[...] Al Foster was always his [Miles Davis’s] key player. Al's eyes would never leave Miles: He was attentive to every small gesture, every indication in Miles's facial nuances that he was about to go this way or that. In essence, he translated Miles to the band, effortlessly taking them where the leader was heading. He also acted as a deacon to Miles's preacher, cajoling, exhorting, and rewarding Miles verbally as Miles played. Often, when Miles would bring the band down way low and go into one of his glorious soft solos, all you could hear would be Miles's seductive muted trumpet and Al's voice, softly pleading like a woman to her lover, "Oh, Miles, yes. Miles, Miles, Miles." Miles would finish the solo, turn to Al and raise his eyebrows and smile, as if to say, "I really did do good there, didn't I”?