The Cool Gets Reborn

After the release four years ago of “New Moon Daughter,” the second of two Blue Note albums that propelled Cassandra Wilson from the margins of cultdom to jazz superstar / franchise status, I crawled out on what I thought was a very thin limb and proclaimed that any search for the Next Miles Davis--prohibitive, theoretical or otherwise--should end as of now.

The cool tone, mercurial glamour, taut blue phraseology and tender-tough mystique we all thought we’d lost when the Prince of Darkness checked out in 1991 seemed on “New Moon Daughter” to have found a new host in Wilson, who, up until that time, was merely regarded by many critics, musicians and civilians as the most prominent jazz vocalist of her generation.

I was tempted to hedge my presumption at the time because, after all, singers are only compared with other singers, trumpeters with other trumpeters, saxes with other saxes and so forth. But in Miles’ famous 1950s interview with Nat Hentoff, he gives one of the most perceptive and empathetic breakdowns of Billie Holiday’s singing, especially at a time when the consensus was that Lady Day Had Lost It:

“I’d rather hear her now. . . . She still has control, probably more control now than then. . . . What I like about Billie is that she sings it just the way she hears it and that’s usually the way best suited for her. . . . She sings way behind the beat and then she brings it up--hitting right on the beat.”

All of which can be applied to Davis’ singing and Wilson’s playing. Indeed, Holiday’s flair for elemental dramatic tension found its purest extension in Davis; Wilson, more than any horn player alive, is picking up where Miles left off.

Since you asked, yes, there were some who thought I was crazy. As things turned out, I wasn’t on that limb by myself.

In December 1997, Wilson assembled an appropriately eclectic group to perform music by and related to Miles Davis for New York’s Jazz at Lincoln Center concert series. On one side of the Alice Tully Hall stage there was a string orchestra featuring violinist Regina Carter; on the other, a small combo with pianist Rodney Kendrick and bassist Dave Holland among others.

The results were about as fascinating and erratic as one would expect. But just as Davis’ plaintive, lyrical tone remained a unifying constant through each of his epochal transformations, Wilson’s sultry, espresso voice kept the disparate elements of her homage from scattering like spilled ball bearings. Whatever the varying responses to Wilson’s live experiment, it whetted people’s appetites for a Miles-related album.

“Traveling Miles” (Blue Note), released this spring, doesn’t have a string orchestra, but it does have Carter, Holland and Kendrick making guest appearances. (Others passing through include guitarist Pat Metheny, Stefon Harris on vibraphone and her old friends Steve Coleman on saxophone and Olu Dara on cornet.) There are pieces of Davis’ repertoire scattered on the playlist, including “Someday My Prince Will Come,” “Seven Steps,” “Time After Time,” and “Tutu” (here called “Resurrection Blues”).

There are also several Wilson originals, including the title track and “Right Here, Right Now,” that are directly inspired by Davis’ spirit. Each track is seasoned with Wilson’s patented mix of exotic percussion and unusual string combinations.

“Traveling Miles” is a former No. 1 album on the Billboard jazz charts. It also captures the assurance and enthusiasm Wilson, 43, has been bringing to her live performances over the last few years. (She performs Tuesday at the Wiltern Theatre.)

Channeling Davis’ spirit was just one of the things she talked about during a break in her hectic touring schedule.

Question: Was there a time during the making of this album when you worried about the reaction? You know, “Just what jazz needs. Another homage to a dead guy!”

Answer: Well, what I say to people is that [Miles] is not a dead guy.

Q: Thank you!

A: He died . . . for a moment. [laughs] But he’s around. I mean, who else could be orchestrating this?

Q: How did this all start? Was it your subconscious telling you, “Miles, Miles, Miles . . .”?

A: It is strange. I was performing “Tutu” long before the [Lincoln Center] project even came up. And I wrote “Traveling Miles” about four, five years ago. I don’t think this project was always in the back of my mind. But you know it’s hard to keep up with what’s happening inside. [laughs] I pretty much let it go on its own.

Q: One of the things that makes this different from other Miles tribute albums is that it favors the later stuff, like “Tutu” and “Time After Time,” which most other homages don’t go near.

A: Yeah, I’ve always been a big defender of the last part of Miles Davis’ career, and I think choosing those [pieces] was a way of showing that it parallels my own philosophy toward choosing music. We have the same attitude toward contemporary pop.

Q: What’s also distinctive about your approach is that you do more than pay tribute. You really take some of these pieces and make them your own.

A: I felt I had to do that for me to make sense of Miles. And he was the only one I thought about. I really did think a lot about how he would perceive the music. I don’t think he would have wanted it regurgitated. He would want to hear some other possibilities . And in order to honor that, I had to invest myself in the whole process.

Q: I’m thinking, especially, of “Time After Time,” the Cyndi Lauper tune, which Miles played in concert for the latter part of his life, and it seems that you manage to find levels of this song that he’d been looking for but couldn’t quite find.

A: Yeah, well, he definitely gave me some clues. [laughs] Some serious clues . . .

Q: What kind of clues?

A: Well, for instance . . . you ever see his gravestone? It’s way up in the Bronx somewhere, and he’s got a melody on his stone. It’s notes that are carved in and they go, like . . . [singing softly] bah . . . bah . . . boo . . . bah . . . bah. That’s a melody. One of his motifs. That was one of the things he put in “Time After Time.” I just carried it back with me.

Q: Why do you think there’s such a resistance among mainstream jazz listeners against the late-period Miles? Why the prejudice?

A: I think it’s threatening to the way they perceive the music. I guess it’s also threatening to the way they construct. . . . I’m talking about the purists, the traditionalists, it’s an entirely different paradigm.

Q: Which, again, was something Miles was doing all the time. It’s what struck me most about the Lincoln Center concert. The way you went all out and threw in everything but the kitchen sink. Was that done with this album in mind?

A: Umm . . . kinda. Sorta. [laughs] It was always apples and oranges to me, the concert and the album. Hopefully, I would be able to glean something from the concert and use it for the recording. I took some chances with that concert. Some things worked. Some things didn’t. But I learned a lot and really enjoyed it. I can’t remember when I’ve had as much fun with musicians. I did more arranging and producing than I usually do, but I had a ball. The setting was a bit ambitious, but it’s something I want to do more of. . . .

One big problem moving from that [setting] to the album was trying to narrow it down. I wanted to reduce things to something intimate. And because this vision of Miles became a personal quest, I had to spend a lot of time with myself, questioning my motives, asking myself serious questions about what I wanted to say about Miles Davis, about “jazz” and a lot of things.

Q:I hear you putting quote marks around “jazz.” What distinction are you making?

A: Well, I think there’s a lot. . . . There are several definitions floating around out there, and it’s not a definable thing. I don’t think [jazz] is something you can create a definition for, because that definition will change by the moment. It’s what jazz is about. It’s a music of the moment, though it rests on tradition. The real objective, the real responsibility of the music is to constantly play with the form and inject it into what is happening in your life today.

Q: Do you establish a mood in the studio the way Miles sometimes did?

A: Oh, yeah, definitely. You can’t separate the music from the environment. . . .

Q: What kind of stuff did you do?

A: I take my usual bag of tricks. Candles. Incense, oils. . . .

Q: Sounds pretty hot.

A: Well, it is. [laughs] Seriously, we do talk about things between takes. The guys are really free around me, and that was really important, especially with some of the younger guys, especially if they wanted to talk about stuff, even sex, in front of me. I wanted to create an atmosphere where everyone could feel safe. . . .

Q: Safe enough to take scary chances.

A: Exactly.

Q: I wonder if you look far enough ahead to imagine yourself taking the kind of abrupt shifts that Miles did in his life. He was always closing doors behind him when he moved on to the next thing. Never looked back. . . .

A: I don’t think you can say he closed doors behind him that tightly. Again, if you listen to just his sound, you heard those recurring motifs and phrases we were talking about before. He’s always retelling the stories. It’s just that the rooms keep changing.

Q: Familiar, but always new . . .

A: Yeah, there’s a paradox there.

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Cassandra Wilson performs Tuesday at 8 p.m. at the Wiltern Theatre, Wilshire Boulevard and Western Avenue. $18.50-$48. (213) 480-3232.