Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Miles Breaks The Bullshit Down

Who are you–

“Hey! Motherfucker! I see you over there, motherfucking up a storm. Stop that shit.”

–pointing at?

“One of my guitar players. Don’t know what happened. Went my whole career without any, now I got nine or ten of ’em. Bunch of confused motherfuckers, guitarists. Never know what time they supposed to be anywhere. McLaughlin used to wander around without no shoes on. Figured it was some sort of hippie white person shit. Nah. Motherfucker lost his shoes. How you gonna lose your shoes? Fucking guitarists.”

It can’t be all guitar players, Mr. Davis.

“Can and is. Don’t doubt me. You anger me when you doubt me. I been around this business. Motherfuckers choose instruments for a fucking reason. Like, it’s subconscious. Guitar players are all airheads. Drummers are all out of their goddamned minds. The bass player is duplicitous. Piano players are all secret homosexuals. Trombonists are all scared of spiders.”

Sax players?

“Anti-Semites. Fucked up thing. I hire a sax player and it ain’t ten minutes before the motherfucker starts in with the Protocols of fucking Zion.”

Even Steve Grossman?

“Especially Steve fucking Grossman. Never seen anything like it. Motherfucker would goosestep around playing Hava Negila on his fucking horn.”

I don’t know how to respond to that.

“I laughed my ass off.”

Of course you did. Mr. Davis, what do you think about the news lately?

“I read the International Herald Tribune and Jet.”

The sexual harassment and all that.

“The what?”

Sexual harassment.

“What the fuck is that?”

Bothering women at work.

“I never did that.”

God for you, Mr. Davis.

“I never hired any women.”

I should have waited before complimenting you.

“I had some girls used to make me shirts and shit.”

That’s better, I guess.

“Fucked ’em.”


“I didn’t fucking bother ’em, though. They said nice things about me, and got freaky on themselves while I was trying on shirts. I enjoyed the shirts and the freakiness. Went home stinking like fashion pussy. Cicely got pissed. Wouldn’t shut the fuck up, so I made her quiet down.”

I am not going to ask–

“Left hook.”

–how you…wow.

“I told you. She wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Had nothing else to do.”

You had a million other options.

“Hey, I didn’t sexually harass her. Better than that fat Jewish fuck.”

I don’t think you are. I really don’t think you are.

“You gonna stop listening to my music?”

Probably not.

“Uh-huh. And, hey. Lemme ask you. You gonna stop watching the movies that fat fuck made?’

Probably not.

“So shove your judgement up your white ass, motherfucker. Don’t make me point at you.”

Always enlightening, Mr. Davis.

“I know.”


  1. …..The Miles Jet cover is a work of art

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