You had me at “Miles Davis with Sonny Rollins and Thelonious Monk.”
The thing is, as was so often the case with 1950s jazz issues—this album originally appeared in 1957—the initial pitch plays it fast and loose with the underlying facts, and the contents are something of a mish-mash.
When the sessions that became this album took place in 1954, Miles Davis was on his way, making great strides as both a bandleader and a performer, while still (always) searching for the magic combination of players that might unlock the music he heard in his head. Rollins and Monk were fellow young stars in the jazz constellation, with Monk in particular having gained notice as an innovator, though neither was yet established as a bandleader.
On June 29, 1954, Davis led a session with Rollins (tenor sax), Horace Silver (piano), Percy Heath (bass) and Kenny Clarke (drums). This developed into something of a showcase for young Rollins, as Davis led them through three of the saxophonist’s originals, plus a Gershwin standard. Six months later, on Christmas Eve, Davis convened another session with Heath and Clarke, this time matched up with Milt Jackson (vibes) and Monk on piano.
So yes, Bags’ Groove features Davis, Rollins, and Monk… but never all three together, and it slaps together two separate and distinct sessions as if they’re one thing, which they definitely aren’t. Finally, the album reverses the order of the sessions, opening with two tracks from December and following them with five from June. (The bulk of the material from the famous Christmas Eve 1954 session—the only time Davis and Monk ever recorded together—would subsequently be issued in 1959 as Miles Davis & The Modern Jazz Giants
.)
Okay, fine: the label messed with the artist’s work and made a series of questionable decisions. Around here we call that Tuesday. What about the music?
The opening title track is a Milt Jackson composition that references his nickname, “Bags.” And a fine title it is for a number with this much groove, and this much of Jackson’s melodious, uber-cool vibes work. The 11-minute track features Davis for the first 3:30 with just Heath and Clarke behind him, setting the scene and soloing with sophistication. Then Jackson steps up for a three-minute series of runs that melt like butter in your ears. As he eases up, Monk begins to assert himself for what turns out to be a roomy, rangy solo of his own, until Miles comes back in to rule the final two minutes.
The second track is “Bags’ Groove (Take 2),” this time a tighter 9:24 rendition with a little more Miles and a little less Jackson and Monk. It feels slightly livelier but also less melodic, with Monk in particular taking a more percussive, dissonant approach. Still, it’s always entertaining to hear players of this caliber finding their way through and playing off of one another.
The first track from the June sessions, Rollins’ “Airegin,” opens with him leading the way into an initial statement with Davis and Rollins playing the jumpy, restless theme in unison. Davis delivers a nimble solo that Rollins responds to with a juking, fluid and oh-so-powerful reply. By the time they circle back to the main theme near the end, it feels like the entire band has shifted up a gear, tearing along to an abrupt finish.
The bopping “Oleo,” another Rollins number, features Davis using a mute on his horn for the first time, lending extra expressiveness and variable tone. Rollins naturally gets a ripping good solo in as well, along with Silver. The Gershwin brothers’ “But Not For Me” is heard in two takes, with Take 2 appearing first. Davis leads off; then Rollins and Silver get their innings in before they return to Davis on this classy bit of swinging nightclub jazz.
The third Rollins composition, “Doxy,” opens with Davis and Rollins tiptoeing along in unison. After Davis’s initial solo, Rolins comes on strong at 2:05, smoky and smooth and increasingly confident, and Silver does some of his best work before the group circles back to restate the main theme. The album closes with Take 1 of “But Not For Me,” which pushes the tempo from the start, losing that sophisticated late-night feel in favor of a sprightly cadence. In the end, the two takes are like two different but equally tasty flavors of ice cream.
Bags’ Groove showcases Davis still in his early hard-bop phase, pushing and prodding his crews to find that next level. He would get there in time, but for the moment settled for making some fine bop with a group of gifted contemporaries. I don’t know if Davis, Monk and Rollins ever did play in a room together—someone who actually knows their jazz history could probably tell you that—but even laying these sessions side by side, you can appreciate how they’re cut from the same uber-cool cloth.