James Kaplan follows up his fantastic two-volume biography of Frank Sinatra with a book that is, in a sense, the biography of an album: Miles Davis’s KIND OF BLUE, recorded in 1959 and now universally regarded as a masterpiece with a colossal influence on modern music. Kaplan chronicles the lives of the three geniuses who performed on this record, not only Davis but John Coltrane and Bill Evans. Weaving together this trio of lives touches on so many other jazz titans, among them Charlie Parker, Thelonious Monk, ‘Cannonball’ Adderly (who also performs on KIND OF BLUE), Ornette Coleman. It also allows Kaplan to explore the devolution of jazz from a popular artform to a niche form of music, with Davis’s album as a true apotheosis: an unparalleled height from which jazz could only fall. Two themes run through the book. First, the power of tutelage, as jazz musicians select up-and-coming collaborators who seem like counterintuitive choices only to unlock something in themselves and their mentors (Parker anointing Davis, who in turn would select Coltrane and many others). And the destructive force of drugs, which ravaged the jazz world and destroyed Evans’s life. Kaplan, possibly inspired by his subjects, engages in some structural bravado of his own with a lengthy closing chapter running almost a quarter of the text that relays what happened to the principals—and to jazz—after KIND OF BLUE. As in his masterful Sinatra bio, Kaplan writes about music in lyrical, evocative fashion. You’ll want copies of these records on hand as he walks you through them. A deep, rich, invigorating piece of social history, written with compassion and care.

In 1989, James Kaplan, through a happy “coincidence”, found himself at Essex House in New York, interviewing Miles Davis for Vanity Fair:

"It was an assignment I’d lucked into through my magazine-editor brother, who knew a Vanity Fair editor who’d said he needed a profile of Miles to accompany an excerpt from the trumpet legend’s forthcoming memoir…"

Kaplan doesn’t think he did very well then: he didn’t know enough to ask Miles the right questions, and the initial two hours just weren’t enough anyway:

"I asked timorously if I might have some more time, and Miles rasped, “Come back tomorrow.”

Of course I returned the next day, without the publicist this time, and the second session went much like the first, full of Miles’s sentence fragments about tangential topics; further discussion about his artwork; stories about matters and people I hadn’t the wherewithal to understand; and minimalist, wandering answers to my jazz questions. At the time I had the sinking feeling that I would draw little of substance from him, even over the course of three hours…"

Jazz greats Miles, Coltrane and Bill Evans are the subject of this immersive history—probably the only book you’ll ever have to read on them. Not being more than an occasional fan of jazz, I have, though, of course listened to Miles and Coltrane (endlessly, even), but I had never heard of Bill Evans, the bespectacled white piano man who looked, in his youth, like a teacher, and who, along with Coltrane, became a favourite of Miles’s. Kaplan traces the careers of all three (with cameos from just about every major figure of jazz, through interviews and whenever their paths crossed with those of the three subjects).

Jazz was “feared and reviled” by white society at the beginning of the twentieth century, but rose to become, by the middle of the century, the definitive American sound (although it was quickly overtaken by rock and roll by the 1960s). These three men were instrumental in this, working hard on their craft—practising obsessively, playing perhaps thousands of gigs between them, going on the road—and unfortunately ruining their lives and health in the process. Because, as Kaplan shows, the story of jazz greats is also the story of chaotic personal lives, and also heroin (mentioned 116 times in the book), cocaine, alcohol, and marijuana:

"Heroin and alcohol incapacitated merely terrestrial musicians; Bird could be jostled awake from a drug or whiskey stupor and start playing brilliantly, instantly."

"“I heard Charlie Parker and that was it,” Red Rodney said. When you’re very young and immature and you have a hero like Charlie Parker was to me, an idol who proves himself every time, who proves greatness and genius. . . . When I listened to that genius night after night, being young and immature and not an educated person, I must have thought, “If I crossed over that line, with drugs, could I play like that?” “You want a sense of belonging,” Rodney said. “You want to be like the others. . . . Heroin was our badge. It was the thing that gave us membership in a unique club, and for this membership we gave up everything else in the world. Every ambition. Every desire. Everything. It ruined most people.”"

"Dizzy liked to take a drink and enjoyed marijuana, but never used heroin, at least intentionally. (He once snorted some, thinking it was cocaine, and instantly passed out.)"

"“I think for Bill, the white guy from Plainfield, New Jersey, who looked every bit the part of the white guy from Plainfield, New Jersey, he really felt that to get into that world he needed to become a junkie,” the drummer Eliot Zigmund, who played in Evans’s trio in the seventies, told me. “And boy, did he become a junkie.”"

Coltrane, the super intense, spiritual man, also fell into using:

"In all the hundreds of pages of interviews in Coltrane on Coltrane, Coltrane himself makes no reference to his drug use—although apparently he did speak candidly in 1960 to the Swedish journalist Björn Fremer about his addictions to alcohol and narcotics, and his “deep regret that he’d wasted so many years of his life because of them”—but then asked Fremer to remove that part of the interview from the article."

Miles was apparently so upset with Coltrane over his habit that he hit him, and fired him; Coltrane later went to work with Theolonius Monk, kicked his heroin habit, and “had a spiritual awakening” that led to that transcendental experience, A Love Supreme:

"“During the year 1957,” he would write in the liner notes of his great 1964 album A Love Supreme, I experienced, by the grace of God, a spiritual awakening which was to lead me to a richer, fuller, more productive life. At that time, in gratitude, I humbly asked to be given the means and privilege to make others happy through music. I feel this has been granted through His grace.”"

"The pressures were everywhere. “I started using around 1945 when just about all the big names were,” [Dexter] Gordon told an interviewer years later. Bird. Sonny Stitt. Bud Powell. Fats Navarro. Gene Ammons. Billie Holiday. And white musicians, like Stan Getz, Gerry Mulligan, Red Rodney, Chet Baker. In his memoir, Miles speaks of the younger musicians who became heavy users in the mid- to late 1940s, starting with Gordon and also including Tadd Dameron, Art Blakey, J. J. Johnson, Sonny Rollins, Jackie McLean. And himself.""

But Miles managed to kick his heroin habit—eventually (although he continued taking cocaine), and went on to have a second life, marrying Cicely Tyson in 1981, and coming back to music in 1980 after a six-year break for health reasons.

Coltrane died at 40 of liver cancer. Evans died at 52, never having conquered his demons, and, like Miles, having traded heroin for cocaine. Miles died in 1991, aged 65, after a lifetime of health struggles, and in the end, a stroke.

I don’t know if this will be Kaplan’s magnum opus, but it will surely come close. It’s a brilliant book for jazz and music lovers, but is also an astonishing historical record of, particularly, Black musicians (and Bill Evans): their rise, peak, and personal fall, although in the case of the three musical luminaries of this book—Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Bill Evans, one must argue that they never fell, although they died. They will live forever; this book becomes part of the reason.

Miles: “Man, sometimes it takes you a long time to sound like yourself.”

Many thanks to Penguin and to NetGalley for early access.

This is one of the great biographies of Jazz and the development of the Age of Cool seen through the eyes of some of the great performers of the time, Monk, Parker. Davis, Coltrane and Evans.

A momentous time in Jazz which is beautifully researched by Kaplan who translates his love of the era to the reader.

If you want to understand this era then start with this book, Kaplan brings the age to life, even for the beginner. An age of giants brought to life by a writer in his prime.

In 3 Shades of Blue the lives of Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and Bill Evans and the creation of Kind of Blue are used as a frame for depicting the history of jazz from bebop through fusion. Their lives are fascinating but tragic, with virtually all of the lows coming from the use of heroin and other substances(a major theme of the book). It's a great book for those simply interested in learning about jazz as well as hardcore fans who want to learn more. Along the way, there's plenty about jazz greats Charlie Parker, Dizzy Gillespie, Thelonious Monk (who took a young Coltrane under his wing), Ornette Coleman and numerous others.

My biggest regret is that as a netgalley reviewer I wanted to review this before the publication date, but that didn't give me sufficient time to listen to the music as I was reading about it (the musical descriptions both in the author's voice and through numerous quotes are often eloquent and illuminating). When I did get a chance to listen, the reading experience was definitely enhanced. I have numerous passages in the book highlighted just so I can go back and listen. I could easily have spent twice as much time listening as I did reading (and only if I was picky).

The culminating event of the book is the recording of Kind of Blue (featuring the books main subjects plus Cannonball Adderly), and the great jazz albums of the annus mirabilis 1959 (includes Coltrane's Giant Steps, Mingus Ah Um, Ornette Coleman's The Shape of Jazz to Come, and Dave Brubeck's Time Out). As a very casual fan of the music, even I can recognize what a great year this was.

The last of the 16 chapters is something of a coda that traces the lives of its protagonists after 1959 up to Miles's death (the only of the three to make it into his 60s). But it actually makes up nearly 30% of the text, and has the most narrative drive of any of the sections. The book is highly recommended and likely to become a classic account. However, in some sections there is a bit of a tendency to list, with lists of bookings and combinations of players that become a blur after a while.