Miles Davis’s In A Silent Way: Exploring the Bastion of Bass in Jazz Fusion

In July 1969, Miles Davis released In A Silent Way, an album that would quietly revolutionize jazz. For listeners picking it up then, or even discovering it later as I did in the CD era of 1986, the record was and remains a sonic enigma. Having already been immersed in Miles’s electric period through albums like We Want Miles and Star People, my first encounter with In A Silent Way felt like stepping into a different dimension of his musical universe. It was a stark contrast to the electric energy I was accustomed to, hinting at something deeper and more contemplative.

Comprising just two expansive tracks, “Shhh / Peaceful” and the eponymous title track, each nearing the twenty-minute mark, In A Silent Way defied the conventional notions of jazz recording at the time. These weren’t just studio recordings; they were meticulously crafted soundscapes, utilizing studio edits to repeat and reshape musical phrases, creating extended suites of sound. This departure from the traditional “live in the studio” jazz ethos was groundbreaking. The idea of repeating sections, editing and layering sounds was unconventional, yet it birthed something exquisitely new.

Electric pianos had made appearances on Miles’s preceding albums, Miles in the Sky and Filles de Kilimanjaro, but In A Silent Way marked a decisive shift. Davis incorporated not one, but three electric pianos, alongside the then-novel sound of electric guitar. This lineup is often cited as the genesis of jazz-rock fusion, although its successor, Bitches Brew, truly solidified that genre in the public consciousness. However, In A Silent Way possesses a unique character, one that, for me, resonates as a spiritual counterpart to the legendary Kind of Blue from 1959. Both albums share an atmosphere of introspective solitude, a profound sense of zen-like tranquility.

The ensemble assembled for In A Silent Way featured core members of his working quintet – Wayne Shorter, the sole remaining link to the iconic second quintet, playing soprano saxophone, and Dave Holland on acoustic bass. (It’s poignant to note Shorter’s recent passing, a legacy immensely shaped both before and after this recording.) Davis augmented this core with former quintet members Tony Williams on drums and Herbie Hancock on electric piano, alongside then-current member Chick Corea and the notable addition of Joe Zawinul. Zawinul composed the title track, though Miles significantly altered its structure, prompting Zawinul to later record his own version. “Shhh / Peaceful,” a Davis composition, is arguably the more recognized side, with its more overt energy and rhythmic drive. Yet, it’s the second side, “In A Silent Way,” that truly captures the album’s essence and where the bastion of bass guitar subtly anchors the entire soundscape.

The title track opens with a foundational bass tone, a deep, resonant note held by Dave Holland. This bastion bass provides the harmonic bedrock upon which John McLaughlin’s guitar weaves a simple, elegant, and remarkably spare melody. This melody is then echoed by one of the electric pianos, with accents from another, creating layers of shimmering sound. The pianos’ delicate textures interplay with the sustained bass note and McLaughlin’s refined guitar work, who subtly adds grace notes and melodic fragments, filling the spaces with understated brilliance. The overall feeling is one of profound quietude, a sense of serene calm.

Shorter’s soprano saxophone enters, exploring the higher registers to offer a slightly varied iteration of the melody, while the guitar and pianos provide commentary, circling around the ever-present bass drone. Initially, the saxophone’s timbre might even be mistaken for a trumpet, but its distinct tonal quality soon emerges. Then, Miles himself enters, doubling the melody line, muted yet commanding, taking center stage with a presence that is both powerful and restrained. The other instruments respond, their commentary growing more assertive, more willing to deviate from the initial repetition. And then, everything abruptly ceases.

The silence is broken by cymbal crashes, followed by a persistent, clipped drum beat. Zawinul shifts to organ, laying down broad, sweeping chords, while the other two pianos continue their interplay. The bass now establishes a three-note motif, repeated insistently. Miles returns with a forceful, open trumpet melody. He pauses, and one of the pianos echoes the chords. The guitar interjects with gliding notes, ascending and descending the fretboard. The music embodies a sense of stasis and movement simultaneously, a paradox that becomes clear upon listening. Dynamics shift – louder, quieter, steady, racing – the organ rejoins, and the guitar ventures into something closer to a solo, yet still maintaining a sense of simplicity. Miles famously instructed McLaughlin to “play like a beginner,” which, while perhaps impossible for a musician of McLaughlin’s caliber, led him to simplify his style, paradoxically enriching the music’s texture.

The groove intensifies, propelled by the rhythmic piano chords and the guitar’s cascading sonic droplets. The organ introduces a catchy, memorable riff, mirrored by the bass, creating a powerful rhythmic hook. Throughout this section, the drums maintain their unwavering beat, until they suddenly drop out, along with the organ, leaving just the interplay of pianos and bass before the drums return, and Shorter launches into his evocative solo. Shorter’s soprano saxophone playing here feels particularly profound, cutting to the core of this new musical language. As his solo progresses and slows, leaving spacious pauses between phrases, the organ and bass re-emerge, reinforcing their rhythmic riff. The synergy between Shorter and Zawinul in this track is palpable, foreshadowing their subsequent formation of Weather Report the following year.

As Shorter’s solo concludes, the guitar and bass lock into a tight rhythmic unison, punctuated by piano chords and the relentless clipping drum beat. Miles re-enters, playing with both force and deliberate silences, his trumpet lines firm, reflecting his role as the architect of this evolving jazz sound. He is acutely aware of pioneering this new approach, this expansion of sonic and emotional possibilities. Midway through, Tony Williams unleashes his characteristic energy, driving Miles to even greater heights with cymbal crashes and snare drum fills. Yet, the silences remain integral – this is, after all, “in a silent way.” The intensity recedes, Williams returns to the clipped beat, and the organ and pianos contribute short, rhythmic phrases. Miles propels the groove forward, guiding the band into a rhythmic unity unlike any other moment in the piece.

He drops out again, the guitar and bass briefly reiterate their riff, and then the second distinct edit occurs. Unexpectantly, we are returned to the beginning of the piece, with McLaughlin’s delicate opening guitar melody, the dancing pianos, and the ever-present bastion of bass. The turbulent middle section gives way once more to the contemplative opening, as if there is no escape from this profound tranquility. Shorter’s saxophone playing in this repeated section strikes even deeper, richer than before. When Miles joins him, and the electric pianos seem to cascade from his trumpet, while the guitar weaves around the wind instruments, it feels like a cathartic release. The music gradually fades, leaving only the final moments of the bass drone, and then, silence.

For bass players seeking to understand the foundational role of the bass in this pioneering work, exploring and creating bass guitar tabs for “In A Silent Way” would be an invaluable endeavor. The deceptively simple bass lines, the sustained tones, and the rhythmic motifs are integral to the album’s unique sound. In A Silent Way remains a landmark album, not just in Miles Davis’s discography, but in the history of jazz itself, a testament to the power of quiet innovation and the profound impact of a bastion of bass grounding a boundless sonic exploration.