Davis' first truly influential project as a leader—which produced a series of recordings between 1949 and 1951 that helped shift the course of improvised music—was publicly underappreciated for almost ten years. In fact, Birth of the Cool, the title by which these tracks are now collectively known, was not applied until 1957 when Capitol Records collected the original eleven 78rpm sides and reissued them as a cohesive LP. Birth of the Cool was the most important stylistic step to follow after bebop—generating an entirely new wave of playing that influenced a new generation in the early 1950s. It started as a way of finding a way to meld the polyphony and other modern classical ideas (discordance, impressionism, unusual instrumentation) with the harmonic licenses pioneered by Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. Its reserved, emotional affect was its most recognized aspect: a laid-back reprieve from the unfettered frenetic energy of bebop that seemed a perfect fit for the insouciant, dark-sunglasses-at-midnight spirit that was shared by the likes of Chet Baker, Gerry Mulligan, Stan Getz and other purveyors of the Cool jazz sound. Birth of the Cool was born in a series of rehearsals that began in 1947 in a small basement apartment on 55th Street: Miles was in charge, leading a crew of like-minded musicians. The musicians who popped in and out of that basement band represented the cream of the next generation of jazz modernists: Davis’ old friends George Russell and John Lewis, Lee Konitz, Kai Winding, Mike Zwerin, Al Haig, Max Roach, Gunther Schuller, Al McKibbon and many others. Some—like Mulligan and Konitz—had been in a big band led by pianist Claude Thornhill who had developed a unique sound that drew generously from 20th Century classical textures and colors. The apartment was rented by arranger Gil Evans, another Thornhill alumni, who helped give shape to the music. The nine-man group they finally settled on was a reduced version of the jazz-band-cum-orchestra-brass Thornhill model: trumpet, trombone, French horn, tuba, alto saxophone, baritone saxophone, piano, bass and drums. “We wanted that sound but . . . as small as possible, “ Davis noted, adding: “I looked at the group like it was a choir . . . I wanted the instruments to sound like human voices.” Most importantly, this “composer conclave” (as Russell described it) ultimately afforded the young trumpeter the first opportunity to spread his wings as band leader and to take an initial, calculated step towards a more relaxed, reduced sound. At first, Davis was “unsure of how to be boss” recalls trombonist/writer Mike Zwerin. “He relied quite a bit on Evans to give musical instructions to the players.” But soon he had “cracked the whip” and “dominated the band completely,” according to Mulligan. In September 1948, the marquee went up at the Royal Roost – one of Manhattan’s leading jazz haunts at Broadway and 47th Street – to announce the band’s first engagement, supporting Count Basie. Their residency lasted two weeks. It played only one other gig and disbanded the next year, but not before waxing 12 recordings for Capitol Records in early 1949 and 1950. With Miles name as the leader on the record label, the music was released over the next few years as a series of influential—but not best-selling—78s. Their initial impact was relegated to jazz critics and musicians. But before the 1950’s had passed, the critical world looked upon the Birth of the Cool sessions as a musical shift of seismic proportions in jazz. One critic hailed the nonet’s music as summarizing “the whole achievement of modern jazz up to that point.” Writer Martin Williams, in an overview of all jazz achievements of the ‘50s, hailed its influence (“the effect of melodic rhythm on phrasing and on percussion”) and its role in launching an ascending star (“the promise of maturity in Davis himself, particularly in those splendid solos in ‘Move’ and ‘Israel’.”) It had been a bold effort for the young trumpeter, and one that came with a price. While planning the nonet recordings, Davis had received the call of a lifetime: the opportunity to join the Duke Ellington Orchestra, arguably the jazz world’s most established and respected outfit. Miles still recalled being blown away: “[Duke] tells me I’m in his plans for the fall [of 1948], musically speaking, and he wants me in his band. Man that knocked me right out . . . But I had to tell him that I couldn’t make it, because I was finishing up The Birth of the Cool.” (Auto., p.121) It is nothing less than astonishing to consider that even at 22, Davis had the presence of mind and sense of commitment to turn down the security and stature-raising of a seat in Duke’s band.

I am trusting the process with this site, but I will be damned if I don't keep getting sent total stinkers for albums to trudge through. Classic rock (which has now been coined Dinosaur rock by the younger generations, because I guess they use Oldies for something else...) purists will tell you this is one of the best albums of all time by a legendary band who helped invent southern rock. I am not one of those people.

One of my faves

First album I purchased with my own money

Second best album Oasis ever released

Used to be a big fan of classic rock, but there is a reason why no one speaks of this band or album any longer 68k listeners a month on Spotify.

Great ambient soundtrack to an amazing movie.

Butt rock

Not avaliable on Spotify. Unable to rate.

RIP Ozzy.

Only one song available on Spotify from the album. Unable to rate.

Davis' first truly influential project as a leader—which produced a series of recordings between 1949 and 1951 that helped shift the course of improvised music—was publicly underappreciated for almost ten years. In fact, Birth of the Cool, the title by which these tracks are now collectively known, was not applied until 1957 when Capitol Records collected the original eleven 78rpm sides and reissued them as a cohesive LP. Birth of the Cool was the most important stylistic step to follow after bebop—generating an entirely new wave of playing that influenced a new generation in the early 1950s. It started as a way of finding a way to meld the polyphony and other modern classical ideas (discordance, impressionism, unusual instrumentation) with the harmonic licenses pioneered by Charlie Parker and Dizzy Gillespie. Its reserved, emotional affect was its most recognized aspect: a laid-back reprieve from the unfettered frenetic energy of bebop that seemed a perfect fit for the insouciant, dark-sunglasses-at-midnight spirit that was shared by the likes of Chet Baker, Gerry Mulligan, Stan Getz and other purveyors of the Cool jazz sound. Birth of the Cool was born in a series of rehearsals that began in 1947 in a small basement apartment on 55th Street: Miles was in charge, leading a crew of like-minded musicians. The musicians who popped in and out of that basement band represented the cream of the next generation of jazz modernists: Davis’ old friends George Russell and John Lewis, Lee Konitz, Kai Winding, Mike Zwerin, Al Haig, Max Roach, Gunther Schuller, Al McKibbon and many others. Some—like Mulligan and Konitz—had been in a big band led by pianist Claude Thornhill who had developed a unique sound that drew generously from 20th Century classical textures and colors. The apartment was rented by arranger Gil Evans, another Thornhill alumni, who helped give shape to the music. The nine-man group they finally settled on was a reduced version of the jazz-band-cum-orchestra-brass Thornhill model: trumpet, trombone, French horn, tuba, alto saxophone, baritone saxophone, piano, bass and drums. “We wanted that sound but . . . as small as possible, “ Davis noted, adding: “I looked at the group like it was a choir . . . I wanted the instruments to sound like human voices.” Most importantly, this “composer conclave” (as Russell described it) ultimately afforded the young trumpeter the first opportunity to spread his wings as band leader and to take an initial, calculated step towards a more relaxed, reduced sound. At first, Davis was “unsure of how to be boss” recalls trombonist/writer Mike Zwerin. “He relied quite a bit on Evans to give musical instructions to the players.” But soon he had “cracked the whip” and “dominated the band completely,” according to Mulligan. In September 1948, the marquee went up at the Royal Roost – one of Manhattan’s leading jazz haunts at Broadway and 47th Street – to announce the band’s first engagement, supporting Count Basie. Their residency lasted two weeks. It played only one other gig and disbanded the next year, but not before waxing 12 recordings for Capitol Records in early 1949 and 1950. With Miles name as the leader on the record label, the music was released over the next few years as a series of influential—but not best-selling—78s. Their initial impact was relegated to jazz critics and musicians. But before the 1950’s had passed, the critical world looked upon the Birth of the Cool sessions as a musical shift of seismic proportions in jazz. One critic hailed the nonet’s music as summarizing “the whole achievement of modern jazz up to that point.” Writer Martin Williams, in an overview of all jazz achievements of the ‘50s, hailed its influence (“the effect of melodic rhythm on phrasing and on percussion”) and its role in launching an ascending star (“the promise of maturity in Davis himself, particularly in those splendid solos in ‘Move’ and ‘Israel’.”) It had been a bold effort for the young trumpeter, and one that came with a price. While planning the nonet recordings, Davis had received the call of a lifetime: the opportunity to join the Duke Ellington Orchestra, arguably the jazz world’s most established and respected outfit. Miles still recalled being blown away: “[Duke] tells me I’m in his plans for the fall [of 1948], musically speaking, and he wants me in his band. Man that knocked me right out . . . But I had to tell him that I couldn’t make it, because I was finishing up The Birth of the Cool.” (Auto., p.121) It is nothing less than astonishing to consider that even at 22, Davis had the presence of mind and sense of commitment to turn down the security and stature-raising of a seat in Duke’s band.

The Boo Radleys, while forming in 1988, never found any comercial success in the UK or US until this album. Wake Up Boo! topped the charts peaking at #9 solidifying them as a one hit wonder (if that,) before their eventual split in 1999. Having to contend with bands like Pulp, Blur, James, The Jesus and Mary Chain, Crowded House and Oasis, they never found their footing amid the Britpop or shoegaze scenes they were trying to wedge themselves into in the UK or the US. Giant Steps was awarded 9/10 by the UK music magazine NME, which stated, "It's an intentional masterpiece, a throw-everything-at-the-wall bric-a-brac of sounds, colours and stolen ideas. That The Boo Radleys (of all people!) have decided to accept their own challenge and create a record as diverse and boundary-bending as this is, at first glance, staggering. Isn't this the job of the U2s and the leisured idols of rock, unable to do anything without the tacit approval of history? Fortunately not. The Boo Radleys are sifting through time (the mid-'60s, mostly) and conjuring up something that's as cut-up and ambitious as anything you'd care to mention". Reviewing the album's re-release in 2008, Sic Magazine wrote, "For 64 minutes they were the greatest band on the planet." As time has gone on, this forgettable album by a flash in the pan band does not stand the test of time. If you are a fan of Pavement, Dinosaur Jr., Lush, or Slowdive, then this album may be for you. Or you could just listen to any of the albums from those stalwart bands instead. With its time capsule sound and its dated song titles such as Rodney King - Song For Lenny Bruce The Boo Radleys sound like so many other bands and groups of the time who did it better and are still putting out great music today.

Well I am not sure what about this project and app has become worse. The disposable white male musicians that either the creator or algorithm keeps throwing at us (this is literally a band of Julian Cope who we were just subjected to earlier in the week.) Or the equally insufferable and disposable white male opinions lauding this horseshit, while bemoaning actual jazz and period staples because they listen with their snowflake 2025 ears. Gangsta rap from the '90s offensive? Oh no. American songbook selections from the '40s don't hold up? You don't say. If I wanted asinine takes I could just head over to Pitchfork where at least those asshats get paid to be pretentious douchebags. This project needs to become a lot more random in its musical selections. Because at this rate 750 of the 1001 albums are going to be akin to this drivel.

I am trusting the process with this site, but I will be damned if I don't keep getting sent total stinkers for albums to trudge through. Classic rock (which has now been coined Dinosaur rock by the younger generations, because I guess they use Oldies for something else...) purists will tell you this is one of the best albums of all time by a legendary band who helped invent southern rock. I am not one of those people.