Miles spills out his inner saddness and melancholy in ribbons of dissonant tones and phrases that seem to end in question marks. The tinny insignificant echo of his horn seems to haunt and seek a place of comfort that eludes him. I love the whole album but this piece is special to me.
It is one of those "you either get it ..or you dont" kind of jazz pieces.
There was a very good documentary on PBS sometime ago that aired over a few nights the history of jazz. From Charlie Parkers first rendetion of 'Cherokee' to all those great harlem clubs boasting the likes of Dizzy, Thelonius, and of course Bird. I never realized the depth of they're music theory knowlege until on a film clip was shown a very young Dizzy writing on a chalk board explaining to his band some phrases. Those guys knew they're stuff. From California cool jazz to Harlem bop I love it all. Maybe I can scrounge up the name of that series.