Wednesday, August 29, 2007
One Hour Left To Live
Years ago, Miles Davis played the Bluebird Club in Detroit, the doorway of in which I am sitting. He came to the big D for an extended time to kick his heroin habit and on the nights he played, he walk a mile in the snow with his horn to play for the waiting crowds because although he was not yet famous, he was still Miles, and people knew him and he knew people. Even when he became famous, he'd come back to the Bluebird to play for a nominal fee, never forgetting the owner's kindness during this rough patch.
It's safe to say that Miles didn't like that many people; he had a legendary temper and a deep streak of misanthropy that I kind of like. When asked what he would do if he had one hour left to live, he said, I'd strangle a white man very very slowly. I have often had the same sentiment given certain men's actions. But I like the phrase, He never forgot the owner's kindness. When we are in our hour of need and things look bleak, we never forget the people who took a chance on us when things weren't so great. I like to think of Miles walking through the cold Detroit winter -- years later he'd probably ride in limos and stuff; he'd never have to tough it out in quite the same way again. But he'd probably never see anything as harsh or beautiful as what he saw on the way to the Bluebird; he could write music about that cold truth for the rest of his life.
Michelle's Spell of the Day
"Do not fear mistakes. There are none." Miles Davis
Drinking music suggestion: Kind of Blue Miles Davis
Benedictions and Maledictions
Happy Tuesday! And happy birthday to my lovely sister Beth! See the post right before this one.