Thoughts On The Dead

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

Tag: miles davis (page 4 of 6)

In A Semi-Fictional Way

“You ever been this cool, motherfucker?”

Nope. Not even close.

“I’m like this always.”

You are.

“Many of the problems I’ve had with white people stem from this. White man sees me, and he’s threatened. Knows he can’t walk like me, knows he can’t dress like me. This threatens him. Then he sees the white bitches wanting to fuck me, and this angers him. Plus, most white men are homosexuals, so they also want to fuck me. I fuck the white man’s head up.”

Mr. Davis, did you ever pay the National Anthem before a game?

“Why asking me that? You in the CIA?”

I am not in the–

“Most white men are homosexuals and in the CIA.”

Uh-huh. Not in the CIA.

“What the fuck you asking about the anthem for?”

There’s a kerfuffle about it when I live.

“You just say ‘kerfuffle’ to Miles fucking Davis?”

Yeah.

“You know I’m gonna shoot at you, right?”

Also yeah.

BANG!

I deserved that.

“Ain’t never played that shit. What, you mean stand on the fucking pitcher’s mound and play that dumb-ass song? Nah, fuck that shit. Mets asked once.”

You turned them down?

“Yeah. And the next time I saw Cleon Jones, I punched the motherfucker.”

You know Cleon Jones?

“Everybody knows Jonesy. Outgoing motherfucker.”

RUSSIAN PIANO NOISES

“Who the fuck is that playing that shit?”

“Is your piano player.”

“You ain’t my piano player, motherfucker! Where’s Herbie?”

“Herbie Hancock have accident. Very sad. Fell on upside-down lawnmower. Tragedy. Now I piano player.”

“Stop playing that fucking piano.”

“Putin nyet play Fender Rhodes.”

“That’s not what I meant, motherfucker!”

“Putin solo.”

DICTATORIAL SOLOING NOISE

“We’re in B-flat, motherfucker!”

“Putin play free.”

“Not on my fucking stage.”

“Kiss ass, Miles David.”

“What the fuck did you say to me?”

“HEY! Gentlemen!”

“Not okay, boys! We are NOT going to fight here”

“Who the fuck are these motherfuckers?”

“Putin know skinny man. Owns restaurant I invade several time.”

“Eyes up here, fellows.”

“Look how disappointed Phil and I are in you.”

“VERY!”

“If you’re not gonna play nice, then we’ll separate you.”

“Who the fuck are these motherfuckers?”

“Maybe they vill have accident.”

“I’m okay with that.”

“Putin make call.”

Miles In The Sky With Diamonds

“What’s that boy’s name who doesn’t know how to play drums? He was in your band.”

“Ringo?”

“That’s it. Lemme ask you: he simple?”

“I don’t understand.”

“A retard. Ringo a retard? No one who ain’t retarded could play drums that bad.”

“Ringo wasn’t retarded. I don’t think.”

“Trust me. Retard. Gotta have a smart drummer. Tony Williams could hold down a groove while filling out the Times crossword puzzle. And not that easy-ass Monday shit, neither. He’d do Thursday in pen. Never drop a beat. He was like you. Dug Chinese bitches.”

“Yoko is Japanese, Miles.”

“Japanese people are just Island Chinamen. Not sneaky. The white propaganda during the war said they was sneaky, but this isn’t true. Straightforward motherfuckers, just weird. Chinese bitches got different kind of pussies than white bitches or black bitches. This is true. You know this. Chinese bitches got double-jointed pussies. Used to have one could open up a Heineken bottle. Then she’d drink the whole thing. All with her pussy. Amazing pussy.”

“It’s something else.”

“Got me to wondering. Maybe it’s all the Chinese. Not just bitches. Maybe the men had magic dicks or some shit. I had to know, but I ain’t no sissy.”

“What did you do, Miles?”

“I made Chick Corea fuck a whole bunch of Chinamen. He wasn’t queer or nothing, but it’s my fucking band so he did it.”

“And?”

“And what, motherfucker?”

“Do they have magic dicks?”

“Chick didn’t think so. I think that experience was what led him to that Scientology bullshit he does.”

“Yoko knows some Scientologists. Don’t you, Yoko?”

“My dear friends the Cannonbaums are–”

JAZZSLAP!

“What the fuck, Miles? Why’d you hit Yoko?”

“I felt she was disrespecting me.”

“Don’t beat up my wife. That’s my job, okay? I beat up my wives; you beat up your wives.”

“I don’t beat them up. I beat them, but I don’t beat them up.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction.”

“It’s subtle, motherfucker.”

“Miles, I forgive you for striking–”

BEATLESLAP!

“You’re doing it all wrong. That was sad. Power comes from your hips. You just swinging your arm like a fairy. Gotta get your torque going.”

“I think I know how to hit my wife, Miles.”

“Boy, I was slapping wives before you were born. Don’t give me your bullshit.”

“Could both of you please stop hitting–”

JAZZSLAP!

“See the hips? Were you watching?”

“I’ll try it. I’ll try it once, but I like my way.”

“One of my teeth is loose. You hit me really–”

BEATLESLAP!

“See?”

“That felt good, actually.”

“There are numerous bystanders. I don’t know why no one’s calling the po–”

JAZZSLAP!

“What was that one for, Miles?”

“Bitch was gonna snitch.”

OKAY. That’s enough. No more of whatever this is. Everyone stop beating his wife.

“I’m not beating my wife. I’m beating his wife, motherfucker.”

We’re done. I wish this hadn’t happened.

Dark Magus

I had a watch like that.

“Mine cost $800, motherfucker.”

Mine didn’t.

“Checkmate. You ever stay in your house for five years having freaky sex and doing cocaine?”

No.

“It’s worth trying. I had a good time. White women would bring me money. I liked that. They would do things on one another, and that interested me. Taking a lot of pills at the time. Think I killed a maid.”

You think you killed a maid?

“I told you, motherfucker: I was taking a lot of pills.”

You did tell me that.

“Place got messy, but I didn’t care. A Jewish fellow bought me a piano to try to get me to play again.”

That was nice of him.

“I think I killed him, too.”

You really did have a dark period.

“Couldn’t handle the music business no more. Too many people using their Jewishness on me.”

Uh-huh.

“Exhausting. That’s all the music business is: Jew magic.”

Please stop.

“Black man and the Jew are natural allies, but Jews don’t see it that way. Look in the mirror and think they’re white. This makes them side with their oppressor. Changing their names and shit. Had an accountant try to introduce himself to me as Mr. Adams. I said, ‘Motherfucker, your middle name’s Adam. Your last name’s Boogershmitz or some bullshit. I see your hair, motherfucker.’ That angers me. Even if I could pass for a white man, I fucking wouldn’t. I would feel dirty inside.”

You’re a man of principle, Mr. Davis.

“I got principle like a motherfucker, yeah.”

“Now you have new rhythm section, Miles David.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Is Putin. Am jazzbo.”

“You can’t be in my band, motherfucker.”

“Da. Putin is in Third Great Quintet.”

“Go fuck yourself, Boris. And what the fuck is that thing with the bass?”

“Is Crazy Ivan. Is so funky.”

“Fuck him, too.”

“WAAAAAAAH!”

“Vhy you make Crazy Ivan cry?”

“Because fuck him, that’s why.”

“Stop being ungrateful, Miles David.”

“Fuck this. I’m going back in my house for another five years.”

“You can nyet go to house. Ve have gig at Plugged Nickel.”

“Take that ugly motherfucker and play it yourfuckingself.”

“WAAAAAAAH!”

“Nyet cry, Ivan. He lie. You beautiful.”

“No, you ain’t.”

“WAAAAAAAH!”

“Ve are now enemy, Miles David.”

“Suck my dick, bitch.”

Don’t Bop

Hey, Mister–

“Shut the fuck up. Listen.”

What am I listening to?

“A bass player about to be fired.”

Which one this time?

“Dave Holland. Had to fire his limey ass. Played the notes wrong.”

Dave Holland was playing wrong notes?

“I didn’t say that, you simple motherfucker. He played the right notes, but he played ’em wrong.”

You have a unique way of leading a band.

“I tried to tell him. I said, ‘Dave, play like a cowboy in the supermarket.’ And he couldn’t. He’d play one thing, and it’d be a cowboy but not in the supermarket. Maybe in the post office or something. Played another, and now he’s in the supermarket, but he sure ain’t no fucking cowboy. Boy just couldn’t understand basic fucking instructions”

Okay.

“Besides, I couldn’t stand that accent. Sounded like a queer. Wife sounded like a queer, too.”

I’m just gonna say “okay” again because I have no response to that.

“When I was doing Bitches Brew, John McLaughlin made the date. Came in here with his guitar. Motherfucker could play, man. So I told him, ‘John, play like a genius just punched you in the eye,’ and I punched him in the eye. That track became Miles Runs The Voodoo Down. That was a man who could take direction.”

You did like hitting people.

“Motherfuckers became punched. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Miles, what do you want on your tofu dog?”

“Don’t bring that white bullshit near me. Put your tofu up your ass.”

“They’re delicious, Miles. And good for the earth!”

“Fuck the earth, fuck you, and fuck tofu. Don’t I know you?”

“We shared a bill three years ago, when I was 29.”

“Been a rough three years, motherfucker.”

“Three years your time. Like, forever ago in the reality of my photograph.”

“This all some white people bullshit I’ve gotten involved with.”

“Oh, yeah. White as hell and bullshit as all get out.”

“Don’t make no fucking sense whatsoever.”

“Nope. You want ketchup on your tofu dog?”

BANG!

“You shot the tofu!”

“Probably tastes better now, motherfucker.”

Signin’

“What’s your name, boy?”

“My name is Timmy, Mr. Davis.”

“Fuck you, Timmy. I’m gonna make this out to Opie, cause you’re an Opie-looking motherfucker.”

Please be nice to children.

“Fuck children. They don’t buy records and you can’t fuck them. No use at all.”

They’re not supposed to be useful.

“Me and Brando used to hang out.”

You never actually listen to me, do you?

“Knew him for a while. Back when he wasn’t so fucking fat. Always a slob, though. Used to go over his apartment. Pizza boxes and shit all over the place. Be wearing that white tee-shirt from the movies. Think he stole it off the set cause he’s the cheapest motherfucker you ever met. Got his tee-shirt on and no drawers. Dick hanging out. Then he’d start trying to make me eggs. Motherfucker’s cracking eggs and his dick’s flopping into the fucking pan.”

Did you have the eggs?

“I ain’t eating dick eggs, motherfucker.”

Figured.

“Always been very particular about my food. Like it a certain way. Frances knew how to make my food.”

Your first wife.

“Yeah. Cooked real good. Not too heavy on the spices. Gotta have a little bit. Can’t be eating that bland white shit. You know white people just boil a chicken and eat that shit?”

I do, yes.

“Fuck is wrong with you people?”

A lot.

“Gotta have some flavor, but just a bit. Can’t be playing trumpet with a heavy stomach. Burping into your horn and shit. Not right. I fired Steve Grossman for that shit.”

Could Cecily Tyson cook the way you liked?

“She could order the shit I liked from room service. That’s about it.”

“Mr. Davis, may I have your autograph, please?”

“That’s nice. Respectful. What’s your name, white boy?”

“Bobby, sir.”

“You look familiar.”

“Yeah, uh, we shared a bill two years ago when I was 22.”

“What the fuck is happening?”

“Well, it’s sort of a floating timeline around here. Are you, uh, familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?”

BANG!

“Next motherfucker that asks me that stupid bullshit is getting shot!”

Please don’t shoot the children, Mr. Davis.

“I shoot whoever the fuck I want.”

Bobby, just run.

“I want my autograph.”

Miles, In The Sky

That your car, Mr. Davis?

“No, motherfucker. There just happened to be a fucking Ferrari 275 in the middle of the park. I just found it.”

There’s no need for the sarcasm.

“Stop being so dumb, I’ll stop being so mean.”

Will you really?

“Probably not. I just don’t like you.”

Sure.

“Gotta drive a man’s car. Ferrari’s all right. Used to have a Mercedes. Always like to have a nice car. Gotta keep that shit clean, too. Wash it when it gets any dirt on it. Look fresh. Philly Joe Jones tried eating a slice of pizza in my car, I fired him.”

Seems a bit extreme.

“Nah, you didn’t know Philly. Let that motherfucker eat his pizza in my Mercedes, he’d be having fucking picnics in there a week later. N—-r couldn’t rest until he found the line and stepped over it.”

I guess.

“Did you just censor me, motherfucker?”

Mr. Davis, I’m just not comfortable with that word.

“Why not? White people invented it. Own your shit.”

I’m just not going to let you–

BANG!

–use that word no matter how many times you shoot at me.

“Bitch.”

That’s fine, for some reason.

“You ain’t scared of bitches; you scared of n—-rs.”

STOP THAT, PLEASE.

“Oh, wouldn’t want to make a white man uncomfortable. Worst crime there is.”

“You want me execute him, Obama?”

“This motherfucker again?”

“Who gave the Chinaman a jet plane? They can’t even fucking drive.”

Mr. Davis, I am begging you to dial back your horridness.

“Suck my dick.”

“Suck all dick, loser. Look at doily Kim got for head. Is best doily.”

Why are you here again?

“Never left. Kim always here. Watching. Smoking.”

“I’ll give the fat bastard that. Motherfucker loves his smokes.”

“Obama and Kim smoking buddies. Gave present, carton of Only Korean cigarettes.”

“I threw that shit out. Tasted like a cat’s asshole.”

“Yes. Contain cat.”

“Motherfucker, you let me smoke cat?”

“Father invent cat.”

Mr. Davis, please don’t–

BANG!

–shoot at the crazy person with the nukes.

“It okay. He only hit general. Got more.”

“I was aiming at that motherfucker. Just a warning shot.”

You’re not supposed to kill people with warning shots.

“That how warning shots work in Only Korea.”

“You heard the n—-r.”

I regret all of this.

Smokin’

“Look how good I fucking look.”

You look damn good, Mr. Davis.

BANG!

What was that for!?

“Don’t put your eyes on me like I’m a bitch.”

You literally told me to look at you.

“In a masculine way. You was all sissy-looking.”

I apologize, I guess. When is this? Late 40’s?”

“Round there. I made this date and they called it Birth of the Cool. All the white people got to hear what we were playing in New York when they wasn’t around. Downbeat called it hard bop or some dumb shit like that.”

What did you call it?

“Music, motherfucker.”

Sure. Is that a joint?

“Shit, no. Pall Mall cigarette. Never enjoyed marijuana. Makes you dopey. I prefer dope.”

Okay.

“People talk bad about heroin, but it makes a motherfucker feel good. Recorded some masterpieces when I was shooting dope. Also got my pants stolen a lot. Up and down time for me. Cocaine’s nice, too. Trick is that you just do a little bit. Small line every ten minutes. Do that all night and you’re good. Can’t be greedy.”

That sounds a bit greedy.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Okay.

“The smokes, though. Can’t beat them. Three or four packs a day, then you sweat out the tar while you’re playing.”

I don’t know if that’s how it works.

“Obama right. Sweat out cigarette, no get cancer.”

“Who the fuck is that?”

Goddammit.

“Smoke ’em if got ’em.”

“Who the fuck are you? I didn’t order no fucking Chinese food.”

“No be racist.”

“I’m gonna be fucking racist, motherfucker.”

“You change, Obama.”

INTENSE GLARING NOISE

“Stop looking Kim Jong-Un like that.”

“Or what, motherfucker?”

“I call you dotard.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“No know.”

“Hey, bitch.”

Me?

BANG!

Me. Uh, yes?

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Mr. Davis, are you familiar with the concept of semi-fictionality?

“FATHER INVENT SEMI-FICTIONALITY!”

“Motherfucker, I knew I shouldn’t have talked to you.”

Everyone says that.

Miles Riles

“Who’s that?”

It’s me, Mr. Davis.

“Ain’t it Jew Year’s Eve?”

How lovely of you to remember.

“I live in New York, motherfucker. Think I ain’t had a knish before? You people do two things good, and one’s cook.”

Please don’t tell me what the other thing is.

“Fuck.”

I was not expecting that.

“Jewish bitch’ll work for you. Do stuff to your balls without telling them to. That’s nice, I like that. Plus, they ain’t got dogs. White bitches always got some little dog wants to bite your black ass while you’re fucking. White people so racist that their dogs hate black folks.”

I don’t know if that’s true.

“What the fuck would you know? Cop ever beat you in front of the club you was headlining at? Your name’s on the fucking sign and you got some soda-cracker motherfucker whacking at you with his billy club?”

No.

“Then shut the fuck up. I ever tell you about the time I went to the White House?”

No, sir.

“Should’ve known from the name I wasn’t supposed to be there. Cecily set it up. Thought I’d like it. All these old white people are there staring at me like I’m some fucking freak. I got a new outfit on, some real clean shit from this Japanese designer I liked at the time. Everyone else is in a tux or some European bullshit. White ladies kept coming up to me to ask about jazz.”

What about?

“Who the fuck knows? They didn’t want to know nothing, and you can’t teach someone like that nothing. They just wanted to look smart in front of their white lady friends. Should’ve seen these bitches. Got real tight faces and loose necks. Old, uptight white people. Looked like a restricted cemetery. You know who was there?”

No.

“Fred MacMurray.”

From My Three Sons?

“That motherfucker, yeah. Drooling on himself. I might’ve liked him the best. Least he couldn’t say no dumb shit to me. This one bitch walks up to me, right in my face, says, ‘And what did you do to get invited to the White House?'”

What did you say?

“I said, ‘I did this, bitch.’ And I took out my dick and pissed on her knee.”

Good answer.

“Cecily was mad, but fuck her.”

This was when Reagan was president, right?

“That simple motherfucker. Shit, I met a lot of white people but that motherfucker was clear. Couldn’t look directly at him.”

Reagan was a pretty white dude.

“And that wife of his. No ass on that bitch. I heard she sucked a mean dick, but bitch got no ass.”

I don’t know why you never write lyrics. You’re a poet.

BANG!

Yeah, I deserved that.

“Next one’s getting aimed at you.”

I’ll deserve that, too.

Miles’ Trials

That’s a nice coat, Mr. Davis.

“Course it is, you dumb hillbilly.”

I’m Jewish.

“Dumb Jew.”

Hey.

“I got nothing against the Jews over what I got against white people. Fuck all y’all.”

Enlightened, I guess.

“Jews always wanna hang out with blacks until there’s trouble. Then, you motherfuckers don’t know us until we pay the retainer.”

Can we talk about anything else?

“I did a lot of those rock festivals in the late 70’s, early 80’s. More money. White bitches everywhere. Most of those rock stars were some no-playing motherfuckers. Knew two chords and one of them was wrong. Played that happy baby shit. Couldn’t stand it.”

Was there anyone you did like?

“Liked the Grateful Dead. Played with them a few times. Spacey white people walking around without shirts on. Good money. Crowd listened. Didn’t mind that shit. Who was the fat Mexican?”

Jerry Garcia.

“Yeah, him. Smelled like a wet dog, but he knew a flat from a sharp. Loved my music. Who was the bitch? Tall with pretty hair.”

That was actually a man named Bob.

“I couldn’t tell. See, all those rock stars were bitches. Didn’t have no masculinity about them. What’s the name of the one in the jeans who talks about his daddy?’

Bruce Springsteen.

“Homosexual.”

I don’t think he is.

“I can spot a homosexual. See, when a man lets his mother tell him what to do, this turns him into a homosexual.”

I don’t think it does.

“Bill Evans dabbled in homosexuality for years, but he gave it up for heroin. Made me proud.”

Mr. Davis, may I ask you a question?

“Depends on if it’s stupid or not.”

How did you get your distinctive voice?

BANG!

WHAT? That was a stupid question!?

“Not that bad. Just hadn’t shot at you in a while. Thought you was getting a little comfortable.”

Sure.

“Had a polyp removed from my larynx. Doctor told me not to raise my voice for a month.”

What happened?

“Ran into a motherfucker needed yelling at.”

How long after the doctor told you not to raise your voice did that happen?

“During the conversation. The motherfucker was the doctor.”

Of course it was.

Miles Dials

I thought you didn’t want to be part of this.

“I got more shit to say. Shut the fuck up.”

That’s a very fancy phone.

“I’m a fancy motherfucker. You know I once stabbed Symphony Sid?”

I didn’t.

“White motherfucker can’t play a note. Comes out and says his bullshit, and he’s getting a grand a  night. This is ’52, so that ain’t bullshit. Band gets $250 between us. This motherfucker got his radio show from Birdland so all the white people know who he is. We’re the ones playing the music. Not right.”

So you stabbed him?

“As little as possible.”

Kind of you.

“People want to get cute with money. Lost track of the motherfuckers thinking my money is their money.  I been broke, but I never stole nothing like people steal from me.”

You were broke?

“Shit. First couple years in New York. Didn’t have a dollar to my name. Clothes looking ragged, and I’m a vain motherfucker. Always have been. Looked so bad that Duke gave me a couple hundred bucks in front of Birdland one night.”

Was this when you were a junkie?

“Didn’t say there wasn’t no reason I was broke.”

True.

“I got through it. Kicked the junk a couple times. Women would give me money. Kept playing my horn, just playing music.”

Wait. What about the women?

“Women would give me money.”

Why?

“They liked me, motherfucker.”

And what if they didn’t give you money?

“That’s between me and them.”

You’re talking about being a pimp, Miles.

BANG!

You’re talking about being a pimp, Mr. Davis.

“White man’s got all sorts of words for all sorts of bullshit. Bitch want to give me money, I ain’t stopping her.”

The pimp thing does explain the phone, though.

“Phone cost six grand.”

My phone has a teevee and encyclopedia in it.

BANG!

Yeah, okay, yours is cooler!

“I know.”

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