excerpt from 'Miles To Go: The Lost Years: An Intimate Memoir of Life on the Road with Miles Davis' pp. 89 (153 words)
excerpt from 'Miles To Go: The Lost Years: An Intimate Memoir of Life on the Road with Miles Davis' pp. 89 (153 words)
| part of | Miles To Go: The Lost Years: An Intimate Memoir of Life on the Road with Miles Davis |
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| in pages | 89 |
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We were doing shows at the Osaka Grand, which served as both hotel and concert hall--a great convenience. Miles played masterfully, squeezing so much emotion out of his horn that I wept, and I wasn't the only one. When he would finish a solo, there would be silence from the audience, as if they were stunned into immobility by its beauty. After a long wait, they would slowly begin to applaud, then gradually the sound would grow and grow, until the house shook with the noise. They truly heard what he was saying, what the band was doing. What a feeling to be validated by an audience that hears and understands. Miles, of course, shrugged off the applause, refusing as always to take a bow or do an encore. I tried to get him to take a bow, but he wouldn't. "You've always got to leave them wanting a little more," he said. |
| appears in search results as | excerpt from 'Miles To Go: The Lost Years: An Intimate Memoir of Life on the Road with Miles Davis' pp. 89 (153 words) |
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