Bitches Brew WB rating out of 100

In 1970, Miles Davis seemed to have lost relevance. 11 years prior, with Kind of Blue, he had provided modern music with a genre-defining moment, a statement of musical intent that redirected jazz for future generations and established himself as the premier jazz man of the ‘50s and ‘60s. However, in 1970, rock music had well and truly arrived. Hendrix had demolished 'Star Spangled Banner' onstage at Woodstock, the Beatles had spent nearly 10 years bending conventional notions of popular music, Captain Beefheart had set new standards of experimentalism, possibly inventing Prog-Rock with the insane Trout Mask Replica and Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and the Rolling Stones were taking the blues and rocking it within an inch of its life. Jazz need a kick in the pants to remain current and important. Davis provided it.

Bitches Brew is a law unto itself. Genre barely seems important – it almost seems unfair to label it as a jazz record. The rhythm section is almost conventional – well, as conventional as two bass players and a veritable army of percussionists could be – but that's where comparisons to pre-existing jazz music ends. Horns and woodwind swirl in cacophonous harmony, keys dance around the backbeat, drawing on influences as diverse as The Doors and Thelonious Monk, all the while with all sections of the band retaining the improvisational stylings that Davis pioneered in 1959.

Upon a cursory listen, it seems like Bitches Brew breaks all the rules. Two keyboards, two drumkits, two bassists, one electric, one double bass; structure flaunted and flouted; prolonged periods of improvisational noodling which we now recognise as the progenitor of prog rock. The thing is, Davis wasn't breaking any rules. He knew something of supreme importance, something he knew while he was recording the epically significant Kind of Blue in 1959. There are no rules.

Over three days anger, confusion, and exhilaration had reigned in the studio, and the sonic themes, sheer will and emotion that resulted were percolated and edited into an astonishingly organic work. This Miles Davis wasn't merely presenting a simple hybrid like jazz-rock, but a new way of thinking about improvisation and the studio. Both lauded and savaged by critics, many of whom took offense at the use of an expletive on a record cover, Bitches Brew invented fusion, defied definition and opened the eyes and ears of an entire generation of musicians.

First, there's the slow, modal, opening grooves of ‘Pharaoh's Dance’, with its slippery trumpet lines to John McLaughlin's snaky guitar figures skirting the edge of the rhythm section while Don Alias' conga slips through the middle. The keyboards of Chick Corea and Joe Zawinul create a haunting, riffing groove echoed and accented by the two basses of Harvey Brooks and Dave Holland.

The second half of side one, the title track, was originally intended as a five-piece suite, but only three made the final cut. Polyrhythmic, ebbing and flowing, climactic and cataclysmic, it is possibly the most awe-inspiring piece of jazz ever recorded. Those who carry on should find side two no less dazzling. Opening with the now famous 'Spanish Key', and allowing McLaughlin a four minute interlude, Bitches Brew powers on to its rightful place in the pantheon of musical classics. And over the top of all of this, Davis' muted horn floats, swims, gallops and marches, setting the pace when required, while happily sitting in the shadow, allowing the band's talents to come powering to the fore.

Music has possibly never been so audaciously conceived while being so perfectly executed. Jazz music has always been seen as elitist and difficult, and Davis endeavored to bring it to the people, invoking every note with the spirit Hendrix unfurled as he took to the national anthem with two distortion pedals and a buzzsaw. Bitches Brew was, and is, a true moment in time. Mile Davis never had to worry about being relevant again.