Miles Davis At 100: A Global Perspective

Miles Davis' centenary has arrived. The second century begins. What changes jazz has undergone in the 100 years since Miles Dewey Davis was born in Alton, Illinois on May 26, 1926! Davis was all about change, evolution, growth, and reinvention. 

A driving force behind many of the changes in direction jazz took during his 65 years on Earth, Davis was also a leader who inspired—one way or another—a host of young musicians who took wing in his various ensembles from the 1950s to the 1990s. Many of them will be paying tribute to Miles Davis on the great jazz stages of the USA and Europe. 

Beyond these concert tributes, the jazz ecosystem has gone into overdrive to mark Miles Davis' centenary, with countless festivals and venues celebrating the trumpeter with exhibitions and panel discussions. Tribute albums, articles, and books are no less numerous—testimony to Davis' enduring appeal and commercial clout. 

From the vantage point of America and Europe, where most jazz is presented and consumed, it is too easy to forget that Miles Davis' influence stretches to every corner of the world. It was ever thus. 

All About Jazz's tribute to Miles Davis is not just a celebration of the great musical chameleon; it is also a celebration of the global jazz community. We asked musicians from 100 countries around the world to share their thoughts on Miles Davis. The answers are revealing. 

Some write about their favorite Davis album or solo. For others, the connection runs deeper still. Many musicians describe the ways in which Davis influenced and inspired them musically. Others open up about the strength they drew from Davis' music—and from his indomitable example—in difficult times: during apartheid, at times of armed conflict, or in the face of discrimination, culture shock, hostility or self doubt. 

Cherished memories of Miles Davis concerts from the '60s, '70s, and '80s—as well as from his final tour in 1991—serve as reminders not only of his musical prowess, but also of his enduring charisma. 

Inevitably, the Miles Davis anecdote, both first-hand and the much-loved second-hand variety, is also alive and well! 

Several of Miles Davis' former musicians shed light on their one-time employer. Musicians famous and less famous alike, from the USA and Europe, contribute their opinions. Yet most participants in this small book of homage—far more than a regular article—hail from Africa, Asia, the Caribbean, and South and Central America: places and people often underrepresented in tributes to the passing giants of jazz. 

And in recognition of the essential role jazz industry professionals played in supporting Miles Davis' career over nearly five decades, this AAJ tribute also includes contributions from print and radio jazz journalists, club owners, a photographer, and festival directors. Nor is the audience forgotten: the symbolic reminiscence of one veteran fan serves as a reminder that regular gig-goers are the lifeblood of the live jazz circuit. 

The one word that crops up time and again in these individual tributes is "courage." Nearly every stage of Davis' dramatic evolution divided critics and fans alike, yet that mattered little to him. For any young musician just discovering the music of Miles Davis, these homages underline an enduring truth embodied by Davis himself: reinvention and bravery in music-making will never satisfy everyone, yet they can become their own reward. 

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Faris Ishaq, nay (Palestine)

As a Palestinian artist, Miles's musical genius—particularly his lyrical expressiveness and sense of space in improvisation—opened a doorway for me into jazz, helping me find my own voice through the Nay and the language of Arabic tetrachords within this music. 

When I listen to him, I feel how deeply connected music from around the world can be. There's a universality in his sound that reminds me that anything is possible when the intention is to connect and create beauty. 

Francesca Han, piano, (South Korea)

During my time in New York, I felt a deep sense of inadequacy. It was as if someone was constantly telling me: "You are neither Black nor White, and furthermore, since you are a woman, it is preposterous for you to play this music! Go back to your country immediately!" Perhaps it was just me talking to myself. One day, however, after I finished reading Miles's autobiography, I felt a strange sense of relief and intimacy. It was as if I could hear his voice telling me: "No matter what color or gender you are, as long as you can swing, it doesn't matter. This is not the kind of music you think it is. Jazz is music that constantly evolves." 

When facing obstacles while taking a new direction with my music, I think of all the stories and music that this pioneer crafted all his life, and it helps me overcome fear and anxiety. I have entrusted myself to the flow of time and I am grateful to play the music I am capable of playing now. 

Miles Davis, he played in a style true to himself, he is original, and originality transcends time. I pay tribute to his unwavering originality that comforted me as I am sure it has also guided so many other musicians. 

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Richard Bona, bass guitar, (Cameroon)

Miles Davis was more than a musician—he was a bridge. A bridge between generations, between cultures, between what music had been and what it could dare to become. His genius was not only in the notes he played, but in the space he created for others to find their own voice. For those of us who grew up on the African continent, Miles represented something profound: proof that Black music, rooted in heritage and ancestry, could speak to the entire world without ever losing its soul. 

What moves me most about his legacy is how alive it remains. Young musicians today are still discovering Miles, still being transformed by him. That is the mark of true greatness: music that does not age, but instead keeps finding new hearts to inhabit. He played for all of us, across time. 

Kateryna Ziabliuk, piano-vocals, jazz journalist (Ukraine)

I remember the first time I heard Miles—it wasn't the kind of conscious initiation people like to romanticize later, the moment of revelation carefully framed in memory. My teacher brought in Workin' with the Miles Davis Quintet (Prestige, 1960) while we were practicing the tune "Four." I must have been fourteen, maybe fifteen. I was already deep inside jazz by then, though not yet in love with the mechanics of it—the notes themselves, the virtuosity, the architecture of solos. I knew too much or thought I did: how many records had been made through exhaustion, through addiction, through pressure from labels and schedules and the endless machinery of expectation. None of this diminished the beauty of the music for me, but at that age I wanted art to arrive from some pure and incorruptible place. 

What fascinated me more was the atmosphere surrounding the music—the period it emerged from, the lives around it, the reason it sounded the way it did. I carried a persistent feeling that I had been born into the wrong era, that somehow my role was to mourn or preserve that vanished belle époque of jazz before it disappeared entirely into mythology. 

The albums that affected me most consciously were In a Silent Way (Columbia, 1969) and Sketches of Spain Columbia, 1960). In my mind they remain deeply connected, less as stylistic companions than as documents of resilience, of fidelity to one's own instinct. There is something profoundly moving to me in the fact that, despite the severity of Miles's physical condition in the late sixties, he still pushed himself toward that spacious, electrified experiment of In a Silent Way. The impulse was always movement—the refusal to remain enclosed within an already perfected language. 

And yet the connection between those two records feels obvious to me. Both are built on an immense respect for the singularity of sound, for silence, for tradition approached without nostalgia. They sound modern not because they reject the past, but because they move through it slowly enough to transform it. There is courage in allowing a piece of music to unfold almost minimally for thirty minutes, resisting climax, resisting urgency, until it becomes meditative. The listener is given room not simply to listen, but to drift in thoughts. 

I drifted there often. I thought about myself inside that music. 

What Miles taught me during that period was that even the most radical shifts in music history happen gradually, almost invisibly at first—transformation requires duration. Time, more than innovation, may be the most valuable element music possesses. The only choice we really have is whether to fight against it or surrender to its torrent. 

William Ellis, photographer (England)

The turning point for me was in '89 when I read that Miles Davis was coming to play in England. I just had to go and see him, though I never thought I'd be able to photograph him. I was scrabbling all over Manchester with my contacts to get accreditation to shoot, and I couldn't. Everybody wanted to photograph Miles Davis. 

I eventually tracked down the promoter, I don't remember how, there was no internet then! He was obviously impressed with the fact that I had actually paid for my tickets for both nights and very kindly agreed to leave a compliment slip for me to collect at the booking office. I turned up covered in Nikons and a Hasselblad—I had the necessary permission to photograph Miles. 

Getting in was one thing, getting pictures that work—in a very short space of time—under the pressure I had placed myself was another. The black and white image you see [see slideshow at top of article—ed] is a single shot—not a burst on the camera's motor drive. It was used for the program of the trumpeter's concert in Glasgow the following year and opened all the doors for me—if you get the chance you have to take it. 

I spoke with Miles on the phone that night in Glasgow—that's another story. 

The photos of Miles gave me some credibility and the accreditation to shoot at jazz events and festivals and initiate other related projects. A few months later I photographed another absolute legend—Dizzy Gillespie and from there I was able to build up my archive, the body of work of many other great musicians—thank you, Miles. 

Sometimes I ask myself, can a photograph represent the subject fully? Is the head-on image of Miles the quintessential Miles Davis? Direct, dramatic and challenging, confrontational almost. Or is the square image, shot on Hasselblad—Miles contemplative, alone in space the quintessential Miles Davis? 

To me, these two very different photographs taken minutes apart are representative of this unique and complex multi-faceted artist whose music still connects us all over the world. 

Kristjan Krajnčan, drums-cello (Slovenia)

To me, Miles Davis is more than just a groundbreaking musician across many genres: he is a lasting inspiration for how one can embed a personal vision of life into music and carry it through improvisation. It was through encountering his music and musicianship that I began to think about the deeper dimensions of what music can communicate. 

In Miles Davis's work, I'm especially drawn to the power of collective improvisation on stage—how each musician carries their own responsibility for creativity and ideas that shape and elevate the music. In that sense, the goal becomes something greater than the individual ego; it transcends into a more spiritual realm. That's why I could never choose a single favorite Miles Davis album—it's his overall artistry and vision that continue to inspire me. 

Jovino Santos Neto, piano—flute (Brazil)

I have to say In a Silent Way (Columbia Records, 1969). The way the music moves like a snake, taking its time to weave in and out of the groove impressed me the very first time I heard it. All the musicians on this session demonstrate their deep listening skills, more than their playing skills. Having three keyboardists (Herbie Hancock, Chick Corea and Joe Zawinul) and a guitarist (John McLaughlin) creating textures without crashing into each other is quite a feat. An outstanding band. Teo Macero's editing lets the music flow without slipping into sameness. 

On May 25, 1974, Miles played with his octet at the Municipal Theater of Rio de Janeiro. I was 19 years old and went to the concert because I had heard about Miles being an outstanding musician. I was not a jazz fan—I was into prog rock and blues at the time. What I heard that night left an impression in me. It was a kind of rock music, but without the familiar goalposts of songs and solos. I had heard Hermeto Pascoal live for the first time one year before, and this felt like a continuation of that constant stream of sound, which continues to this day. 

Tommy Halferty, guitar (Northern Ireland)

"My Favourite Miles Davis album is In A Silent Way (Columbia Records, 1969). It is in the way Miles changed Joe Zawinul's theme to allow space—transforming a simple song to an exalted form of expression. It's like a shimmering tone poem. 

Malika Zarra, vocals (Morocco)

What has always touched me most about Miles Davis is his constant search for something new. He never repeated himself or followed expectations—he had the courage to take risks, evolve, and reinvent his music throughout his life. 

What also inspires me deeply is the way Miles stayed connected to what was happening around him—musically, culturally, and socially. He had a rare ability to absorb the energy of his time, the influence of other artists, and new environments, then transform all of it into something original. He understood that creation also comes through openness and exchange. 

I was fortunate to see Miles Davis live during his final tour in the south of France, a memory that remains very special to me. Years later, I also had the honor of participating in SHorTer Way To MarraKecH the tribute album by Jowee Omicil released in November 2025 in homage to Miles Davis. 

For me, Miles Davis' greatest legacy is not only the music he left behind, but the example he gave artists: always evolve, stay open, and never be afraid to reinvent yourself. 

Grégory Privat, piano (Martinique)

Miles Davis is without question one of the greatest jazz musicians in history. When people talk about jazz, his is often the first name that comes to mind. Yet he was not always understood during his lifetime and was often criticized by the press or the public because of the artistic risks he took in his music. 

That is how the work of Miles Davis has influenced me, because I believe an artist must take risks and not always go where they are expected. Being able to keep an open mind about the world in order to constantly redefine one's music, surprise oneself, and reconnect with one's childlike spirit in the face of creation. It is a path that requires a great deal of courage, and one that continues to inspire me every time I decide to make a new album. 

Maria Graspa, piano (Greece)

I love Sketches of Spain: it feels less like an album and more like stepping into a landscape. The atmosphere is deep and haunting—Miles lets the notes breathe over Gil Evans' orchestration like distant echoes in a cathedral. The Spanish folk melodies have a raw, ancient character that Miles doesn't try to overpower; he simply inhabits them, creating something both intimate and cinematic. 

Rain Sultanov, saxophones (Azerbaijan)

A significant period of my creative development in jazz—from the age of 18 to 21—was deeply influenced by Miles Davis. I was especially drawn to his philosophy of playing and his way of thinking. He seemed to build sentences out of sounds, turning each note into a meaningful statement. I studied his music in depth, analyzing his phrasing and approach to chromaticism, and for a long time I aspired to play in his manner. 

Over time, this immersion became more than imitation—it turned into a process of inner exploration. I came to understand something essential: there are no wrong notes—only the way you relate to them. In jazz and improvisation, individuality is what truly matters, because it is individuality that gives sound its meaning. 

In 2020, I released my album Influence (Ozella), which I dedicated to my beloved musicians who have passed away—John Coltrane, Michael Brecker, Joe Zawinul, Kenny Wheeler, Dexter Gordon, and Jaco Pastorius. One of the tracks on the album, "I Know That You Will Never Come Back," was dedicated to Miles. 

Enrico Rava, trumpet (Italy)

I love Miles. I love him madly. He is my favorite musician, and I love everything he did. But there is a solo that for me is one of the highest moments of the history of music. I'm talking about his solo in "Stella By Starlight," from the live record My Funny Valentine (Colombia, 1965). The depth of his sound, his expression, the marvelous timing and most of all his sense of dramaturgy makes this solo an absolute masterpiece and I can still listen to it over and over and every time is total joy. 

Alune Wade, bass guitar (Senegal)

Miles did not come to me directly at first—he arrived through Marcus Miller, like a river found by following one of its tributaries. It was We Want Miles (CBS, 1982) that opened the door. And I still remember with absolute clarity the first notes of "Jean Pierre," that simple, spiraling melody that suddenly carried me back to the courtyards of Senegal, to songs we sang as children under the open sky. Miles had reached across continents and decades to touch something I had always known, without ever knowing it had a name. 

Choosing a favorite Miles Davis album feels like being asked to name your most beloved season—each one carries its own light, its own silence, its own storm. Miles was always a mirror, a barometer of the times he moved through, a quiet guide through the shifting currents of history. That is what makes the choice both impossible and necessary. Yet two albums rise like landmarks from distant shores of the same ocean: Kind of Blue and Tutu—one a whisper at dawn, the other a pulse at midnight. 

Miles Davis did not simply leave behind music. He left behind a way of being—restless, searching, unafraid of transformation. He reminds us that greatness is not a destination. It is a perpetual departure. 

Benjamin Jephta, bass (South Africa)

One of the earliest Miles Davis solos that really stayed with me was his solo on "So What." It was also one of the first jazz solos I transcribed when I was still in high school. That experience taught me a great deal about space, phrasing, and especially modal music. In many ways, modal thinking is one of the tenets of South African jazz, so encountering Miles in that way gave me an early bridge into understanding something that would later feel very close to home in my own musical world. Beyond that, Miles' electric era also had a major influence on me. His openness to sound, texture, groove, and reinvention continues to be deeply inspiring. 

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Fanfan Cheung, drums (Macau)

I can always recognize Miles' music instantly, no matter where I encounter it. His phrasing breathes naturally, and the duration and dynamics of each note reflect his distinct musical aesthetic. This has greatly inspired my performance—I craft my own phrasing and dynamics to convey my personal artistic perspective, drawing from my understanding of jazz. 

Daniel Toledo, bass (Ecuador)

Miles Davis has been part of my life since I was a kid, long before I had the language to understand what I was hearing. There was something in his sound that stayed with me, something spacious, intentional, and deeply human. As I grew into jazz, his music became a kind of compass. I remember discovering Nefertiti (Columbia, 1968) and being completely struck by its depth, the way the roles seemed to shift, the way repetition created tension and freedom at the same time. It wasn't just the notes, but the space, the phrasing, and the sense that the music was constantly breathing. That experience reshaped how I listened, and eventually, how I approached the bass. 

What continues to resonate with me is his ability to shape music and people at the same time. Miles didn't just lead bands, he created environments where musicians could evolve, where entire generations found new directions. That idea has influenced me profoundly, both as a performer and as an educator. He showed me that music is not static; it's a process of constant transformation, of trusting your voice even when it's uncertain. In that sense, his legacy lives not only in his recordings, but in the courage to keep searching and that is something I carry with me every time I play. 

John Rae, drums (Scotland-New Zealand)

I've loved Miles Davis all my life. I first heard him when I was about 15, Miles Davis in Europe, July 27,1963, Festival Mondial du Jazz d'Antibes, Juan-les-Pins. I'd put my headphones on and be completely transported somewhere else. I had no idea what was going on musically, and it didn't matter. Tony Williams, Ron Carter, Herbie Hancock, George Coleman, with Miles out front, wailing and speaking through the horn. And then sometimes Tony would just... stop. At the time, it felt completely revolutionary. 

Years later, I found myself playing a 'Tribute to Miles' gig in Bristol with the wonderful pianist John Holler's quintet. During the interval, someone came up and said they'd just heard Miles had died. The second set felt different—quieter, heavier. Like something had shifted. 

Miles' influence on jazz is still everywhere, and probably always will be. Though I've often wondered, half seriously, how different it all might have been if he'd stuck with Bucky Pizzarelli in his bands. 

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Yuri Honing, saxophone (The Netherlands)

There was a radio broadcast in May 1982, where Miles was performing with Mike Stern, Marcus Miller, Bill Evans, Al Foster and Mino Cinelu live at the Congresgebouw in The Hague. It knocked me out, it still does actually, and this band released the record We Want Miles. I was 17 at that time and started to show serious interest in a music career. 

Later on, in 1986 or 1987, I was halfway my studies and Live at the Plugged Nickel was released as a double vinyl album. It changed my life forever. I didn't listen to anything else for a year and I copied all of Wayne Shorter's solo's which opened up a whole new universe to me. 

While driving to a gig with my band we would always sing along with these recordings: on the way to the gig I would sing along all of Wayne's solo's and my pianist would sing along with Herbie and so on. On the way home though we switched roles, so I would sing along with Herbie Hancock or even Miles or Tony Williams, it was great fun. It taught me that you could be free at all times long as you can produce freedom within. Miles maybe didn't play at his finest, but with Miles it was never about the trumpet; you would always hear Miles first and then a trumpet. I kept that one with me for the rest of my life. 

If it comes down to brilliant trumpet playing the beginning of the '70s was unbelievable—one of the highlights is Miles solo on this blues, "Right Off," on Jack Johnson (Columbia, 1971). Hard to beat. 

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Greg Osby, saxophone (USA)

Miles Davis always thought ahead and made it a point to surround himself with players that were perhaps not the most popular, celebrated or even respected musicians to much of a notable degree. As singular players, his sidemen were often not very highly favored as individuals but when combined as a group, they fashioned ensembles that were unprecedented in their innovations, flair and fearlessness. Based on various accounts, Coltrane, Tony Williams, Red Garland, Philly Joe Jones, etc. weren't the most popular choices among their peers and received some of the harshest criticisms ever written. But as a band, they were untouchable and set timeless standards for ensemble playing and group logic. This was my biggest takeaway from the genius of Mile Davis' vision as a bandleader and conceptual visionary. 

Cenk Erdoğan, fretless guitar (Turkey)

There is no doubt that my favorite Miles Davis album is Kind of Blue. When I was a student at the jazz conservatory, we had a listening and analysis class, and that was the first time I experienced that vibration. I analyzed every detail of the album, both harmonically and rhythmically. There is not only a profound conversation among the musicians, but also a deep connection with the listener. 

His unique way of playing through chord changes and his use of silence taught me a great deal. His compositional approach is incredibly fresh and far from mainstream jazz. I remember thinking that if someone can break the rules while preserving aesthetics once, it can be done again. Even after all these years, whenever I listen to that album, I feel the same things: courage, self-belief, and the confidence to transform one's musical path. He is a powerful source of inspiration, illuminating our musical journey. 

Ellen Cranitch, flute, RTE broadcaster (Ireland)

It was one of those "Where were you when JFK?... "' moments. I had visited a little record shop in Dublin, as a freshman classical music student in search of a recording of Haydn String Quartets. The man behind the counter had just put Kind Of Blue on the turntable, the unique bewitching sounds stopping me in my tracks. I had never heard anything like it, its elegance, its clarity and almost baroque grace, the soaring lines, the meaning and depth contained in each phrase, the architecture of the rhythm and grooves, insouciant, beguiling and achingly beautiful. It was the first few moments of a massive change in the direction of my life. I left the shop not with Haydn, but with Miles. 

Arturo Sandoval, trumpet (Cuba-USA)

To speak of Miles Davis is to speak of an artist whose natural language was evolution. He was not only a great trumpet player, he was a true pathfinder, always searching, always moving forward. Among all his works, Kind of Blue holds a very special place for me. It is an album that lives beyond time, with a serene beauty and freedom that continues to inspire me deeply every time I hear it. 

What I have always admired most about Miles is not just what he played, but how he thought. He was never interested in playing more notes, only the right ones. His sound, especially with the mute, carried an intimacy and honesty that changed the way I understood the trumpet. That idea, that intention matters more than quantity, has stayed with me throughout my entire life. 

With great respect and humility, I have at times tried to approach his musical universe. On my album Trumpet Evolution (Crescent Moon Records, 2003), I recorded his version of "'Round Midnight" by Thelonious Monk, a piece he transformed into something truly timeless. If even for a moment I came close to touching his spirit in that recording, I feel deeply grateful. 

In 1989, when I was performing with my mentor Dizzy Gillespie at the North Sea Jazz Festival, Dizzy asked me if I had ever met Miles. When I told him no, he smiled and said, 'Come with me, you are going to meet him tonight.' He took me to Miles's dressing room and introduced us. It was a brief moment, but one I will never forget! 

Miles Davis was, and will always remain, a true innovator, an artist who understood that greatness comes from transformation, not repetition. His legacy lives in every musician searching for their own voice, in every note played with honesty and intention. With respect, admiration, and gratitude, I can say that I am his admirer, and I always will be. May God keep him in His eternal glory. 

Miklós Lukács, cimbalom (Hungary)

I encountered the music of Miles Davis relatively late. My roots are quite different, and I play the cimbalom—an instrument that is still little known in the world, and when it is recognized, it is most often associated with Hungarian Gypsy music. I myself come from a Hungarian Gypsy musician family, although I was trained in classical music. 

It was only in my twenties, after completing my classical studies, that I began to truly understand and appreciate Davis's significance, when I started engaging with improvisational music, particularly jazz. 

For me, Davis's most important message is one of freedom, courage, authenticity, and the power of rethinking—overcoming limitations and stereotypes. This gave me the faith and strength to explore previously uncharted territory on the cimbalom within the world of jazz, to develop my own sound, and to fully embrace who I am as an artist. 

It would have been a great dream of mine to see and hear him perform live—something that, unfortunately, was not possible—and, had life allowed it, to meet him and perhaps even play together. Perhaps he, too, would have discovered the unique possibilities of the cimbalom, as many other musicians have since—though, in my view, still not nearly enough. 

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Moreira Chonguiça, saxophone (Mozambique)

Miles Davis has been a profound influence on my musical journey. I had the privilege of performing my own version of one of his songs with Manu Dibango on out album M & M: Moreira Chonguiça and Manu Dibango (Morestar Entertainment, 2017) that carries deep emotional meaning for me. The song is "Tutu," written by Marcus Miller and featured on the album Tutu by Miles Davis. The composition is a tribute to the late Archbishop Desmond Tutu, and it resonates with me on many levels. 

For me, the song represents more than music—it reflects a powerful historical narrative. It speaks to the struggle and suppression that Black people endured in South Africa. Coming from Mozambique, a neighboring country that played a significant role during the liberation struggle—and later studying in South Africa shortly after the political transition—I witnessed how deeply those experiences shaped the people around me. I also had friends connected to the ANC who lived in Mozambique during their exile. 

So, this music influenced me not only artistically, but emotionally and historically—because its story goes far beyond the notes. 

Miles Davis' greatest legacy, for me, was his openness to the next generation. He always created space for young musicians and drew energy from them. He never remained in his comfort zone—he was constantly reinventing himself, constantly looking ahead. 

He also taught us that music is a form of expression beyond sound. As a painter, he experienced music visually; he saw music in colours—blues, greens, and shades of emotion. That artistic vision reminds me that creativity has no boundaries, and that true innovation comes from curiosity, courage, and the willingness to evolve. As a huge fan of his genius, I carry this with me constantly. 

Ranjit Barot, drums (India)

In 1982 I had the privilege of seeing Miles and his band perform live at the Berlin Philharmonic. We had finished a gig in Zurich and had driven to Berlin the next day. Having engine trouble on the bus, getting into the city was delayed, and I didn't want to miss seeing Miles. I remember not checking into the hotel, just leaving my bags on the bus and heading straight to the venue. As I reached the hall, my hands were shaking as I pushed through the doors to backstage. It was as if a fever had gripped me, a fever of what was to come. 

Coming from India, the only access we had to the world of jazz was through Down Beat, available at only one bookshop that kept the magazine. We had no access to radio or TV in those days, just through albums or cassettes that someone's father or uncle brought back with them from their travels. We all kept a track of these activities and would immediately head over with a boom box to make copies. 

The band with Miles then was Al Foster on drums, John Scofield on guitar, Bill Evans on saxophones, Darryl Jones on bass, Minu Cinelo on percussion and I can never remember the keyboard players name. It was a transcendental experience. I had never seen a drummer have such a relentless groove such as Al had. I remember in one interview Miles always asked why he liked Al so much, and in his gruff, almost disappearing voice, he said, 'Al has great time.' 

Needless to say the band was on fire. I remember, while playing with Bill Evans on a tour we did in India, telling Bill about what happened that night. He remembered, only too well. I saw Miles motion each member in the band to stop playing, one by one, while Bill was soloing, leaving Bill playing all alone by the end of it. That's a tough spot to be in, for any musician. Bill told me that he was furious with Miles, for creating a musical situation where he felt so exposed. He then went on to tell me that Miles' reply was, 'well, you'll never be scared again.' That's some trial by fire! 

At the end of the gig, two bodyguards came to escort Miles and Al, with a cape that they wrapped both of them in. Like boxers leaving a fight. I can still vividly remember them both strutting past me, feel the wind of the capes they were wearing. I felt like I had witnessed the ultimate swag of all time. 

Miles, through his music and persona, impacted musicians worldwide. The fact that I got to play with John McLaughlin, one of Miles' most famous colleagues, for almost fifteen years, has left me knowing that this world of music saved my life. 

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Gent Rushi, piano (Albania)

It is both difficult and easy to define Miles Davis's music. The first thought that comes to mind is: "Miles Davis is jazz, and jazz is Miles Davis." Few jazz musicians have brought as many innovative ideas and such a rich palette of sound throughout their careers as he did. 

As both a composer and a brilliant trumpet player, Miles brought a unique sense of depth to music. I especially feel this when I listen to the album Nefertiti. From the beginning to the end of his career, his solos remained instantly recognizable in their musical essence. He was one of the rare jazz musicians capable of expressing original ideas through compositions built on only two or three notes. 

I think of Ascenseur pour l'échafaud (Fontana, 1958) as a brilliant musical monologue that contains everything within it. His protest against reality emerges far more powerfully through his sound than through direct speech. 

Andrea Keller, piano (Australia)

As a 14-year-old girl growing up in Sydney, Australia, I was already committed to life as a musician, although the possibilities and the path were still very much forming. 

My first listening experience of jazz was in live contexts in Sydney. Sneaking in, under-age, to listen. I started buying records and cassette tapes recommended by the musicians I was meeting and hearing live, and I'd come home from school to sit in the lounge room with vinyl on repeat for hours. Posters of Bird, Coltrane and Miles on my wall. It never occurred to me then how different my life was from theirs, that kind of questioning came later. 

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