hill! But my folks usually would give me a ride; they were very supportive.
After a couple years at college, I had a conversation with pianist Ron Jolly, who also teaches here in Denver and who was my improvisation teacher at DU. I remember one day him telling me that I could actually play. And I was like, "Really?" He said, "No, you could really do this." So I asked my folks if I could just concentrate on music after my second year, and they said I could. So my last two years at college were just concentrating on music, and I dropped electrical engineering.
AAJ: Is college also when you first met bandleader and multi-instrumentalist Fred Hess?
RM: Yes, it was about that time. I think maybe I had met Fred a little bit before, when I was 19. He ran the Boulder Creative Music Ensemble, and I remember sitting in at a gig; I think the trombone player Wade Sander had told Fred about me. Fred and Wade were really impressed by my playing, so they invited me to play, and the group rehearsed every Sunday for years. At that time, I didn't know how to drive; I didn't learn how to drive until I was 30 years old, so somebody would come by and pick me up, or I'd ride the bus, so it would be a whole-day affair for me to get to Boulder and get back home to my folks.
It was just wild playing with those folks. Fred was writing this graphic-notated music and structured improvisations, and then I was hearing about multi-instrumentalist Anthony Braxton and saxophonist Roscoe Mitchell—I'd heard about Roscoe from the Art Ensemble of Chicago, but I really got deeply into that music then. Also, this was the first real professional-level group that I had played in. It wasn't just students; it was people who were really tried and true.
I remember we'd play concerts where no one would come. Like, literally
zero people would be there, and we would play as if it was a full
house—it was the same. That was a really great thing for me to learn:
that you always put it out there. When there's an audience, it lifts the
music up to a level that you can't get when there's no audience, but
that doesn't mean you don't try your best when there's nobody there. It
was pretty great to play with those folks. I still love all their
playing; it was a great influence.
Manhattan School of Music
AAJ: So when you were at DU, you won a classical trumpet competition at the International Brass Clinic in Bloomington, Indiana, which paved the way for you to attend Manhattan School of Music from 1985-86. How did that come about?
RM: Actually, it's really weird: my trumpet teacher at DU, Joe Docksey, had a plant in his classroom, and he had a contest to guess what date his plant would touch the floor, and the winner got a subscription to the International Trumpet Guild Journal. I won the contest, so I got this journal, and one day I read that they had these competitions.
The year before I did the classical competition, I did the jazz one, which I didn't win. Jeff Beal, who wrote the music for the TV show Monk, he won that year. But trumpeter Brad Goode, who's here in town, he and I were both competing in the finals at that time. There were all these great brass players at the competition, and I remember hearing the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra brass section and all this great music. Trumpeter Woody Shaw was there, and the trumpet-maker Dave Monette was there, too; that was the very first time I met him. I remember he had his new trumpets that cost $1,500, and we said, "Wow, that's so expensive!" We were just all up in arms about it.
So the next year, I entered the classical competition. I recorded some music with my friend David Pearl , who's a pianist, and I played it for Mr. Docksey, and he was like, "Oh, I wished you'd played it for me earlier, because there's all these mistakes, and you're not going to be able to get in." I said, "Oh, I'll try." So I sent in that tape and a jazz tape, too. I got in with the classical tape, but I didn't get in with the jazz tape. When I went there, I asked them why, and they said that I didn't complete some part of the form or I didn't send in something, so they didn't consider me for the jazz competition. I said, "You guys could have just written me or called me!"
So anyway, I entered the classical competition, and I won. And that really made Manhattan School of Music seem like more of a possibility. Because you know how it is sometimes, being from here—before winning the contest, I don't know how I measured up against these people from New York, California, Texas and all these places. After the contest, I was like, "Wow, OK."
So when I won that contest, all the trumpet guys from the music schools were also at the competition, and I was approached by the New England Conservatory of Music and this place and that place. Manhattan gave me some money, so I ended up going there. When I showed up at Manhattan, they knew who I was because of the contest, in a way that they wouldn't have known otherwise.
I was a classical trumpet major at Manhattan, too. I played in the jazz band, but I studied with trumpeter Ray Mase from the American Brass Quintet, and I had private lessons, too. I was also in a group at school with the saxophonist Bob Mintzer, who was my combo teacher. He was really something, and he was also one of the people who encouraged me. I was starting to write at that point, and he said, "You know, you really have something special in your writing."
The jazz band director was not really very nice. He would yell at me every day, literally yell at me. I'm a pretty meek guy, and I was especially meek then—I was coming from Denver, living at the 34th Street YMCA, which was out—just, like, showing up in New York, living at the Y, and going to school. And he'd yell at me about this crazy Lester Bowie, Miles Davis trumpet stuff I was playing.
Then one day, the New York Times wrote a review of the jazz band and singled me out. Then everything changed; then I was the director's pet project. I remember that day being weird, too, because I couldn't find a New York Times! I didn't usually buy the paper because I didn't have any money, but that day I wanted to buy it because people kept saying, "You're in the New York Times!" I went around all day trying to buy one; I think I had a private lesson, and after my lesson I went by a bodega and finally they had a stack of New York Times, and I bought a half dozen of them and sent them home to my folks.
Then George Butler from Columbia Records called. You have to remember, in the mid-'80s people were getting signed to record deals, so it's like everything went wild for a little bit. But at the end of the year at Manhattan, I felt like the people I loved the most in New York hardly ever played there. I saw [pianist] Cecil Taylor play once; Lester Bowie played once; saxophonist Jane Ira Bloom played once, but that was about it.
But the great thing was that I took lessons from Jane Bloom and Lester Bowie while I was there. Jane Bloom was like my ultimate hero at that point—she still is; I love Jane Ira Bloom. And Lester Bowie was my main trumpet hero. They were both kind enough to give me lessons, and they both really encouraged me, like "Yeah, you're on the right path, you're doing OK." More than anything, that's what they were doing. I also got to see some of Jane's compositions and see how she notated things and got certain things happening, and I tried to put that in the back of my mind a little. And sitting next to Lester and hearing all his articulations, he sounded just like those records: "Man, that's Lester Bowie, he's right there! Just like breaking out! Wow!"
They both were so kind and generous. You know, they didn't even really charge me anything; they were just like, "No, you're doing alright. You're in there." I remember I said to myself then, "If I ever get a job or start making money, I'm not going to charge people for lessons anymore." And so once I got hired at Metro State College in Denver full time, I stopped charging people for private lessons. It's just part of the continuum, to keep the thing going. So Jane Bloom and Lester Bowie were both important to me.
AAJ: So did you just go to Manhattan for a year, thinking you might or might not stay?
RM: I went thinking I would finish, actually, but the jazz director was so harsh, and also there was the thing about my heroes not playing in New York that much and so many people getting signed. I thought, "I can go back to Colorado and put a band together and still keep this thing going." But it didn't work out quite like that; I went back to Colorado and played and got better, and I played in the brass quintet at CU and stuff. But then, although George Butler was in touch, Miles was on Columbia, and Wynton [Marsalis] got signed, all that kind of faded away. Labels would check me out, but nobody really stepped forward. So then it took a while to generate something, and I just started doing my own music with Distance for Safety.
Lessons with Ornette Coleman and Lee Konitz
AAJ: You also had a lesson with Ornette Coleman when you were in New York. Can you talk about that a bit, how that came about and what happened at the lesson?
RM: I'd come back to Colorado, and I think I was going out to New York occasionally to play with people. I can't remember why I was there that time—maybe to play with saxophonist John Gunther, even, who lives here in town. At that time, John was doing these records for producer Bob Rusch's label CIMP in upstate New York. Those were really wild sessions because when we did those records with Rusch, me and John were in New York, and we'd drive upstate, we'd stay in Rusch's house and record in the Spirit Room, we'd eat dinner and he'd tell us all these crazy stories, then we'd get in the car and drive all the way back. It was really crazy.
So I'm not sure just why I was in New York at that time, but Chris Rosenberg, who played guitar in Ornette's group Prime Time, he was also studying at Manhattan when I was there. I called Chris and asked him, "Is there any chance I can get a lesson with Ornette Coleman?" He said, "Oh, I think I can make that happen." He called and set it up, so I went to Ornette's place; his son, the drummer Denardo Coleman, opened the door, and that was great.
I walked in, and I was just incredibly nervous. Ornette was sitting there, and I was there with him for a couple hours. I remember he said he was going to charge me $50 an hour. Which was, you know, what an incredible price! I said, "I only have $50, so I can only stay an hour." And he was like, "Oh, don't worry about it. Actually, you don't really have to pay me." But I said, "I really want to pay you. I've gotta give you at least $50, please!" So he said he would take it.
I remember after I played for him a bit, the first thing he said was, "You can play really well, and I suspect that people tell you that you play well, but then they don't tell you anything. I'm acknowledging that you play well, and I'm still going to try and tell you something." So that was great.
But the big thing was that he did this thing—and I think he does it to lots of people—where he wrote a note on the staff in the first space and asked what note it was. I said, "It's an F."
He said, "Is it?"
I said, "I'm pretty sure it's an F."
Then he drew a different clef, and he said, "Is that an F?" Then he turned it upside down: "Is that an F?" Then he drew another clef, and he said, "What note is that?"
Finally I said, "I don't know."
He said, "Exactly. You don't know."
We went on from there; we talked about saxophonist Charlie Parker and how Charlie Parker wasn't able to hear Ornette's music, and Ornette said he felt like Charlie Parker would have gotten what he was doing, whereas other people didn't. But I kept coming back to that story about the F, and what I took from it was—and again, I don't know if this is what Ornette meant or not—but it was the sense that I had come through this system of education where they teach you these rules in the sense that you know exactly what's happening, you play this scale or this chord, you do this or that. But Ornette was saying that to really improvise, you can't know. Because nothing's happened yet; how can you know? How can you know what's going on? How can you know what you should play on that chord—nobody's played anything yet! So if you really want to be an improviser, you have to go in accepting the fact that you don't know.
That lesson really changed so much for me. Of course, when you hear Ornette, obviously he's a living embodiment of that, not to mention he just plays beautiful melodies.
I also took a lesson with the saxophonist Lee Konitz a little bit before Ornette. Lee's a little more gruff than Ornette Coleman, God bless him! I've played with Lee since then, but at that time when I asked him for a lesson, he said, "Only if it's absolutely necessary." And I said, "It's really, really necessary, Mr. Konitz."
So I went over for a lesson. At first I played some free music, and he said, "Stop, stop! Play a tune!" He seemed so frustrated with me! I played a tune, and then afterward he said, "Oh, you can play!" I said, "Yes." He said, "Let's just play." So we just played duets for two hours. After an hour, there was the same thing with the money; I said, "Mr. Konitz, I didn't ..." And he said, "Oh, no, no. Do you have someplace to go?" I said, "No." He said, "Well, just keep playing!"
So we played, and we eventually played "Cherokee." I'd worked out this stuff with "Cherokee," and we got to the bridge and I was going through my stuff! Like I'm going to impress Lee Konitz—so foolish! At the end he said, "You know, some of that sounded worked out to me. There's no real reason to do that. You should wait until you hear something and play that. And if you don't hear anything, just wait. You'll hear something eventually. But always try and play."
Then he talked about that thing we struggle with as improvisers: How much do we work out? Lee said that Charlie Parker actually had a lot of language worked out, but he was so masterful at putting it together that it was a whole other thing. But those of us who aren't Charlie Parker, maybe we can be spontaneous. And when I've played with Lee, he really is that spontaneous; he really tries to get in there and wait, he's so patient.
So those two lessons showed me a lot about how to approach this music in a real honest way, and to really be a part of the whole band, not just be the soloist in the front, but to be a part of everything.
The Conservative Movement in the '80s
AAJ: During the time you were in New York in the 1980s, there was a movement underway in jazz that some people have called a conservative backlash, which could roughly be defined as saying that anything post-hard bop was not really jazz. Did that movement affect your time in the city?
RM: Well, you know, it's interesting because that time when I was in the city, that thinking was a little less severe in some ways, because I remember the record Black Codes from the Underground (Columbia, 1985) came out when I was in New York. And that album was really exciting because that band was exciting; they were young and they were doing original music, changing meters and all kinds of things. That music, to me, sounded like it was greatly influenced by Miles Davis' bands in the 1960s, and even Ornette's bands of the late 1950s a little bit, but particularly Miles Davis from The Complete Live at the Plugged Nickel (Columbia, 1965). And the guys were so young, and it seemed like maybe this could go somewhere, like maybe the music was going to go a different way. But things changed a little bit after that record; that band broke up, and the principals involved in that band, Wynton and his brother Branford, went separate ways for a little bit. Then it seemed like the historical elements of the music started to become more prevalent in jazz; things took a little turn, and the split became a bit more wide.
I felt that split at school, because I was getting just lambasted for being this avant-garde guy, not only by my director but by other people in the band. I remember going into class and people talking about saxophonist Albert Ayler and slamming their fists on the desks and just being really upset. So yes, it was important what was going on.
But Bob Mintzer was really good for me in a way, too, because when he felt like I was just resting, like playing through tunes and just squeaking and squawking because I hadn't learned the tune, he would call me on it. He'd say, "What you're doing is important, and you can't confuse this by just playing some garbage sometimes. If you want to play this way, then you gotta really play. And that also means you gotta take care of the other business too and be able to play over tunes and be able to play over changes, because what you're doing is important." And I was like, "OK."
But it was an interesting time in New York because, like I said, at that time it seemed like there was a possibility the music might hold together. But it soon fractured off, and that split got big.
Photo Credits
Page 1, Top: Monica Frisell
Page 1, Bottom: Susan Wasinger
Page 2: Courtesy of Monette.net
Page 3: Bob Doran
Page 4: Susan Gatschet-Reese
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
Manhattan School of Music
AAJ: So when you were at DU, you won a classical trumpet competition at the International Brass Clinic in Bloomington, Indiana, which paved the way for you to attend Manhattan School of Music from 1985-86. How did that come about?
RM: Actually, it's really weird: my trumpet teacher at DU, Joe Docksey, had a plant in his classroom, and he had a contest to guess what date his plant would touch the floor, and the winner got a subscription to the International Trumpet Guild Journal. I won the contest, so I got this journal, and one day I read that they had these competitions.
The year before I did the classical competition, I did the jazz one, which I didn't win. Jeff Beal, who wrote the music for the TV show Monk, he won that year. But trumpeter Brad Goode, who's here in town, he and I were both competing in the finals at that time. There were all these great brass players at the competition, and I remember hearing the Cleveland Symphony Orchestra brass section and all this great music. Trumpeter Woody Shaw was there, and the trumpet-maker Dave Monette was there, too; that was the very first time I met him. I remember he had his new trumpets that cost $1,500, and we said, "Wow, that's so expensive!" We were just all up in arms about it.
So the next year, I entered the classical competition. I recorded some music with my friend David Pearl , who's a pianist, and I played it for Mr. Docksey, and he was like, "Oh, I wished you'd played it for me earlier, because there's all these mistakes, and you're not going to be able to get in." I said, "Oh, I'll try." So I sent in that tape and a jazz tape, too. I got in with the classical tape, but I didn't get in with the jazz tape. When I went there, I asked them why, and they said that I didn't complete some part of the form or I didn't send in something, so they didn't consider me for the jazz competition. I said, "You guys could have just written me or called me!"
So anyway, I entered the classical competition, and I won. And that really made Manhattan School of Music seem like more of a possibility. Because you know how it is sometimes, being from here—before winning the contest, I don't know how I measured up against these people from New York, California, Texas and all these places. After the contest, I was like, "Wow, OK."
So when I won that contest, all the trumpet guys from the music schools were also at the competition, and I was approached by the New England Conservatory of Music and this place and that place. Manhattan gave me some money, so I ended up going there. When I showed up at Manhattan, they knew who I was because of the contest, in a way that they wouldn't have known otherwise.
I was a classical trumpet major at Manhattan, too. I played in the jazz band, but I studied with trumpeter Ray Mase from the American Brass Quintet, and I had private lessons, too. I was also in a group at school with the saxophonist Bob Mintzer, who was my combo teacher. He was really something, and he was also one of the people who encouraged me. I was starting to write at that point, and he said, "You know, you really have something special in your writing."
The jazz band director was not really very nice. He would yell at me every day, literally yell at me. I'm a pretty meek guy, and I was especially meek then—I was coming from Denver, living at the 34th Street YMCA, which was out—just, like, showing up in New York, living at the Y, and going to school. And he'd yell at me about this crazy Lester Bowie, Miles Davis trumpet stuff I was playing.
Then one day, the New York Times wrote a review of the jazz band and singled me out. Then everything changed; then I was the director's pet project. I remember that day being weird, too, because I couldn't find a New York Times! I didn't usually buy the paper because I didn't have any money, but that day I wanted to buy it because people kept saying, "You're in the New York Times!" I went around all day trying to buy one; I think I had a private lesson, and after my lesson I went by a bodega and finally they had a stack of New York Times, and I bought a half dozen of them and sent them home to my folks.
Then George Butler from Columbia Records called. You have to remember, in the mid-'80s people were getting signed to record deals, so it's like everything went wild for a little bit. But at the end of the year at Manhattan, I felt like the people I loved the most in New York hardly ever played there. I saw [pianist] Cecil Taylor play once; Lester Bowie played once; saxophonist Jane Ira Bloom played once, but that was about it.
But the great thing was that I took lessons from Jane Bloom and Lester Bowie while I was there. Jane Bloom was like my ultimate hero at that point—she still is; I love Jane Ira Bloom. And Lester Bowie was my main trumpet hero. They were both kind enough to give me lessons, and they both really encouraged me, like "Yeah, you're on the right path, you're doing OK." More than anything, that's what they were doing. I also got to see some of Jane's compositions and see how she notated things and got certain things happening, and I tried to put that in the back of my mind a little. And sitting next to Lester and hearing all his articulations, he sounded just like those records: "Man, that's Lester Bowie, he's right there! Just like breaking out! Wow!"
They both were so kind and generous. You know, they didn't even really charge me anything; they were just like, "No, you're doing alright. You're in there." I remember I said to myself then, "If I ever get a job or start making money, I'm not going to charge people for lessons anymore." And so once I got hired at Metro State College in Denver full time, I stopped charging people for private lessons. It's just part of the continuum, to keep the thing going. So Jane Bloom and Lester Bowie were both important to me.
AAJ: So did you just go to Manhattan for a year, thinking you might or might not stay?
RM: I went thinking I would finish, actually, but the jazz director was so harsh, and also there was the thing about my heroes not playing in New York that much and so many people getting signed. I thought, "I can go back to Colorado and put a band together and still keep this thing going." But it didn't work out quite like that; I went back to Colorado and played and got better, and I played in the brass quintet at CU and stuff. But then, although George Butler was in touch, Miles was on Columbia, and Wynton [Marsalis] got signed, all that kind of faded away. Labels would check me out, but nobody really stepped forward. So then it took a while to generate something, and I just started doing my own music with Distance for Safety.
Lessons with Ornette Coleman and Lee Konitz
AAJ: You also had a lesson with Ornette Coleman when you were in New York. Can you talk about that a bit, how that came about and what happened at the lesson?
RM: I'd come back to Colorado, and I think I was going out to New York occasionally to play with people. I can't remember why I was there that time—maybe to play with saxophonist John Gunther, even, who lives here in town. At that time, John was doing these records for producer Bob Rusch's label CIMP in upstate New York. Those were really wild sessions because when we did those records with Rusch, me and John were in New York, and we'd drive upstate, we'd stay in Rusch's house and record in the Spirit Room, we'd eat dinner and he'd tell us all these crazy stories, then we'd get in the car and drive all the way back. It was really crazy.
So I'm not sure just why I was in New York at that time, but Chris Rosenberg, who played guitar in Ornette's group Prime Time, he was also studying at Manhattan when I was there. I called Chris and asked him, "Is there any chance I can get a lesson with Ornette Coleman?" He said, "Oh, I think I can make that happen." He called and set it up, so I went to Ornette's place; his son, the drummer Denardo Coleman, opened the door, and that was great.
I walked in, and I was just incredibly nervous. Ornette was sitting there, and I was there with him for a couple hours. I remember he said he was going to charge me $50 an hour. Which was, you know, what an incredible price! I said, "I only have $50, so I can only stay an hour." And he was like, "Oh, don't worry about it. Actually, you don't really have to pay me." But I said, "I really want to pay you. I've gotta give you at least $50, please!" So he said he would take it.
I remember after I played for him a bit, the first thing he said was, "You can play really well, and I suspect that people tell you that you play well, but then they don't tell you anything. I'm acknowledging that you play well, and I'm still going to try and tell you something." So that was great.
But the big thing was that he did this thing—and I think he does it to lots of people—where he wrote a note on the staff in the first space and asked what note it was. I said, "It's an F."
He said, "Is it?"
I said, "I'm pretty sure it's an F."
Then he drew a different clef, and he said, "Is that an F?" Then he turned it upside down: "Is that an F?" Then he drew another clef, and he said, "What note is that?"
Finally I said, "I don't know."
He said, "Exactly. You don't know."
We went on from there; we talked about saxophonist Charlie Parker and how Charlie Parker wasn't able to hear Ornette's music, and Ornette said he felt like Charlie Parker would have gotten what he was doing, whereas other people didn't. But I kept coming back to that story about the F, and what I took from it was—and again, I don't know if this is what Ornette meant or not—but it was the sense that I had come through this system of education where they teach you these rules in the sense that you know exactly what's happening, you play this scale or this chord, you do this or that. But Ornette was saying that to really improvise, you can't know. Because nothing's happened yet; how can you know? How can you know what's going on? How can you know what you should play on that chord—nobody's played anything yet! So if you really want to be an improviser, you have to go in accepting the fact that you don't know.
That lesson really changed so much for me. Of course, when you hear Ornette, obviously he's a living embodiment of that, not to mention he just plays beautiful melodies.
I also took a lesson with the saxophonist Lee Konitz a little bit before Ornette. Lee's a little more gruff than Ornette Coleman, God bless him! I've played with Lee since then, but at that time when I asked him for a lesson, he said, "Only if it's absolutely necessary." And I said, "It's really, really necessary, Mr. Konitz."
So I went over for a lesson. At first I played some free music, and he said, "Stop, stop! Play a tune!" He seemed so frustrated with me! I played a tune, and then afterward he said, "Oh, you can play!" I said, "Yes." He said, "Let's just play." So we just played duets for two hours. After an hour, there was the same thing with the money; I said, "Mr. Konitz, I didn't ..." And he said, "Oh, no, no. Do you have someplace to go?" I said, "No." He said, "Well, just keep playing!"
So we played, and we eventually played "Cherokee." I'd worked out this stuff with "Cherokee," and we got to the bridge and I was going through my stuff! Like I'm going to impress Lee Konitz—so foolish! At the end he said, "You know, some of that sounded worked out to me. There's no real reason to do that. You should wait until you hear something and play that. And if you don't hear anything, just wait. You'll hear something eventually. But always try and play."
Then he talked about that thing we struggle with as improvisers: How much do we work out? Lee said that Charlie Parker actually had a lot of language worked out, but he was so masterful at putting it together that it was a whole other thing. But those of us who aren't Charlie Parker, maybe we can be spontaneous. And when I've played with Lee, he really is that spontaneous; he really tries to get in there and wait, he's so patient.
So those two lessons showed me a lot about how to approach this music in a real honest way, and to really be a part of the whole band, not just be the soloist in the front, but to be a part of everything.
The Conservative Movement in the '80s
AAJ: During the time you were in New York in the 1980s, there was a movement underway in jazz that some people have called a conservative backlash, which could roughly be defined as saying that anything post-hard bop was not really jazz. Did that movement affect your time in the city?
RM: Well, you know, it's interesting because that time when I was in the city, that thinking was a little less severe in some ways, because I remember the record Black Codes from the Underground (Columbia, 1985) came out when I was in New York. And that album was really exciting because that band was exciting; they were young and they were doing original music, changing meters and all kinds of things. That music, to me, sounded like it was greatly influenced by Miles Davis' bands in the 1960s, and even Ornette's bands of the late 1950s a little bit, but particularly Miles Davis from The Complete Live at the Plugged Nickel (Columbia, 1965). And the guys were so young, and it seemed like maybe this could go somewhere, like maybe the music was going to go a different way. But things changed a little bit after that record; that band broke up, and the principals involved in that band, Wynton and his brother Branford, went separate ways for a little bit. Then it seemed like the historical elements of the music started to become more prevalent in jazz; things took a little turn, and the split became a bit more wide.
I felt that split at school, because I was getting just lambasted for being this avant-garde guy, not only by my director but by other people in the band. I remember going into class and people talking about saxophonist Albert Ayler and slamming their fists on the desks and just being really upset. So yes, it was important what was going on.
But Bob Mintzer was really good for me in a way, too, because when he felt like I was just resting, like playing through tunes and just squeaking and squawking because I hadn't learned the tune, he would call me on it. He'd say, "What you're doing is important, and you can't confuse this by just playing some garbage sometimes. If you want to play this way, then you gotta really play. And that also means you gotta take care of the other business too and be able to play over tunes and be able to play over changes, because what you're doing is important." And I was like, "OK."
But it was an interesting time in New York because, like I said, at that time it seemed like there was a possibility the music might hold together. But it soon fractured off, and that split got big.
Photo Credits
Page 1, Top: Monica Frisell
Page 1, Bottom: Susan Wasinger
Page 2: Courtesy of Monette.net
Page 3: Bob Doran
Page 4: Susan Gatschet-Reese
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=102158899
Concerts
Ron Miles plays a one-of-a-kind, brushed gold Monette trumpet in G, not the conventional B-flat horn used by most players. He says the sound is a little deeper, and the pitch difference makes playing the horn more than a little challenging. But talk about grace and control: Ron Miles sings through his horn. In a concert at the Jazz Standard in New York City, Miles leads an all-star group featuring legendary guitarist Bill Frisell.
Miles prefers to be part of the band, rather than ride on top, and the current Wayne Shorter Quartet serves as his model. He says he wants to move the music around the group, to extend and vary the melody as long as possible.
Miles and guitarist Frisell are the heart of the unit, and though a decade apart, the two share another connection: Both attended Denver East High School. After Frisell started his great career, a young Ron Miles — who had just graduated from college — heard Frisell's music and fell in love. He sent a cassette to the guitarist with the message "I like your work, here's some of mine." Time passed and one day in his car, Frisell heard a standout trumpet player on the radio and recognized him from the cassette. Since the mid 1990s, the two have developed a close musical partnership, recording several albums together. You can hear the mutual respect on the bandstand: a careful dialogue of musical voices interacting through recurring modulations and sturdy rock grooves.
With Frisell playing his baby blue Telecaster, the audience listens intently, not afraid to be quiet. Reginald Veal, originally from Atlanta, borrowed a bass because traveling with one is difficult these days. Matt Wilson drove in from Long Island with his Craviatto drumset, including a beautiful brass-shelled snare. These beautiful custom instruments, designed by highly skilled and specialized craftsmen, add a delicate tone to the music, with their subtle timbres allowing the musicians a unique freedom of expression.
At the end of The Beatles' classic "Julia," Wilson's finger snaps are the last sound, then applause.
Credits: Thanks to Seth Abramson, Zak Szyszko, Martin Goodman and all at the Jazz Standard, JazzSet's home in New York City. Josh Webb and Yujin Cha assisted Technical Director and Surround Sound re-mixer Duke Markos. Our engineer in Las Vegas is Ginger Bruner of KUNV.
Jazz Standard's Web site
https://www.westword.com/music/denver-bred-ron-miles-and-bill-frisell-are-among-the-greatest-collaborators-in-jazz-6044387
Ron Miles: Singing Through The Horn
Set List:
Unconditional (Miles)
Criss Cross (Thelonious Monk)
Glass Jaw (Miles)
Marionetta / Julia (Lennon / McCartney)
Bruised (Mile)
Criss Cross (Thelonious Monk)
Glass Jaw (Miles)
Marionetta / Julia (Lennon / McCartney)
Bruised (Mile)
Listen Now: Ron Miles in Concert
AUDIO: <iframe src="https://www.npr.org/player/embed/102158899/102162178" width="100%" height="290" frameborder="0" scrolling="no" title="NPR embedded audio player"></iframe>
Personnel
Ron Miles, trumpet
Bill Frisell, guitar
Reginald Veal, bass
Matt Wilson, drums
Bill Frisell, guitar
Reginald Veal, bass
Matt Wilson, drums
Early in his career, trumpeter Ron Miles sent a cassette
tape to Bill Frisell, hoping for an invitation to play with the
legendary guitarist. Zak Szyszko
Ron Miles plays a one-of-a-kind, brushed gold Monette trumpet in G, not the conventional B-flat horn used by most players. He says the sound is a little deeper, and the pitch difference makes playing the horn more than a little challenging. But talk about grace and control: Ron Miles sings through his horn. In a concert at the Jazz Standard in New York City, Miles leads an all-star group featuring legendary guitarist Bill Frisell.
Miles prefers to be part of the band, rather than ride on top, and the current Wayne Shorter Quartet serves as his model. He says he wants to move the music around the group, to extend and vary the melody as long as possible.
Miles and guitarist Frisell are the heart of the unit, and though a decade apart, the two share another connection: Both attended Denver East High School. After Frisell started his great career, a young Ron Miles — who had just graduated from college — heard Frisell's music and fell in love. He sent a cassette to the guitarist with the message "I like your work, here's some of mine." Time passed and one day in his car, Frisell heard a standout trumpet player on the radio and recognized him from the cassette. Since the mid 1990s, the two have developed a close musical partnership, recording several albums together. You can hear the mutual respect on the bandstand: a careful dialogue of musical voices interacting through recurring modulations and sturdy rock grooves.
With Frisell playing his baby blue Telecaster, the audience listens intently, not afraid to be quiet. Reginald Veal, originally from Atlanta, borrowed a bass because traveling with one is difficult these days. Matt Wilson drove in from Long Island with his Craviatto drumset, including a beautiful brass-shelled snare. These beautiful custom instruments, designed by highly skilled and specialized craftsmen, add a delicate tone to the music, with their subtle timbres allowing the musicians a unique freedom of expression.
At the end of The Beatles' classic "Julia," Wilson's finger snaps are the last sound, then applause.
Credits: Thanks to Seth Abramson, Zak Szyszko, Martin Goodman and all at the Jazz Standard, JazzSet's home in New York City. Josh Webb and Yujin Cha assisted Technical Director and Surround Sound re-mixer Duke Markos. Our engineer in Las Vegas is Ginger Bruner of KUNV.
Web Resources
Bill Frisell's Web site
Jazz Standard's Web site
https://www.westword.com/music/denver-bred-ron-miles-and-bill-frisell-are-among-the-greatest-collaborators-in-jazz-6044387
Denver-Bred Ron Miles and Bill Frisell Are Among the Greatest Collaborators in Jazz
October 8, 2014
Westword
Bill Frisell, Ron Miles and Brian Blade
Michael McGrate
Two of the best jazz musicians Denver has
ever produced, cornetist Ron Miles and guitarist Bill Frisell, are
sitting across from each other at a table in the back corner of Dazzle
Restaurant and Lounge's showroom in mid-September. Last night, they both
played here with guitarist Dale Bruning, Frisell's mentor and former
teacher, and they'll play another two sets tonight.
When Frisell speaks about the decades he's known Miles, he chooses his words thoughtfully, sometimes trailing off before starting again. He tells the story of a cassette tape he got from Miles, delivered by their mutual friend, producer Hans Wendl. Along with his music, Miles included a note asking if Frisell wanted to record with him. The guitarist couldn't make the time then, but he wrote Miles a postcard (which Miles has since had framed) expressing admiration for his horn playing.
When Frisell speaks about the decades he's known Miles, he chooses his words thoughtfully, sometimes trailing off before starting again. He tells the story of a cassette tape he got from Miles, delivered by their mutual friend, producer Hans Wendl. Along with his music, Miles included a note asking if Frisell wanted to record with him. The guitarist couldn't make the time then, but he wrote Miles a postcard (which Miles has since had framed) expressing admiration for his horn playing.
That sound, that unmistakable Ron Miles sound, is rich, full-bodied
and lyrical. Frisell remembers exactly where he was the next time he
heard it. He was driving up a hill in Seattle when a Duke Ellington song
played by Boulder-based saxophonist Fred Hess came on the radio. A
trumpet solo cut in, and Frisell knew immediately who it was.
When he got home, he found the tape with a phone number on it. Frisell called Miles and they talked for a long time. They learned that they both knew Dale Bruning and that they both went to East High School.
"Just from that conversation I knew we had to play together," Frisell says.
On October 8, 1994, Frisell and Miles played their first show together at the Ogden Theatre with Dale Bruning, bassist Artie Moore and drummer Rudy Royston. That show was the start of a two-decade-long musical kinship that extends to both artists' recordings. The younger Miles saw his time in a few of Frisell's bands in the mid-'90s (starting with the Quartet project, which also featured violinist Eyvind Kang and trombonist Curtis Fowlkes) as something of an apprenticeship -- something that was never part of his formal music studies at the University of Denver and the Manhattan School of Music.
"When I came up in the '80s, it was almost like you didn't have to apprentice anymore," says Miles. "It was like you were supposed to get a record contract at twenty, get your own band and go out there and do that. It got a little lost.
"There's a reason you apprentice with somebody. You see them put sets together. You seem them weeks on end, playing songs and dealing with stuff. You can't learn it in school, you can't read about it in a book, you have to go out there and do it. So, my time to do that was being in his band."
Miles says he's learned lots of specific things from Frisell about the logistics of writing and performing music. But, he says, "more than anything, it's just about how to be a musician and be authentic and have integrity." He turns to Frisell. "You know, how you treat people on the road and all that stuff. Lots of stuff."
Now, Miles is the one serving as a mentor for young players -- he's been a teacher at Metro State University since 1998 and is the coordinator of jazz studies there. According to Frisell, that's always been a role he was suited for. "I never thought of you as an apprentice," says Frisell with a laugh. "No, he's been my teacher the whole way. And I still want to stop all this rigmarole and just sign up for his jazz history class.... He always felt like a master to me."
Most people would consider both players masters. They've played with plenty of others who fit that description at Dazzle, including drummer Brian Blade. The three players have symbiotic styles: They are each somewhat understated, minimalist and Zen-like, but together, they are capable of delivering fierce musical climaxes.
"I believe we share similar sensibilities for life itself," Blade says via e-mail. "The music is part of that life mission. Sharing with each other and finding joy in that process of rendering and submitting to the moment gives me, and hopefully the listener, fulfillment that is a gift from God."
The three first recorded together on The Sweetest Punch (a jazz-centric companion album to Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach's Painted From Memory) in 1999. It wasn't until Miles's 2012 album Quiver (which includes two live songs recorded at Dazzle) that they would record again.
They returned to the venue for two nights last October to work on Miles's new album, Circuit Rider, which comes out October 14 on the German-based jazz imprint Enja. After the shows, the group cut the album in two days with local engineer Colin Bricker at his Mighty Fine Productions studio.
The album's title refers to the groups of traveling clergy who rode across America's frontier on horseback 250 years ago delivering the gospel. Miles encountered the circuit riders in an Elliott Smith song, "Coast to Coast," which includes the line, "There's a circuit rider that comes every fifth Sunday."
Miles sees musicians as the circuit riders of today. "Folks kind of come through -- like Bill's here now.... Somebody else will be through in a few weeks. And it filters around, and it really contributes so much [when] musicians come through and drop their thing on the scene for a second. It's very inspiring."
The record features a couple of covers, including a pair of Charles Mingus songs, "Reincarnation of a Love Bird" and "Jive Five, Floor Four" along with Jimmy Giuffre's "Two Kinds of Blues." But Miles also wrote five original tunes for it. They're steeped in American folk traditions, gospel and jazz, and he wrote them with Frisell and Blade in mind.
"The thing is, they're both great players of song, and so my job really is just to write some memorable songs and let them go," says Miles. "I really didn't go in and write too many ideas about how they would play the groove...but in a general sense I just try to provide really, really good songs, because I know they're brilliant songwriters."
When the time came to record at Mighty Fine Productions, the three musicians played facing each other. "You're just listening, and if you can't hear somebody, you just play softer," Miles says. "You're right there, really connected."
On Circuit Rider, it's clear that these three musicians are connected. There's a certain ego-less, humble sensitivity about the disc, but there are also dynamics. For this group, it's about more than just playing notes on a page. Frisell says that Miles is "always coming from inside the music," and that could easily be said about Blade and Frisell himself as well. In fact, it's a skill Miles said he picked up from Frisell. "He's shown us so much of what the possibilities are, of not only a composition but of really being inside the music," says Miles.
For Miles, that idea is partly about being secure in time and harmony, but "it's also about having a really great imagination," he adds. "And I think that those two guys have just marvelous imagination. I think one thing that they do is they not only hear what they're doing, but they hear what you're doing, what you're about to do or what you might want to do. It's all part of that, which makes it why everybody wants to play with them all the time."
Blade thinks that Miles's and Frisell's music speaks to exactly who they are, "their imagination and humor and contemplation. I know that knowing more about certain artists of any form can sully the art itself if there is some contradiction, but that is not the case with Ron and Bill. The more I know them, the more I admire them and hold them in high regard as human beings. They embody the beautiful sound of the music."
The depth of Frisell and Miles's musical kinship can be heard on the new album, and the two Denver-bred artists will surely share both the stage and the studio again.
"He has such an effect on everybody in the band," says Frisell of Miles. "I've played with the same people, the same song when he's there and when he's not there, and there's an incredible power, like a rhythmic clarity power, in everything that he plays. It sort of just brings everything into focus.... I'm talking about one of those things that gets almost beyond. You can't really analyze it. He puts a spell on things."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Jon Solomon writes about music and nightlife for Westword, where he's been the Clubs Editor since 2006.
https://www.popmatters.com/ron-miles-i-am-a-man-2509781340.html
Ron Miles has been a brass player on the scene for about 30 years. His primary association is with the versatile jazz guitarist Bill Frisell, in whose bands Miles has been a real voice — not just the trumpet player (or, more often these days, cornetist) but someone who carefully sings the songs, if instrumentally. He has also appeared on recordings by Frisell-linked musicians such as violinist Jenny Scheinman and keyboard wiz Wayne Horvitz, always bringing that sensibility: a tart, vocal lyricism.
Ron Miles
I Am a Man
(Yellow Bird)
Release Date: 22 November 2017
In his music, Miles has developed a singing quality as well, one that
seems always balanced by a sense of architecture. In my imagination,
this has something to do with geography; though he was born in
Indianapolis and spent a year, post-graduate, at the Manhattan School of
Music, Miles has lived in Denver, Colorado for over 40 years. His
playing has both the lyricism and majesty of the mountains that surround
his home — there is a gorgeous architecture and weight to this music.
(Please read Michelle Mercer's excellent lines notes for I Am a Man, which also reflect this theme.)
I Am a Man is a beautiful, complex, mature work of art that achieves this balance with a natural-sounding care. On the one hand, Miles's compositions are clean and songful: pleasing and cogent with a whistle-able appeal. On the other hand, he has set up harmonies, arrangements, and improvisational environments that encourage the assembled band to converse, explore, and discover.
The band is a knock-out, though they play with care and sympathy. Frisell is on guitar, his usual Telecaster set-up, but usually played with relatively few effects, in addition to acoustic bassist Thomas Morgan, drummer Brian Blade, and pianist Jason Moran. It is Moran who may surprise you, as his style and history are least closely linked to Miles and his recording history. But he fits into the band with careful (but not too careful) ease.
"Darken My Door" starts as a feature for Moran, setting him into a moody ballad space, no set tempo, as Morgan and Blade color around his statement of a dark Ron Miles melody. Moran moves through the tune and its harmonies like he wrote them, delivering a sumptuous four-minute statement that travels several moods, from fragmented to grand to the groove that invites Frisell and Miles in: a rolling alternation between measures of four and three that sounds as natural as ocean waves. The melody hypnotizes, Frisell's solo comes through like light glinting around a set of mirrors, and then the composition returns to a solo by the leader that is built around a much busier set of licks and lines — which solo eventually moves into nearly-free abstraction, all while staying beautifully melodic. By its conclusion, this performance seems to have taken your ears through several new and wonderful lands.
Much of the music on I Am a Man could be said to exist in an ideally central place, with ECM-style introspective jazz on one side, classic post-bop on another, and the new jazz, with its shifting time signatures and complex structures on yet another. "Revolutionary Congregation" pairs cornet and guitar in unison for a graceful melody over a chiming accompaniment, and Miles's improvisation begins as a fluid statement over that sliding, pleasant feel. But, a couple of minutes in, the rhythmic flow slows and breaks down. Exercising much more freedom, harmonically and tonally, Miles begins to improvise across an expressionist landscape — the guitar distorting, the rhythm turned to a gentle chaos, but all the musicians attentive to every detail, ultimately tailing it back to the very consonant theme. Ron Miles won't be pigeonholed here, even if all this music is clearly the creation one person and his sensibility.
Frisell fans will love "Mother Juggler", which begins with a richly reverb-ed lead by the guitarist over a stately triple-meter. Miles and Frisell sound beautiful playing in octaves once the whole band kicks in, followed by a bridge in slow counterpoint, with bass, guitar, piano, and cornet coming together, veering apart, then allowing the leader to create a new melody on this tender soundscape, followed by Moran briefly. "Is There Room in Your Heart for a Man Like Me?" also takes advantage of Frisell, who opens things on a hip two-note figure over which Morgan solos. This pulse is handed over to Moran, if altered, as muted cornet and guitar play a unison melody. The whole shimmering performance, however, is animated by that shaking groove, with Blade goading on each player with his stuttering instigation to push forward, to rise. And then the last three minutes lift off even higher: a new groove, Frisell in overdrive, the whole band improvising collectively. It's my favorite moment on the record.
There is much else to love, however. "The Gift That Keeps on Giving" swings lightly, providing the session its most straight-ahead moment — Moran, in particular, sounding keenly like a veteran who has fully assimilated all of jazz piano from Monk to Andrew Hill and beyond. The title track "I Am a Man" has a hip, crooked walk of a tune, a funky saunter that is playful even as it inserts a melodic line that surges with a melancholy feeling.
What Ron Miles so well throughout this recording is exemplified by the title tune's sweet and sour combination. When the band is grooving on that funky figure, you'd be satisfied with just that — it's enough to carry a whole performance with a band this good. But Miles is a composer who is working on several levels at once — imagine those mountains in your mind. You climb, you reach a lovely spot with a great view, a picturesque lake sitting in a grove, but then there is another trail taking you up higher. This hiker on his journey — Moran's fluid fingers on keys, Blade who does so much without calling attention to himself, Morgan always finding great notes, Frisell as a master of mood, and of course the cornet itself from the composer — move easily up, into the thinner atmosphere.
Ron Miles is a reminder that not all the music is about or around New York City or a city at all. This creative, improvised music comes from all over the U.S. and has traveled easily across the world. I Am a Man is titled for a cry by 1968 black sanitation workers in Memphis protesting mistreatment by management. The roots of the music — and of Ron Miles — come from a specific culture and place, from historical circumstances that we ought never forget. But the sensibility of this music is also expansive — it takes you up and around, it feels bigger than one place even though it necessary has its feet on the ground.
https://jazztimes.com/reviews/albums/ron-miles-quiver/
In a joint interview with writer Ted Panken four years ago, trumpeter Ron Miles and guitarist Bill Frisell-who’ve collaborated often over a nearly two-decade span-were asked what aesthetic principles they shared. Miles responded, “You try to keep the integrity of the song going as long as you can. Sometimes you step out and sometimes you step back, but you’re always present with everybody on the bandstand.” That common approach holds true on Quiver, where the two are joined only by drummer Brian Blade, who, it would appear from the results, concurs wholeheartedly. The bond is unmistakable and asserted in every track.
If the absence of a bassist suggests a rhythmic and melodic hole, it simply doesn’t exist: Frisell, taking to his lower strings, and Blade, working his bass drum and toms, have that covered. (Frisell had decades of practice in perhaps the best bass-less group in jazz history, Paul Motian’s trio featuring the guitarist and Joe Lovano.) Quiver remains robust and engaging even while the players demonstrate a mutual understanding of the value of breathing room, and if it seems that a trumpet-guitar-drums trio might need to work extra hard to generate sparks, that just happens naturally. And it happens without grandstanding. No one is striving for complexity. Miles’ and Frisell’s lines are largely fluid and relatively linear, if rarely anticipated; Blade is limber-limbed but precise. Quiver is a classic confluence of like minds.
All but three of the nine tracks are Miles compositions, one of which, “Just Married,” led off 2002’s Miles-Frisell duets album, Heaven. Here its Americana root is given extra wattage, making stops in Memphis and New Orleans. Miles’ trumpet breathes bravado and warmth on tracks such as “Mr. Kevin” and the Monk-like “Rudy-Go-Round,” but some of the most daring turns are reserved for the three standards, particularly the ’20s blues “There Ain’t No Sweet Man Worth the Salt of My Tears.” Unfussy and unadorned, its near 11 minutes are also packed with grit and sweat, that aforementioned integrity front and center throughout.
https://www.denverpost.com/2011/03/05/jazz-the-many-styles-of-ron-miles/
Denver’s Ron Miles and his trumpet are covering quite a few stylistic bases lately.
That is he, navigating the sophisticated charts in the horn section of saxophonist Fred Hess’ winning new big-band CD, “Into the Open.” Meanwhile, he’s making freak funk like Miles Davis circa 1975, on the upcoming “Ascension” CD from the exploratory group that goes by the name Harriet Tubman. On the surface, the music on the two discs dance on the opposite ends of the spectrum of jazz. They’re equally inspired and driven, though, and those results come from the commitment of artists like Miles, who helps elevate everything with which he’s involved.
“I feel really fortunate that people seek me out to play,” says Miles, who performs with his trio tonight at Dazzle. With like-minded eclectics Gary Versace on piano and accordion, and drummer Rudy Royston, the results should be unpredictable — which is Miles’ goal when heading into a collaboration.
“I’m hoping it’s going to sound very different every time: rambunctious one night and not as much the next. I think that there’s going to be a good deal of free playing. I’ve been into trios and small groups quite a bit lately. A lot can be implied and accomplished.”
Miles has been balancing his singular, lonesome-sounding trumpet recordings and performances with his career as an educator at Denver’s Metropolitan State College, where he’s the coordinator of the jazz-studies program. It’s no surprise that his approach to jazz education is as open as his playing.
“One of the things we’re thinking about is a jazz major, which would explore the American improvisational tradition beyond jazz. Bluegrass, free music, pop music,” he says. “It’s more efficient to start from a place that people know.”
There’s no doubt that Miles’ more progressive attitude toward music education is the result of growing up in Colorado, where the like-minded guitarist Bill Frisell (a frequent collaborator) also absorbed everything from folk to funk and has fashioned his own living sound that is evocative of the open spaces that surrounded him as a child.
Miles could likely go the Frisell route and seek his fortune in New York, but he enjoys what he gets out of his life in Denver too much to walk away.
“I think that if I lived in New York I could just play. I could do that here, but I’d have to play music that I wouldn’t be all that comfortable with. And this is a great place to raise a family. I love the students at Metro. And one of the things about the Colorado music scene is that there are people who work together to make things stand out.”
Ron Miles-Gary Versace- Rudy Royston Trio, 6 p.m. and 8 p.m. today at Dazzle, 930 Lincoln St. Tickets are $25. Call 303-839-5100.
Set list
Bassists Stanley Clarke and Victor Wooten bring their bands to the Boulder Theater on Saturday. . . . Dazzle celebrates “Women in Jazz Week” March 13-20 with the Colorado group Jasmine, violinist Regina Carter and pianist Lynne Arriale. Find out more at dazzlejazz.com. . . . Trumpeter John Davis and the CU Jazz Faculty perform music from Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue” album at CU’s Grusin Music Hall on March 15. . . . Keyboardist Lao Tizer brings his group to the Soiled Dove on March 18. . . . Bassist Christian McBride and his band Inside Straight play Beaver Creek’s Vilar Performing Arts Center on March 23.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
https://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/denver-cornetist-ron-miles-is-a-fervent-student-of-jazz-but-his-music-spills-outside-of-any-defined-tradition/Content?oid=41313463
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2017/oct/26/ron-miles-i-am-a-man-review-enja-yellowbird
Cornetist
and trumpeter Ron Miles connects African American blues and gospel
roots to the tangled branches of contemporary genre-bending jazz with
rare perceptiveness. On this set of originals, named after a civil rights-era proclamation, Miles draws regular collaborator Bill Frisell,
pianist Jason Moran, bassist Thomas Morgan and drummer Brian Blade into
seven cool thematic and improv conversations. Enhanced by Miles giving
his partners the whole score, not just their own parts, these are breezy
early-swing figures mixed with modern time-stretches, and graceful
sways like 60s Miles Davis, tugged at by free jazz, deep-toned dirges.
The brittle and then soaring title track establishes the group’s collective alertness, while Darken My Door segues between quiet piano lyricism, romantic turbulence and country grooves. Revolutionary Congregation mixes tenderness and raw multiphonic brass effects. Mother Juggler is a beautiful lament, and Is There Room in Your Heart for a Man Like Me is a rolling ensemble feature that keeps its narrative shape. It is often an understated session, but it exerts a powerful grip.
Ron Miles (born May 9, 1963) is an American jazz trumpeter, cornetist, and composer. He has recorded for the labels Prolific (1986), Capri (1990), and Gramavision.[1]
Yanow, Scott. "Ron Miles – Music Biography, Credits and Discography". AllMusic. Retrieved 2013-02-28.
Bret Saunders (September 14, 2010). "Jazz: The many styles of Ron Miles". The Denver Post. Archived from the original on 2011-03-09.
When he got home, he found the tape with a phone number on it. Frisell called Miles and they talked for a long time. They learned that they both knew Dale Bruning and that they both went to East High School.
"Just from that conversation I knew we had to play together," Frisell says.
On October 8, 1994, Frisell and Miles played their first show together at the Ogden Theatre with Dale Bruning, bassist Artie Moore and drummer Rudy Royston. That show was the start of a two-decade-long musical kinship that extends to both artists' recordings. The younger Miles saw his time in a few of Frisell's bands in the mid-'90s (starting with the Quartet project, which also featured violinist Eyvind Kang and trombonist Curtis Fowlkes) as something of an apprenticeship -- something that was never part of his formal music studies at the University of Denver and the Manhattan School of Music.
"When I came up in the '80s, it was almost like you didn't have to apprentice anymore," says Miles. "It was like you were supposed to get a record contract at twenty, get your own band and go out there and do that. It got a little lost.
"There's a reason you apprentice with somebody. You see them put sets together. You seem them weeks on end, playing songs and dealing with stuff. You can't learn it in school, you can't read about it in a book, you have to go out there and do it. So, my time to do that was being in his band."
Miles says he's learned lots of specific things from Frisell about the logistics of writing and performing music. But, he says, "more than anything, it's just about how to be a musician and be authentic and have integrity." He turns to Frisell. "You know, how you treat people on the road and all that stuff. Lots of stuff."
Now, Miles is the one serving as a mentor for young players -- he's been a teacher at Metro State University since 1998 and is the coordinator of jazz studies there. According to Frisell, that's always been a role he was suited for. "I never thought of you as an apprentice," says Frisell with a laugh. "No, he's been my teacher the whole way. And I still want to stop all this rigmarole and just sign up for his jazz history class.... He always felt like a master to me."
Most people would consider both players masters. They've played with plenty of others who fit that description at Dazzle, including drummer Brian Blade. The three players have symbiotic styles: They are each somewhat understated, minimalist and Zen-like, but together, they are capable of delivering fierce musical climaxes.
"I believe we share similar sensibilities for life itself," Blade says via e-mail. "The music is part of that life mission. Sharing with each other and finding joy in that process of rendering and submitting to the moment gives me, and hopefully the listener, fulfillment that is a gift from God."
The three first recorded together on The Sweetest Punch (a jazz-centric companion album to Elvis Costello and Burt Bacharach's Painted From Memory) in 1999. It wasn't until Miles's 2012 album Quiver (which includes two live songs recorded at Dazzle) that they would record again.
They returned to the venue for two nights last October to work on Miles's new album, Circuit Rider, which comes out October 14 on the German-based jazz imprint Enja. After the shows, the group cut the album in two days with local engineer Colin Bricker at his Mighty Fine Productions studio.
The album's title refers to the groups of traveling clergy who rode across America's frontier on horseback 250 years ago delivering the gospel. Miles encountered the circuit riders in an Elliott Smith song, "Coast to Coast," which includes the line, "There's a circuit rider that comes every fifth Sunday."
Miles sees musicians as the circuit riders of today. "Folks kind of come through -- like Bill's here now.... Somebody else will be through in a few weeks. And it filters around, and it really contributes so much [when] musicians come through and drop their thing on the scene for a second. It's very inspiring."
The record features a couple of covers, including a pair of Charles Mingus songs, "Reincarnation of a Love Bird" and "Jive Five, Floor Four" along with Jimmy Giuffre's "Two Kinds of Blues." But Miles also wrote five original tunes for it. They're steeped in American folk traditions, gospel and jazz, and he wrote them with Frisell and Blade in mind.
"The thing is, they're both great players of song, and so my job really is just to write some memorable songs and let them go," says Miles. "I really didn't go in and write too many ideas about how they would play the groove...but in a general sense I just try to provide really, really good songs, because I know they're brilliant songwriters."
When the time came to record at Mighty Fine Productions, the three musicians played facing each other. "You're just listening, and if you can't hear somebody, you just play softer," Miles says. "You're right there, really connected."
On Circuit Rider, it's clear that these three musicians are connected. There's a certain ego-less, humble sensitivity about the disc, but there are also dynamics. For this group, it's about more than just playing notes on a page. Frisell says that Miles is "always coming from inside the music," and that could easily be said about Blade and Frisell himself as well. In fact, it's a skill Miles said he picked up from Frisell. "He's shown us so much of what the possibilities are, of not only a composition but of really being inside the music," says Miles.
For Miles, that idea is partly about being secure in time and harmony, but "it's also about having a really great imagination," he adds. "And I think that those two guys have just marvelous imagination. I think one thing that they do is they not only hear what they're doing, but they hear what you're doing, what you're about to do or what you might want to do. It's all part of that, which makes it why everybody wants to play with them all the time."
Blade thinks that Miles's and Frisell's music speaks to exactly who they are, "their imagination and humor and contemplation. I know that knowing more about certain artists of any form can sully the art itself if there is some contradiction, but that is not the case with Ron and Bill. The more I know them, the more I admire them and hold them in high regard as human beings. They embody the beautiful sound of the music."
The depth of Frisell and Miles's musical kinship can be heard on the new album, and the two Denver-bred artists will surely share both the stage and the studio again.
"He has such an effect on everybody in the band," says Frisell of Miles. "I've played with the same people, the same song when he's there and when he's not there, and there's an incredible power, like a rhythmic clarity power, in everything that he plays. It sort of just brings everything into focus.... I'm talking about one of those things that gets almost beyond. You can't really analyze it. He puts a spell on things."
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Jon Solomon writes about music and nightlife for Westword, where he's been the Clubs Editor since 2006.
https://www.popmatters.com/ron-miles-i-am-a-man-2509781340.html
Ron Miles has been a brass player on the scene for about 30 years. His primary association is with the versatile jazz guitarist Bill Frisell, in whose bands Miles has been a real voice — not just the trumpet player (or, more often these days, cornetist) but someone who carefully sings the songs, if instrumentally. He has also appeared on recordings by Frisell-linked musicians such as violinist Jenny Scheinman and keyboard wiz Wayne Horvitz, always bringing that sensibility: a tart, vocal lyricism.
Ron Miles
I Am a Man
(Yellow Bird)
Release Date: 22 November 2017
I Am a Man is a beautiful, complex, mature work of art that achieves this balance with a natural-sounding care. On the one hand, Miles's compositions are clean and songful: pleasing and cogent with a whistle-able appeal. On the other hand, he has set up harmonies, arrangements, and improvisational environments that encourage the assembled band to converse, explore, and discover.
The band is a knock-out, though they play with care and sympathy. Frisell is on guitar, his usual Telecaster set-up, but usually played with relatively few effects, in addition to acoustic bassist Thomas Morgan, drummer Brian Blade, and pianist Jason Moran. It is Moran who may surprise you, as his style and history are least closely linked to Miles and his recording history. But he fits into the band with careful (but not too careful) ease.
"Darken My Door" starts as a feature for Moran, setting him into a moody ballad space, no set tempo, as Morgan and Blade color around his statement of a dark Ron Miles melody. Moran moves through the tune and its harmonies like he wrote them, delivering a sumptuous four-minute statement that travels several moods, from fragmented to grand to the groove that invites Frisell and Miles in: a rolling alternation between measures of four and three that sounds as natural as ocean waves. The melody hypnotizes, Frisell's solo comes through like light glinting around a set of mirrors, and then the composition returns to a solo by the leader that is built around a much busier set of licks and lines — which solo eventually moves into nearly-free abstraction, all while staying beautifully melodic. By its conclusion, this performance seems to have taken your ears through several new and wonderful lands.
Much of the music on I Am a Man could be said to exist in an ideally central place, with ECM-style introspective jazz on one side, classic post-bop on another, and the new jazz, with its shifting time signatures and complex structures on yet another. "Revolutionary Congregation" pairs cornet and guitar in unison for a graceful melody over a chiming accompaniment, and Miles's improvisation begins as a fluid statement over that sliding, pleasant feel. But, a couple of minutes in, the rhythmic flow slows and breaks down. Exercising much more freedom, harmonically and tonally, Miles begins to improvise across an expressionist landscape — the guitar distorting, the rhythm turned to a gentle chaos, but all the musicians attentive to every detail, ultimately tailing it back to the very consonant theme. Ron Miles won't be pigeonholed here, even if all this music is clearly the creation one person and his sensibility.
Frisell fans will love "Mother Juggler", which begins with a richly reverb-ed lead by the guitarist over a stately triple-meter. Miles and Frisell sound beautiful playing in octaves once the whole band kicks in, followed by a bridge in slow counterpoint, with bass, guitar, piano, and cornet coming together, veering apart, then allowing the leader to create a new melody on this tender soundscape, followed by Moran briefly. "Is There Room in Your Heart for a Man Like Me?" also takes advantage of Frisell, who opens things on a hip two-note figure over which Morgan solos. This pulse is handed over to Moran, if altered, as muted cornet and guitar play a unison melody. The whole shimmering performance, however, is animated by that shaking groove, with Blade goading on each player with his stuttering instigation to push forward, to rise. And then the last three minutes lift off even higher: a new groove, Frisell in overdrive, the whole band improvising collectively. It's my favorite moment on the record.
There is much else to love, however. "The Gift That Keeps on Giving" swings lightly, providing the session its most straight-ahead moment — Moran, in particular, sounding keenly like a veteran who has fully assimilated all of jazz piano from Monk to Andrew Hill and beyond. The title track "I Am a Man" has a hip, crooked walk of a tune, a funky saunter that is playful even as it inserts a melodic line that surges with a melancholy feeling.
What Ron Miles so well throughout this recording is exemplified by the title tune's sweet and sour combination. When the band is grooving on that funky figure, you'd be satisfied with just that — it's enough to carry a whole performance with a band this good. But Miles is a composer who is working on several levels at once — imagine those mountains in your mind. You climb, you reach a lovely spot with a great view, a picturesque lake sitting in a grove, but then there is another trail taking you up higher. This hiker on his journey — Moran's fluid fingers on keys, Blade who does so much without calling attention to himself, Morgan always finding great notes, Frisell as a master of mood, and of course the cornet itself from the composer — move easily up, into the thinner atmosphere.
Ron Miles is a reminder that not all the music is about or around New York City or a city at all. This creative, improvised music comes from all over the U.S. and has traveled easily across the world. I Am a Man is titled for a cry by 1968 black sanitation workers in Memphis protesting mistreatment by management. The roots of the music — and of Ron Miles — come from a specific culture and place, from historical circumstances that we ought never forget. But the sensibility of this music is also expansive — it takes you up and around, it feels bigger than one place even though it necessary has its feet on the ground.
https://jazztimes.com/reviews/albums/ron-miles-quiver/
Ron Miles: Quiver
JazzTimes
In a joint interview with writer Ted Panken four years ago, trumpeter Ron Miles and guitarist Bill Frisell-who’ve collaborated often over a nearly two-decade span-were asked what aesthetic principles they shared. Miles responded, “You try to keep the integrity of the song going as long as you can. Sometimes you step out and sometimes you step back, but you’re always present with everybody on the bandstand.” That common approach holds true on Quiver, where the two are joined only by drummer Brian Blade, who, it would appear from the results, concurs wholeheartedly. The bond is unmistakable and asserted in every track.
If the absence of a bassist suggests a rhythmic and melodic hole, it simply doesn’t exist: Frisell, taking to his lower strings, and Blade, working his bass drum and toms, have that covered. (Frisell had decades of practice in perhaps the best bass-less group in jazz history, Paul Motian’s trio featuring the guitarist and Joe Lovano.) Quiver remains robust and engaging even while the players demonstrate a mutual understanding of the value of breathing room, and if it seems that a trumpet-guitar-drums trio might need to work extra hard to generate sparks, that just happens naturally. And it happens without grandstanding. No one is striving for complexity. Miles’ and Frisell’s lines are largely fluid and relatively linear, if rarely anticipated; Blade is limber-limbed but precise. Quiver is a classic confluence of like minds.
All but three of the nine tracks are Miles compositions, one of which, “Just Married,” led off 2002’s Miles-Frisell duets album, Heaven. Here its Americana root is given extra wattage, making stops in Memphis and New Orleans. Miles’ trumpet breathes bravado and warmth on tracks such as “Mr. Kevin” and the Monk-like “Rudy-Go-Round,” but some of the most daring turns are reserved for the three standards, particularly the ’20s blues “There Ain’t No Sweet Man Worth the Salt of My Tears.” Unfussy and unadorned, its near 11 minutes are also packed with grit and sweat, that aforementioned integrity front and center throughout.
https://www.denverpost.com/2011/03/05/jazz-the-many-styles-of-ron-miles/
Jazz: The many styles of Ron Miles
I feel really fortunate that people seek me out to play,” says Ron Miles, who performs tonight at Dazzle.
March 5, 2011
Denver’s Ron Miles and his trumpet are covering quite a few stylistic bases lately.
That is he, navigating the sophisticated charts in the horn section of saxophonist Fred Hess’ winning new big-band CD, “Into the Open.” Meanwhile, he’s making freak funk like Miles Davis circa 1975, on the upcoming “Ascension” CD from the exploratory group that goes by the name Harriet Tubman. On the surface, the music on the two discs dance on the opposite ends of the spectrum of jazz. They’re equally inspired and driven, though, and those results come from the commitment of artists like Miles, who helps elevate everything with which he’s involved.
“I feel really fortunate that people seek me out to play,” says Miles, who performs with his trio tonight at Dazzle. With like-minded eclectics Gary Versace on piano and accordion, and drummer Rudy Royston, the results should be unpredictable — which is Miles’ goal when heading into a collaboration.
“I’m hoping it’s going to sound very different every time: rambunctious one night and not as much the next. I think that there’s going to be a good deal of free playing. I’ve been into trios and small groups quite a bit lately. A lot can be implied and accomplished.”
Miles has been balancing his singular, lonesome-sounding trumpet recordings and performances with his career as an educator at Denver’s Metropolitan State College, where he’s the coordinator of the jazz-studies program. It’s no surprise that his approach to jazz education is as open as his playing.
“One of the things we’re thinking about is a jazz major, which would explore the American improvisational tradition beyond jazz. Bluegrass, free music, pop music,” he says. “It’s more efficient to start from a place that people know.”
There’s no doubt that Miles’ more progressive attitude toward music education is the result of growing up in Colorado, where the like-minded guitarist Bill Frisell (a frequent collaborator) also absorbed everything from folk to funk and has fashioned his own living sound that is evocative of the open spaces that surrounded him as a child.
Miles could likely go the Frisell route and seek his fortune in New York, but he enjoys what he gets out of his life in Denver too much to walk away.
“I think that if I lived in New York I could just play. I could do that here, but I’d have to play music that I wouldn’t be all that comfortable with. And this is a great place to raise a family. I love the students at Metro. And one of the things about the Colorado music scene is that there are people who work together to make things stand out.”
Ron Miles-Gary Versace- Rudy Royston Trio, 6 p.m. and 8 p.m. today at Dazzle, 930 Lincoln St. Tickets are $25. Call 303-839-5100.
Set list
Bassists Stanley Clarke and Victor Wooten bring their bands to the Boulder Theater on Saturday. . . . Dazzle celebrates “Women in Jazz Week” March 13-20 with the Colorado group Jasmine, violinist Regina Carter and pianist Lynne Arriale. Find out more at dazzlejazz.com. . . . Trumpeter John Davis and the CU Jazz Faculty perform music from Miles Davis’ “Kind of Blue” album at CU’s Grusin Music Hall on March 15. . . . Keyboardist Lao Tizer brings his group to the Soiled Dove on March 18. . . . Bassist Christian McBride and his band Inside Straight play Beaver Creek’s Vilar Performing Arts Center on March 23.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Bret Saunders (bretsaunders@kbco.com) can be heard from 6 to 11
a.m. weekday mornings at KBCO 97.3 FM. Follow him on Twitter:
@Bretontheradio
http://danny-meyer.blogspot.com/2011/07/ron-miles-interview_4140.html
Danny Meyer: Music has developed an incredible amount in the last few decades. I think as a language, so much has happened. I also think it’s wonderful that as a community, we seem to be doing much better. In the past, a lot of musicians had problems with drugs and alcohol and now so many musicians are going to college and really studying the language.
Ron Miles: Well, I think there are a few things. I think the idea of explaining what we’re doing to society is good and that ties into your other point, which is that so many musicians have degrees. We’ve actually studied being able to talk about music. A lot of us have. So, those of us that can talk about it should. We both know Kent McLagan. He uses language so efficiently and so well – I think he’s a great person to do that. I think that there are some people who maybe don’t explain things well – and that’s ok – I don’t think everybody has to do it, but those of us that can…I think it’s very helpful.
The next part of the interview is the discussion of some important figures in music.
http://danny-meyer.blogspot.com/2011/07/ron-miles-interview_4140.html
July 27, 2011
Ron Miles Interview
Danny Meyer: Music has developed an incredible amount in the last few decades. I think as a language, so much has happened. I also think it’s wonderful that as a community, we seem to be doing much better. In the past, a lot of musicians had problems with drugs and alcohol and now so many musicians are going to college and really studying the language.
So,
I feel very blessed because I think it is a very exciting time to be a
musician. The music that is going to be made over the next fifty
years or so is going to be very interesting. But along with this
excitement, I also think that this generation of musicians has a
responsibility to society that is very important. That is to try to
explain to society what it is that we do. Without that explanation, I
think it might be become more difficult to develop the language of
music. I think we need to start explaining what is going on. I have a
feeling that the general population probably has about the same
understanding of what we do as they have an understanding of particle
physics. The difference being that particle physicists seem to be
better supported by society – I think they are doing a much better job
of explaining what it is that they are doing to the rest of society.
Ron Miles: Well, I think there are a few things. I think the idea of explaining what we’re doing to society is good and that ties into your other point, which is that so many musicians have degrees. We’ve actually studied being able to talk about music. A lot of us have. So, those of us that can talk about it should. We both know Kent McLagan. He uses language so efficiently and so well – I think he’s a great person to do that. I think that there are some people who maybe don’t explain things well – and that’s ok – I don’t think everybody has to do it, but those of us that can…I think it’s very helpful.
Also,
to make sure that we spend a bit of time – we have a lot of classes
on [jazz] history – but, it’s good to find a way to talk about what is
going on now. How can we do that? How can we have presentations of
new music like classical musicians sometimes do? And these parlor
concerts you read about where pianists would get together and play new
pieces or their new compositions and people would come and check it
out – and they’d talk about it. That kind of gathering I think is
something that we can also explore.
We
are seeing more of these kinds of house concerts pop up where people
feel more comfortable with that kind of interaction. Sometimes in a
club you have the stage, and there’s the audience and a performer.
It’s difficult to negotiate that balance. If we can set up more
opportunities where people can play, ask questions, and maybe play
something again – that kind of thing can be really nice.
DM:
That’s great. So, at one point, you mentioned clubs and
one thing I think is interesting is that while so many of us in this
generation are educated musicians we are still performing in a lot of
the same types of places – playing a lot in bars – and I think that is
more reflective of where we have been than where we are now.
RM:
Well, I think that you want to play at a place where
people who like music can hear the music – and that’s really
important. Sometimes you play at a place and it’s kind of hard to
hear the music and you think about how hard that is for the musicians,
but think about the people who paid $10 to come. They came and
they’re totally frustrated and they’re like, “I came and paid and I
couldn’t hear anything.” So, I think it’s good to work those things
out the best you can. That’s part of our responsibility as musicians
to do that. Good venues exist but some times you have really look for
them. When I was coming up with Fred Hess, we would call art
museums; we’d call libraries, because they have summer concert series
or series through the year - we’d say, “Hey, can we get on your series
and play.” You might have to find those kinds of places and then get
the word out so people can come and listen. Be consistent about it,
too. You don’t want to make it too far on the other side so that
people don’t know if there’s going to be a place you can hear the
music. We want our audience to have faith that they can come out and
really have a good time and enjoy some music.
DM: I think that artists and musicians understand
that there’s value in the arts, but I don’t know that we’re
particularly good at explaining that value.
RM:
I agree. It’s very difficult to deal with abstract
concepts like music and art in the same way. We’re a society that
loves numbers and loves being able to show that, “this is the best of
this,” or, “this is the second best.” So, we just have to – as a
society – think a little deeper.
As
musicians, in explaining the value of the arts, there are a couple of
things that come to mind. For one, to seek out people who are
really good at explaining things – it might not be us – but to find
those people and have them get on our side and have them be advocates
for us. And the people in our community who can do it – like we
talked about earlier – have them make the case, because not everyone
is good at it. I’m not sure that I’m always so good at it – but I
know people who are.
We were just
working on this bill in the legislature here in Colorado about making
sure that arts and arts education stays in the public schools.
There’s a great fellow, Dorian Delong, who was actually a student here
– worked in the office - and now he teaches at Thorton High School.
He had me come out every year for a few years to talk about the Harlem
Renaissance and play music for the whole school – not just the music
students. And this guy is savvy, he’s politically connected, and he’s
very smart, and passionate about the arts and he was able to drive
this thing home. But he had folks like me come in and play some
music. And this community got this thing through – and it worked!
When he called and said it passed, I said, “Man, it did work." That’s
great…at least the legislature. What I think is important is looking
at – even outside of our community - for who is skilled at making the
case. When you think about really successful art institutions like
symphonies and big museums, they have folks like that who make their
case for them.
Also, as a community of
improvisers, we’re spread out. Even a small community like Denver,
we’re still kind of spread out. I still think that there are hopes
about forming organizations to kind of get that going. Creative Music
Works used to do here in town, but they haven’t been around so much
here lately. I still have hopes that we can get something like that
going and present the new music on a more consistent basis -
consistent as far as the number of performances, consistent as far as
the quality of the performances, consistent in the experience the
listeners have in the coming out to the performance. All of that.
DM:
What, do you think does the community need to hear?…I’m
not sure how to say it…to get everybody to go over to the same place -
to work together? What do we need to be on the same team?
RM:
That is a very good question. I think…to get everyone on
the same team…there are a couple things. First off, the community of
art musicians needs to be less territorial. I think the symphonies
hold on to their territory, and other groups of musicians are holding
on to their territories. Almost in the sense that “We can’t let
people know what’s going on over there because they might not come to
our thing.” My thing has always been like, “If you come, I think
you’re going to have a good time – I’m not saying don’t go over there,
you might have a good time over there,” but I’m not going to tell you
not to go over there to get you to come over here. We’ll just
present our stuff as strong as possible. There are a lot of people
that are really entrenched in kind of an old-school thing. It’s going
to take a moment to loosen that thing up a little bit. That’ll be
the first thing, for people to be a little less territorial.
And
then, while we’re trying to get things to open up…I think that the
community of improvisers in this area…we’re just going to have to form
an organization. I’ve been thinking about it a lot that last few
months. It’s not necessarily our nature, you and I, to kind of step out
there and be like the front person. We’d rather play some music, be
supportive, and if someone wants to get some shine on, “go ahead…take
it all,” but there might be a need to – I feel for myself that might
not be the natural place for me to be, but I might have to step out
there a little bit more. While there’s some kind of…notoriety or
whatever here – which goes up and down, too – but while it’s here
might be a time kind of see if we can generate some force around
whatever small notoriety that some people have in this town. That’s
what I’ve been thinking a lot about.
DM:
Alright, the next thing - What is your advice to a someone
who is just going into college, what is your advice to them in their
studies.
RM: Going
into college… First word is “humility” when you get to college,
because, chances are that if you’re going to college you were probably
dealin’ at your high school. So, [my advice is] just to come in and
be humble and take a step back and learn. And also realize that
school is not the end of everything. School is school – it’s like a
laboratory to work some stuff out. So you learn stuff in school, but
make sure you’re playing outside of school where you can just play
music and remind yourself why it is that you are[in school] – it’s
because you love music. Sometimes in school we’re constantly being
confronted by things we don’t know and we’re not good at, and so it can
beat you down - you think, “Man, I’m not good at anything.” It’s
good to play with people that are saying, “We like playing with you
because you’re you. That’s what we like. We’re not hearing what you
can’t do…what you’re doing is great! We like that.” So you’re just
adding into that with school.
That’s
the thing, because when I was in school I would be confronted with
that a lot, too. I would go take a lesson from people that I admired
like Jane Ira Bloom or Lester Bowie or different people who would say,
“You’re alright. I mean, you still have a lot to learn, but you sound
all right. Don’t let school bring you down.” Then I’d get together
with my friends we’d play and like, “yeah, this is great!” Then I’d
go to school and the jazz band director would yell at me, you know. I
had it in perspective. That’s a big thing - just keep it in
perspective. And take advantage of this opportunity that’s there to
learn from your peers, learn from these teachers, go to the library –
listen to all the records that are there. It’s really quite
remarkable. And take classes outside of your discipline because there
are some bad people at your school. Unfortunately, not everybody in
your area might not be one of those bad people, but some place there
is. There might be a baroque scholar or somebody who does electronic
music. Get with them…kind of see what makes them tick. Take
advantage all that while you’re there.
DM: Beautiful. What about somebody who is getting out of school, or maybe has been out of school for a little while?
RM:
Get a band. GET…A…BAND. Play with people that you like
to play with and people that like to play with you, and develop some
music. Again, it’s always groups of people that develop music. I
mean, Prince developed his music, but that’s why it always sounds
better on record than it does at those concerts - and Prince is my
favorite living musician, but honestly, if I want to hear the best
Prince performance, I just put on one of those records where he’s
playing everything, because it sounds great. The gigs sound good to,
but it’s different. But in our music – which is a collective music –
it takes all of us working together and that exchange of ideas.
When
I first had that trio with Eric [Gunnison] and Kent [McLagan], I
wrote a lot of music before then with a lot of specific things to
play. When I started playing with Eric and Kent - Eric was so great
at coming up with these chord voicings, so why am I writing chord
voicings for him? That’s what he does. Or, why am I writing bass
lines for Kent when he likes to be inventive and move things around.
So, you learn…how do you communicate? Like, “Well, I want this kind
of vibe…and you know…you’re on your own…go ahead…this is kind of what
I’m after.” Or, “This chord here…I hear this sound…is there a more
official way to write that chord?” You’re constantly learning and
expanding. Just hearing their sounds gives you stuff to play. You
learn, in forms, how much openness, balance, structure, or free – you
learn all these possibilities just from playing with folks – that’s so
great. That’s, I think, the biggest thing for folks who are in
school, but especially when you’re out of school. Get a band. The
collective energy of finding gigs - that’s hard to do for one person,
too. Then everyone is invested in the music. It can do something.
Even
that new band, Mostly Other People Do the Killing…out in New
York…Peter Evans…they’ve been able to make dent out there because one,
they’re all great players and two, they have some point of view that
they’re putting out there. That’s really what people want. They don’t
need you to give them a thesis when you’re doing a concert – which is
another thing that school teaches you that’s totally wrong. “Well,
your set should show that you can play bop and you can play free and
you can play this.” Man, nobody gives a crap about that when they go
to see a concert. I don’t go see Joni Mitchell to see here play
baroque music [laughs]. I want to hear her do what she thinks we want
to hear.
That’s
what bands do. Present some music. Great. When I hear someone
great or a great band, I’m not thinking about what they can’t do. I’m
thinking about what they’re doing and I’m appreciative of that.
That’s another reason why it’s good to play some music outside of
school. People who play in school too long, every time they do a gig
it sounds like their trying to show us that they can do something.
Just do something. That’s what you need to do. Do something. Stop
trying to show me you can do something.
DM:
That’s very good advice. So, one of the qualities of your
playing that I’ve most enjoyed is the way you interact with other
musicians. The way that I’ve described it is that you seem to say,
“yes” to everybody. We’ve talked about being on the same team. It
always feels like you’re on everybody’s team…all the time. It’s great.
So, could you talk about the way that you think about being a part of
an ensemble?
RM: I
think that as horn players we have a very unique position that rhythm
section players don’t have. Rhythm section players kind of have to do
it, because they’re playing all the time. Horn players, get a chance
to come in and out. I’ve had the chance to play with a lot of folks
over the years and one of the reasons that I’ve tried to approach
music in that way is because that is when I always had the nicest times
– when people are on the same team with me.
Matt
Wilson does this thing – he’s such a great clinician by the way.
Some people do these clinics at schools and you can tell they’re just
try to, you know, get enough money for the hotel so they can make this
tour happen. I mean; you know what I’m talking about. But Matt,
man, he’ll show up and he’ll have someone come up and play with him.
He said that, “improvising is a way to even the playing field.”
Whoever you’re playing with, you’re job is to make some music with
them. Again, not this idea that you’re supposed to show them, “I’m
better than you.” No, if you’re really great, then you should
certainly be able to play with someone who’s not that great. The
hardest part is when you’re not – you’re very limited – to play with
somebody. So, it’s all about what can we do to make this work? If we
have some disagreements, we can deal with this later, but right now
were all here together to make the strongest thing we can do.
Louis
Armstrong - I remember this story all the time – he would talk about
him and Bix Beiderbeck getting together – they only got together a
couples times. He said that, “We closed the door and tried to make the
music sound as good as it possibly could.” And that was like, “There
you go, man.” Louis Armstrong and Bix Beiderbeck, I’m sure that music
sounded pretty damn good - with those guys playing with that mindset.
It’s not competitive, it’s like, “let’s just see if – how we can
really make this great.”
In the 80’s, they
had that dream team – basketball – for the Olympics. The first one
with Michael Jordan, Larry Bird, and all those cats were playing. I’d
read the box score: Michael Jordan, 9 points; someone else, 20
points…it would just change all the time. When I would watch them
play, they just played and passed to the open person – who was great.
They’d talk about [how] their practices were the most fun, because
they would just get together and play.
Just
remind yourself, reinforce that, and play with people as much as you
can who have that. I think what starts to happen is that sometimes we
play with people who don’t have that mindset and it confuses us.
It’s like, “Maybe that’s not the way…maybe I’m supposed to get out
there and cut this cat…[laughs]…you know what I’m saying…I’m going to
shake this cat down, because that’s what just happened.” No…hold
on…play with people who have that mindset, too – which is most of the
people who can play, by the way. Just to reinforce that. Again,
that’s our whole idea: for this hour, we’re all here together to make
just the best musical presentation we can. And it’s not that hard.
You get to play music for an hour. That’s great. Give it up, for
that hour. And then like I say, if there’s some issues, don’t come
back next time if it really wasn’t fun. But for that hour, just go
ahead and deal. Again, I find most people are that same way. It’s
rare that I have a performance where I leave and think, “That really
was – people were dealin’ that way. They kind of had another thing.”
I just go and put that on my list. Next time I won’t be there for
that one...unless we can talk about it ahead of time.
“Stone/Blossom” scores with originality
October 19, 2006
The Denver Post
My favorite new CD (besides Ornette Coleman’s “Sound Grammar,” which I
told you about last time) is actually two CDs, and realized in
Colorado. Trumpeter/cornetist Ron Miles’ “Stone/Blossom” (Sterling
Circle Records) is a generous, two-hour collection, with an intelligent
acoustic quartet on the “Stone” portion and a moody electric rock band
emanating from the “Blossom” disc. It’s also the ideal summation of
Miles’ career as a leader and composer up to this point.
Miles’ music has always been difficult to pin down or even describe. Earlier discs on the Gramavision label allowed his distinctive, forlorn trumpet to float above searing electric guitars, and more recent discs for the Boulder-based Sterling Circle label (Miles is apparently the only artist on their roster) have displayed something more introspective, but always with a hint of menace scratching beneath the prettified surfaces of the compositions. “Stone/Blossom” is where the opposing sides of Miles’ persona reach out and shake hands. And it looks to be a strong friendship.
“Stone” is the quieter disc, but it isn’t just a drowsy set of worn-out standards. Miles’ trumpet takes enough left turns on the slow, stretched-out “Cupid” to demonstrate that he’s interested in the meditative space of ballads as a place to explore and not to necessarily engage in romantic clichés. Like Miles, pianist Eric Gunnison, who shines here, plays inside pleasantries as easily as he can drift into cacophony. He’s the ideal foil for the trumpeter as they revel in this head-meets-heart material.
Drummer Rudy Royston has been present on the majority of Miles’ discs for the past decade, and aside from the leader he’s the sole participant on both halves. A subtle player with intuition to spare, he gives “Stone” and “Blossom” their quiet fire. “Blossom” is a different entity from the first disc in that Miles seems to be heading up a simmering instrumental jazz-rock band, not entirely unlike the revered group Tortoise (but with a sweeter edge) or the more extroverted outings of his sometime employer, guitarist Bill Frisell. Roger Green, who plays guitar here and with whom I was unfamiliar until now, seems well acclimated to Frisell’s vocabulary of rubbery twists and turns.
Since Miles is a child of the ’70s, why shouldn’t he claim the radio hits of his generation as his own? He takes on the Jackson 5’s “I’ll Be There” in a heart-tugging rendition. There’s a foray into the Partridge Family’s (!) “I Woke Up in Love This Morning,” which has always been out there, waiting for an accordion-drenched reinvention. He discovers refreshing harmonic territory in these AM radio hits. Do I hear a follow-up disc of Bee Gees songs?
It says something about Miles as a bandleader and composer that his strongest tracks are also the lengthiest: “Small Town Hero” is hypnotic instrumental folk (or some such thing) and if you stick around for all 15 minutes of “Sleepyhead,” you’ll discover that this is no serene trip to dreamland. It ends up as an entertainingly disturbed slumber. The group he’s assembled for “Blossom” is as cohesive as it is fun.
On “Stone,” there’s a drawn- out, exploratory track titled “Letter Grade,” with exemplary communication among all of the group’s members, and particularly sensitive statements from Miles and Gunnison, dutifully supported by Royston and bassist Kent McLagan. Miles teaches in the music department at Metropolitan State College, and he likely issues letter grades but (I imagine) rarely receives them. So let’s give “Stone/Blossom” an “A” for execution and originality. He’ll receive deserved national attention for this, but you can say you knew about it first.
Set list
Multi-saxophone dynamo James Carter, a remarkably versatile player, takes to the stage Friday at Greeley’s Union Colony Civic Center. Call 970-356-5000 for tickets … trumpeter Hugh Ragin leads the Latin All Stars on Friday at the Back Room … the acclaimed singer Karrin Allyson is scheduled Saturday at the Soiled Dove … the Bottesino Project features saxophones, electronics and pedal steel guitar in its arsenal. The outfit will appear Nov. 5 at Dazzle.
Miles’ music has always been difficult to pin down or even describe. Earlier discs on the Gramavision label allowed his distinctive, forlorn trumpet to float above searing electric guitars, and more recent discs for the Boulder-based Sterling Circle label (Miles is apparently the only artist on their roster) have displayed something more introspective, but always with a hint of menace scratching beneath the prettified surfaces of the compositions. “Stone/Blossom” is where the opposing sides of Miles’ persona reach out and shake hands. And it looks to be a strong friendship.
“Stone” is the quieter disc, but it isn’t just a drowsy set of worn-out standards. Miles’ trumpet takes enough left turns on the slow, stretched-out “Cupid” to demonstrate that he’s interested in the meditative space of ballads as a place to explore and not to necessarily engage in romantic clichés. Like Miles, pianist Eric Gunnison, who shines here, plays inside pleasantries as easily as he can drift into cacophony. He’s the ideal foil for the trumpeter as they revel in this head-meets-heart material.
Drummer Rudy Royston has been present on the majority of Miles’ discs for the past decade, and aside from the leader he’s the sole participant on both halves. A subtle player with intuition to spare, he gives “Stone” and “Blossom” their quiet fire. “Blossom” is a different entity from the first disc in that Miles seems to be heading up a simmering instrumental jazz-rock band, not entirely unlike the revered group Tortoise (but with a sweeter edge) or the more extroverted outings of his sometime employer, guitarist Bill Frisell. Roger Green, who plays guitar here and with whom I was unfamiliar until now, seems well acclimated to Frisell’s vocabulary of rubbery twists and turns.
Since Miles is a child of the ’70s, why shouldn’t he claim the radio hits of his generation as his own? He takes on the Jackson 5’s “I’ll Be There” in a heart-tugging rendition. There’s a foray into the Partridge Family’s (!) “I Woke Up in Love This Morning,” which has always been out there, waiting for an accordion-drenched reinvention. He discovers refreshing harmonic territory in these AM radio hits. Do I hear a follow-up disc of Bee Gees songs?
It says something about Miles as a bandleader and composer that his strongest tracks are also the lengthiest: “Small Town Hero” is hypnotic instrumental folk (or some such thing) and if you stick around for all 15 minutes of “Sleepyhead,” you’ll discover that this is no serene trip to dreamland. It ends up as an entertainingly disturbed slumber. The group he’s assembled for “Blossom” is as cohesive as it is fun.
On “Stone,” there’s a drawn- out, exploratory track titled “Letter Grade,” with exemplary communication among all of the group’s members, and particularly sensitive statements from Miles and Gunnison, dutifully supported by Royston and bassist Kent McLagan. Miles teaches in the music department at Metropolitan State College, and he likely issues letter grades but (I imagine) rarely receives them. So let’s give “Stone/Blossom” an “A” for execution and originality. He’ll receive deserved national attention for this, but you can say you knew about it first.
Set list
Multi-saxophone dynamo James Carter, a remarkably versatile player, takes to the stage Friday at Greeley’s Union Colony Civic Center. Call 970-356-5000 for tickets … trumpeter Hugh Ragin leads the Latin All Stars on Friday at the Back Room … the acclaimed singer Karrin Allyson is scheduled Saturday at the Soiled Dove … the Bottesino Project features saxophones, electronics and pedal steel guitar in its arsenal. The outfit will appear Nov. 5 at Dazzle.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Made possible by a grant from The Shifting Foundation
Directed by Mimi Chakarova
Filmed by Mimi Chakarova & Stefania Rousselle
Edited by Derek O. Hanley
Produced by David Breskin
Mixed by Ron Saint Germain
Still photography by Mimi Chakarova
Album produced by Ron Miles & Colin Bricker
Master Cornetist RON MILES
Releases 'I Am A Man'
Release Date:
November 10, 2017
(Enja/yellowbird Records)
Composer: Ron Miles
Performers: Ron Miles (cornet), Jason Moran (piano), Bill Frisell (guitar), Thomas Morgan (bass), Brian Blade (drums)
Tracks: I Am A Man, Darken My Door, Gift That Keeps On Giving, Revolutionary Congregation, Mother Juggler, Jasper, Is There Room In Your Heart
With I Am A Man, Ron Miles, “one of the finest trumpeters in jazz today” (Jazz Times), makes his most powerful artistic statement to date. For this special project Miles grew his trio with guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Brian Blade—which released Quiver in 2012 and Circuit Rider in 2014—into a quintet, adding pianist Jason Moran and bassist Thomas Morgan. The group’s virtuosic camaraderie animates I Am A Man’s expansive themes, building an album of and for today from the spiritual foundations of black American music.
For Miles, being in the jazz tradition means making music that speaks to his time. “From the beginnings of black American music, there’s been a sense of triumph over adversity,” Miles says. “We’re in some trying times in 2017, that’s for sure. But we’ve seen this before. Black folks have had to do this over and over again, fighting injustice and finding a positive solution.” As they did in 1968, when a malfunctioning garbage truck killed two employees in Memphis. Sanitation workers took to the streets with “I Am A Man” signs, asserting the fundamental dignity and humanity of workers of every profession. Today, “I Am A Man” carries that specific civil rights history for Miles, but has also taken on broader significance. “It’s a claim that we are of a human body,” he says, “a human person, and there are all kinds of ways that we express ourselves.”
To suit the “I Am A Man” theme, Miles wrote this music with a definitive blues sensibility, he says, though a Miles blues sensibility is all his own: Here, as always, he remains a “natural melodist with an openhearted style” and a “knack for pairing strong melodies with stealth convolutions of form.” (New York Times). Miles believes in transcending traditional instrumental roles, so he gives each musician not individual parts but the full score. “When Ron hands out a piece of music,” Jason Moran says, “he gives you the world. Visually, it tells me everything I need to know about where my part lines up with another line. It gives us the freedom to compose in real time, to shift between foreground and background as we like.”
Miles makes the most of the expansion into a quintet with the episodic “Darken My Door,” which comes from a dream involving his late mother-in-law. “She wasn’t very happy when my wife and I first got together,” he says. “I had this dream where she said, ‘He will never darken our door again, that guy over there,’ pointing at me. And then in the dream my wife stood up for me, she championed me.” In the opening, a piano trio pulls off some drama big and vivid enough for a silent film score, and then the music resolves what Miles calls a “chewy pop center.” The composition finally cycles back to the original drama, this time with a touch of wry humor that de-stresses it.
For Miles, the song “Revolutionary Congregation” is about “religion at its essence being revolutionary.” He counts as his religious heroes political figures like Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and Gandhi, “these powerful folks who didn’t sit back and accept the old traditions. Their tradition is standing up and fighting for others, social change and fighting social injustice as a holy cause.” If the deepest spirituality for Miles is a commitment to social change, he also finds sources for racial pride in religion. The song “Jasper” is named after the vibrant red-brown gemstone that shows up in the Book of Revelation “as part of a multi-hued message.”
Miles calls the ballad “Mother Juggler” a “love song” for his Mom, and for mothers in general. “My Mom got a college degree by going to night school. My three siblings and I—none of us older than 10—would all get on a bus with her at night and go to college, sitting in the back of the classroom doing homework during her classes. She had to make everything happen in a magical way.”
Throughout the album, that 1968 declaration by sanitation workers accrues other meanings and rhythms and forms, so that I Am A Man ultimately sings out as a modernist jazz gospel. With its deep reserves of beauty, faith, and humor, this music is a place where we can bring our own conflicts and doubts, while letting the consummate artistry wash off the dust of everyday life. In Ron Miles’s music, it’s safe for us to be nothing more, and nothing less, than fully human. And that’s plenty.
About RON MILES
Ron Miles is a songwriter and cornet player based in Denver, Colorado. Ron was born in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1963 and moved to Denver with his family in 1974. Ron Miles has previously recorded as a leader for the Prolific, Capri, Gramavision, and Sterling Circle labels. He is one of the finest improvisers and composers of his generation and has been called one of the greatest melodists by clarinetist Ben Goldberg. In addition to leading his own bands, Ron Miles has performed in the ensembles of Joshua Redman, Bill Frisell, Mercer Ellington, Don Byron, Myra Melford, Joe Henry, Madeleine Peyroux, Jason Moran, Matt Wilson, the Bad Plus, Harriet Tubman, Ginger Baker, and Goldberg.
https://www.monette.net/single-post/2007/03/04/Ron-Miles-Interview-New-CD-Stone-Blossom
Ron
Miles came by our shop in January to play a private concert for us, and
a group of us helped him celebrate the release of his new double album.
The double album consists of the first CD, STONE, recorded on his
decorated presentation RAJA NIRVIKALPA SAMADHI, and the second CD,
BLOSSOM, recorded on his 900 Series PRANA Bb CORNET. The reviews have
been glowing, including two recent write-ups in the New York Times.
Bret Saunders (bretsaunders@kbco.com) can be heard from 6 to 11
a.m. weekday mornings at KBCO 97.3 FM. Follow him on Twitter:
@Bretontheradio
https://www.ronmiles.org/
https://www.ronmiles.org/
photo by - Thomas J. Krebs
https://vimeo.com/207517821
A Moment In Time Production
Made possible by a grant from The Shifting Foundation
Directed by Mimi Chakarova
Filmed by Mimi Chakarova & Stefania Rousselle
Edited by Derek O. Hanley
Produced by David Breskin
Mixed by Ron Saint Germain
Still photography by Mimi Chakarova
Album produced by Ron Miles & Colin Bricker
Releases 'I Am A Man'
Release Date:
November 10, 2017
(Enja/yellowbird Records)
Composer: Ron Miles
Performers: Ron Miles (cornet), Jason Moran (piano), Bill Frisell (guitar), Thomas Morgan (bass), Brian Blade (drums)
Tracks: I Am A Man, Darken My Door, Gift That Keeps On Giving, Revolutionary Congregation, Mother Juggler, Jasper, Is There Room In Your Heart
https://www.ronmiles.org/press-release/
With I Am A Man, Ron Miles, “one of the finest trumpeters in jazz today” (Jazz Times), makes his most powerful artistic statement to date. For this special project Miles grew his trio with guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Brian Blade—which released Quiver in 2012 and Circuit Rider in 2014—into a quintet, adding pianist Jason Moran and bassist Thomas Morgan. The group’s virtuosic camaraderie animates I Am A Man’s expansive themes, building an album of and for today from the spiritual foundations of black American music.
For Miles, being in the jazz tradition means making music that speaks to his time. “From the beginnings of black American music, there’s been a sense of triumph over adversity,” Miles says. “We’re in some trying times in 2017, that’s for sure. But we’ve seen this before. Black folks have had to do this over and over again, fighting injustice and finding a positive solution.” As they did in 1968, when a malfunctioning garbage truck killed two employees in Memphis. Sanitation workers took to the streets with “I Am A Man” signs, asserting the fundamental dignity and humanity of workers of every profession. Today, “I Am A Man” carries that specific civil rights history for Miles, but has also taken on broader significance. “It’s a claim that we are of a human body,” he says, “a human person, and there are all kinds of ways that we express ourselves.”
To suit the “I Am A Man” theme, Miles wrote this music with a definitive blues sensibility, he says, though a Miles blues sensibility is all his own: Here, as always, he remains a “natural melodist with an openhearted style” and a “knack for pairing strong melodies with stealth convolutions of form.” (New York Times). Miles believes in transcending traditional instrumental roles, so he gives each musician not individual parts but the full score. “When Ron hands out a piece of music,” Jason Moran says, “he gives you the world. Visually, it tells me everything I need to know about where my part lines up with another line. It gives us the freedom to compose in real time, to shift between foreground and background as we like.”
Miles makes the most of the expansion into a quintet with the episodic “Darken My Door,” which comes from a dream involving his late mother-in-law. “She wasn’t very happy when my wife and I first got together,” he says. “I had this dream where she said, ‘He will never darken our door again, that guy over there,’ pointing at me. And then in the dream my wife stood up for me, she championed me.” In the opening, a piano trio pulls off some drama big and vivid enough for a silent film score, and then the music resolves what Miles calls a “chewy pop center.” The composition finally cycles back to the original drama, this time with a touch of wry humor that de-stresses it.
For Miles, the song “Revolutionary Congregation” is about “religion at its essence being revolutionary.” He counts as his religious heroes political figures like Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and Gandhi, “these powerful folks who didn’t sit back and accept the old traditions. Their tradition is standing up and fighting for others, social change and fighting social injustice as a holy cause.” If the deepest spirituality for Miles is a commitment to social change, he also finds sources for racial pride in religion. The song “Jasper” is named after the vibrant red-brown gemstone that shows up in the Book of Revelation “as part of a multi-hued message.”
Miles calls the ballad “Mother Juggler” a “love song” for his Mom, and for mothers in general. “My Mom got a college degree by going to night school. My three siblings and I—none of us older than 10—would all get on a bus with her at night and go to college, sitting in the back of the classroom doing homework during her classes. She had to make everything happen in a magical way.”
Throughout the album, that 1968 declaration by sanitation workers accrues other meanings and rhythms and forms, so that I Am A Man ultimately sings out as a modernist jazz gospel. With its deep reserves of beauty, faith, and humor, this music is a place where we can bring our own conflicts and doubts, while letting the consummate artistry wash off the dust of everyday life. In Ron Miles’s music, it’s safe for us to be nothing more, and nothing less, than fully human. And that’s plenty.
About RON MILES
Ron Miles is a songwriter and cornet player based in Denver, Colorado. Ron was born in Indianapolis, Indiana in 1963 and moved to Denver with his family in 1974. Ron Miles has previously recorded as a leader for the Prolific, Capri, Gramavision, and Sterling Circle labels. He is one of the finest improvisers and composers of his generation and has been called one of the greatest melodists by clarinetist Ben Goldberg. In addition to leading his own bands, Ron Miles has performed in the ensembles of Joshua Redman, Bill Frisell, Mercer Ellington, Don Byron, Myra Melford, Joe Henry, Madeleine Peyroux, Jason Moran, Matt Wilson, the Bad Plus, Harriet Tubman, Ginger Baker, and Goldberg.
https://www.monette.net/single-post/2007/03/04/Ron-Miles-Interview-New-CD-Stone-Blossom
Ron Miles Interview - New CD - "Stone / Blossom"
March 4, 2007
Dave Monette: Please tell us about the new double CD!
Ron
Miles: Dave, thanks for asking about the new CD. It is a double CD
titled Stone/Blossom.Stone was recorded first and features a quartet of
trumpet, Eric Gunnison on piano, Kent McLagan on bass and Rudy
Royston(who also appears on Blossom) on drums. We wanted to capture the
acoustic blend of the band so we recorded with no amps or bass direct
and without headphones. The songs are all composed by me. The Blossom
record features a larger band and has a couple of covers of bands I
loved as a kid. I'll Be There by the Jackson 5 and I Woke Up In Love
This Morning by the Partridge Family. On this recording I play a new
Prana cornet. Rudy is on drums, Roger Green on guitar, Glenn Taylor on
pedal steel guitar, Erik Deutsch and Eric Moon on keyboards, and Greg
Garrison on bass. I play some other things as needed in addition to
cornet.
DM: Your music is very easy to listen to, impossible to forget and at times quite outrageous. Where does it come from?
RM:
I love so much music and really only think in categories when thinking
in a historical context. I think the music springs from my imagination.
And we try to keep the song going as long as possible. At our best we
aren't trying to prove anything. We want to play what should go there.
Whether it be something very simple or something that may seem
complex.And when you remove the need to show people how good you are you
can really give people your heart.
DM: Who are your mentors and who inspires you?
RM:
I really love bands: Wayne Shorter Quartet, Brad Mehldau Trio, Jason
Moran Trio, Bill Frisell Trio, Cuong Vu Trio, Art Ensemble of Chicago,
Prince's Musicology band, Old and New Dreams, Ornette's bands, Miles'
bands, Coltrane's quartet, Public Enemy, Bad Brains, Nirvana. And solo
artists, Sonnny Rollins, Steve Lacy, Monk, Ellington, Elliott Smith,
Ella, Billie, Mavis Staples. So many.
DM: Can you give us some specific insight into how you compose new tunes?
RM:
Often they start with a few words. I am not a skilled wordsmith so a
phrase is about as far as it goes and then I go to the piano and start.
The concerns are whether it is a through compsed piece, do we improvise
on the form, no form or new forms for improvising. Don't worry about
keys. Wherever it shows up is usually where it stays. Then we have to
learn to play the music. There is sometimes a misconception that just
because you wrote something means you can play it. And that may be true
eventually not necessarily true right away.
DM:
You seem to tour more and record more with a wider variety of people
than any musician we have ever met. Can you tell us about the variety in
your work, and about your collaborations with other favorite performers
you have toured with?
RM:
In the last year mostly I have been touring with Bill Frisell's various
groups. He is one of my favorite musicians ever, so being on the
bandstand with him is always great. I have also been touring with
Madeleine Peyroux. Madeleine is a great singer and wonderful improviser.
I hadn't had the opportunity to play so much with a vocalist in a small
group setting. And I have learned tons about supporting the lyric and
leaving space.
DM:
Your own bands change instrumentation and size often– can you tell us
about some of the more unusual instrumentations you have tried and what
you like about them?
RM:
for me and a lot of the folks I work with it has always been more about
the musical personality of the individuals and how that makes the group
dynamic more than their instrument. I have been in bands with trpt,
trombone, violin, guitar. Wayne horvitz' new band has cello, bassoon,
cornet, and piano.
DM: How does your very strong background in classical music contribute to your jazz work?
RM:
Classical music is such wonderful music so just hearing it changes ones
life. aside from that the great composer's teach us so much about the
craft and how one can transcend that and achieve something mysterious
and magical.And playing the instrument. Bands again the orchestras of
Chicago, Boston, Cleveland, and Vienna. Soloists like Andre, Gould,
Schwarz, Bartoli, Price, Zoon, Battle, Marsalis.
DM:
What was it like to compete and then win the competition at the
International Brass Clinic in Bloomington back in the mid-80’s?
RM:
It was fun. Being from Colorado one can feel like you are far from the
center of things so it was nice to get some encouragement like that. But
most imporatntly it gave me a chance to go to the conference and hear
some amazing musicians.
DM: How do you view your place in society as a musician?
RM: It's a blessing. Basically people are coming and collectively asking you What do you think, How do you
feel?
and so few get asked that and it's too bad because there are people out
there with some answers but they just don't get asked. Also I think we
are all trying to make a difference in our communities and by playing,
creating, and encouraging we are doing that.
DM:
Is there a switch somewhere in your brain that got turned on in your
early years that enables you to play and compose with such originality
and intensity?
RM:
At some point I think all of us decide we want to take that scary leap
to be really good at something. And it means confronting your
imagination and what might set you apart from others. It also means
dealing with some really hard work. And dealing with our deficiencies.
DM: What are your views on the recording business today vs. 20-30 years ago?
RM:
I have no ideas how this is going to shake out. I have faith though
that people love to hear music and we will find a way to get the music
to the ears of those who love it. My hopes are that live music will once
again be more popular. I see our symphonies struggling with it. But
there are some creative people out there and we'll hope we can all get
it together.
DM: How do your political or social views come out, if at all, in your music?
RM:
Not in specific ways as I think instrumental music is abstract. But
hopefully people can sense a feeling of love and respect for others. And
love for possibilty and freedom.
DM: What is your opinion of rap music?
RM:
Like so many categories there is good and bad. And most of what gets on
our airwaves is mediocre. For me I love P.E., Dr. Dre's producing,
Q-Tip, some of Kanye's music. But I don't see so much difference there
from other pop music I love, Eryka Badu, The Roots, Alison Kraus, Fiona
Apple, Jill Scott, Johnny Cash. Music thatt sees where we are but also
where we can go.
DM: If you could hang out for a day with any historical musical figure, who would it be and what would you ask them?
RM: Wow. Maybe Duke Ellington. The way he was able to maintain his integrity over a 50 year career is fascinating.
DM:
If you could hang out for a day with any historical figure outside of
the realm of music, who would it be and what would you ask them?
RM:
Being a christian. Christ would be the one. so many of our most
important figures have had parts of him in them, King, Ghandi. Malcolm.
To be near the essence would be something.
DM: What new projects or concerts are ahead for 2007?
RM: Blossom. And truly acoustic Stone presentations. In rooms designed for communication. No microphones and no amps.
DM: Is there anything else you would like to share that we have not covered?
RM: Nope. Really thought provoking questions. And thank you for your artistry and generosity.
https://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/denver-cornetist-ron-miles-is-a-fervent-student-of-jazz-but-his-music-spills-outside-of-any-defined-tradition/Content?oid=41313463
Denver cornetist Ron Miles is a fervent student of jazz, but his music spills outside of any defined tradition
by Peter Margasa
Few figures in jazz operate with as much refined comportment, melodic grace, and measured spontaneity as Denver cornetist Ron Miles.
He’s quietly but forcefully risen in the global jazz scene due to his
thoughtfulness, lyric grace, and communal spirit, which have attracted
an ever-widening coterie of top-notch collaborators. Late last year he
joined guitarist Mary Halvorson and Deerhoof drummer Greg Saunier for New American Songbooks Volume 1
(Sound American), where he applied his broad technique in surveying a
mix of classic and new standard rep by the likes of Fiona Apple, Gary
Peacock, and Duke Ellington. And among his most dedicated colleagues are
guitarist Bill Frisell and drummer Brian Blade, who play in his trio,
Circuit Rider, which is named after the title of the group’s 2014 album.
Together they move with cool sensuality, three unspooling strands of
burnished melody in a gentle riot of polyphony. Miles writes with open
ears that have absorbed jazz’s interactive tendencies with incredible
depth. Those qualities are reflected in the material he doesn’t write,
too: Circuit Rider’s versions of “Jive Five Floor Four” and
“Reincarnation of a Lovebird” by Charles Mingus retain the bassist’s
multilimbed ebullience if not the wild drive, and their take on Jimmy
Giuffre’s early chamber classic “Two Kinds of Blues” brings a moody heft
missing in the original. His own pieces reach beyond jazz to reflect an
ardor for vintage country, gospel, and other Americana. Last year the
three musicians provided the backbone for one of the strongest albums of
2017, I Am a Man (Yellowbird/Enja), a quintet LP with pianist
Jason Moran and bassist Thomas Morgan that featured original
compositions by Miles. Its friction-laden, propulsive title piece
references the Memphis civil rights protests of 1968 that were sparked
by the deaths of two black sanitation workers; the phrase “I am a man”
became an iconic slogan among workers demanding dignified treatment. The
music rarely uses the shapes and drive of familiar postbop—it almost
exists outside of jazz even though jazz tradition fuels its
multidirectional splendor.
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2017/oct/26/ron-miles-i-am-a-man-review-enja-yellowbird
Ron Miles: I Am a Man review – an understated session with a powerful grip
4 / 5 stars 4 out of 5 stars.
(Enja/YellowBird)
The brittle and then soaring title track establishes the group’s collective alertness, while Darken My Door segues between quiet piano lyricism, romantic turbulence and country grooves. Revolutionary Congregation mixes tenderness and raw multiphonic brass effects. Mother Juggler is a beautiful lament, and Is There Room in Your Heart for a Man Like Me is a rolling ensemble feature that keeps its narrative shape. It is often an understated session, but it exerts a powerful grip.
THE MUSIC OF RON MILES: AN EXTENSIVE VIDEO OVERVIEW, A CROSS SECTION OF RECORDINGS, MUSICAL ANALYSIS AND COMMENTARY, PLUS VARIOUS INTERVIEWS WITH RON MILES:
Ron Miles - I Am a Man 2017 (Full Album) [Jazz]
Brian Blade pt. 3 w/ Ron Miles, Bill Frisell 2-16-13 @ Dazzle
Ron Miles sextet LIVE in Boulder, Colorado
Ron Miles,Bill Frisell & Brian Blade - Bruise
Ron Miles - Howard Beach
Ron Miles - Erase Yourself
The Ron Miles Trio - Mind Police
Ron Miles, Brian Blade et Bill Frisell, Circuit Rider (2015-06
Ron Miles - Woman's Day
Subconscious-Lee - Ron Miles, Danny Meyer, Jean Luc
Ron Miles - Finger Palace
Ron Miles @ Dazzle Lounge - December 26, 2008
Ron Miles at Dan and Diane's Concerts
Aug 19 2010 Ron Miles Quartet 1
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ron_Miles
Ron Miles
Career
Miles moved to Denver, Colorado from Indianapolis at the age of 11 and attended Denver East High School. He studied music at the University of Denver (1981–1985) and the Manhattan School of Music (1986).[1] He is among Denver's most prominent jazz musicians.[2] He is the co-ordinator of Jazz Studies at Metropolitan State University of Denver.[3]
Discography
As leader- 1987: Distance for Safety (Prolific)
- 1989: Witness (Capri)
- 1996: My Cruel Heart (Gramavision)
- 1997: Women's Day (Gramavision)
- 2000: Ron Miles Trio (Capri)
- 2002: Heaven (Sterling Circle), with Bill Frisell
- 2003: Laughing Barrel (Sterling Circle)
- 2006: Stone/Blossom (Sterling Circle)
- 2012: Quiver with Bill Frisell and Brian Blade (Enja)
- 2014: Circuit Rider with Bill Frisell and Brian Blade (Yellowbird)
- 2017: I Am a Man with Bill Frisell, Brian Blade, Jason Moran & Thomas Morgan (Yellowbird)
- 1996: Quartet (Nonesuch)
- 1999: The Sweetest Punch (Decca, 1999) with [Elvis Costello]]
- 2001: Blues Dream (Nonesuch)
- 2007: Floratone (Blue Note) with Floratone
- 2008: History, Mystery (Nonesuch)
- 2012: Floratone II (Savoy Jazz) with Floratone
- 2009: Go Home
- 2002: The Long and Short of It
- 2004: Crossed Paths
- 2006: How Bout' Now
- 2007: In the Grotto
- 2008: Single Moment
- 2003: Tiny Voices with Don Byron
- 2006: Way Out East
- 2008: Music Along the Way
- 2007: Some Wonderful Moment
- 2015: Dancing on the Inside
- 2018: Still Dreaming
References
- Metropolitan State College of Denver – Department of Music Retrieved October 11, 2012.
