JAZZ REVIEW : Trumpeter Miles Davis Conjurs Up Images Both Fascinating, Disarming

What is it about Miles Davis that fascinates us so much? For nearly 40 years now the charismatic trumpeter has been stalking the musical stages of our hearts--a figure as appealing as he is disturbing. Like a perfect lover, he throws us off balance, startling us with a succession of unexpected images as demandingly aggressive as they are disarmingly vulnerable.

The question, like most aspects of the Davis persona, is probably beyond simple resolution. But a few answers became apparent Friday night at the Coach House in San Juan Capistrano, when Davis made a rare local appearance in the relatively intimate arena of a nightclub setting.

Delayed by gridlock freeway conditions, the Davis group reached the stage around 9, nearly an hour late. But if the stress of being trapped in five lanes of traffic headed for a Grateful Dead concert in Irvine had any effect upon the musicians, it was nowhere evident in the music.

Davis’ band--Kenny Garrett on alto and flute, Adam Holzman and Robert Irving III on keyboards, Joseph (Foley) McCreary on lead bass, Benny Rietveld on low bass, Marilyn Mazur on percussion, Ricky Weldman on drums--may be as close as he has come to an ensemble with both the panache and the accessibility of a major rock group. Of the 10 or so pieces performed, none came from Davis’ pre-1985 repertoire and all bristled with sharp, chunky, funk-based rhythms.

Characteristically dressed in an eye-catching black costume complete with harem pants, Davis roved from one musician to another, like a shaman at a ritual. Predictably, he was the dramatic master of the moment; his every move provided a new theatrical beat, from horn-on-horn duets with saxophonist Garrett to an occasional regal wave to his audience.

Soloing was typical of his recently evolved trumpet style--brief bursts of rhythm and tone as pointedly effective as splashes of primary color in a Frankenthaler landscape. But the possibility of surprise--ironically, perhaps his one truly consistent quality--was always present.

The surprise finally came toward the close of the set in Davis’ now-familiar version of “Time After Time” when he spun out a long, lyrical solo that blended the familiarity of tradition with the acerbic spice of the contemporary.

Then, his set concluded, he waved and departed without falling prey to the too-familiar fiction of an encore. But the Davis enigma remained. It is resolvable, perhaps, only in the acceptance of his apparent determination to be seen only through the images he chooses to present to us--the images of his music and his art.