Asbury Park Press
Don Lass : 04/08/1967

Davis is best known for his singularly laconic, wistful manner of expressing himself on the trumpet, a style that is best portrayed when he uses a mute to harness his horn. But, for the most part, the Davis heard on this collection is in an unusually aggressive mood that is broken only by the delicacy of Circle, which finds the leader muted, and the introductory passages of the otherwise intense Footprints. The playing, in other words, is less melancholy and more forceful than standard Davis works, but the change has brought no deterioration in the final product. This is a superb package of modern jazz marked by smoldering statements from Davis, the improving Wayne Shorter on tenor saxophone, and pianist Herbie Hancock, who has established himself as a foremost modernist. Even more vital to the outcome of these tracks is the fascinating empathy among Davis, Shorter, Hancock, bassist Ron Carter, and the extraordinarily creative and sensitive drummer Tony Williams. The sound they achieve comes only with the extensive experience of playing together under various circumstances, and this present day sound makes Davis’ group the most cohesive and individually talented in jazz.

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HiFi / Stereo Review
Nat Hentoff : June, 1967

The Best Miles Davis groups have been those with the strongest and most inventive rhythm sections. Although such important jazz figures as Philly Joe Jones, Paul Chambers, and Bill Evans are numbered among his alumni, Davis now has his most stimulating rhythm team so far as the unflagging excitement of his new Columbia album, Miles Smiles, demonstrates.

Young Tony Williams on drums and Ron Carter on bass are both prodigious technicians and restless – though logical – experimenters. They work together so well that they give the impression that neither could go in a direction that would surprise the other. What makes their interplay all the more fascinating in this set is that they have been recorded in such a way that the fullness of their ingenuity is continually made clear. Davis has also helped by directing that the piano be used sparingly as a rhythm instrument although there are a number of crisp, persistently pertinent solos by Herbie Hancock.

These hosannas for the rhythm section are not meant, however, to obscure the central importance of Davis himself. He sounds particularly at ease in these sessions, and has no problems with the demanding tempos of Ginger Bread Boy, Dolores, and Orbits. His solos on these whizzing tunes, moreover, are models of improvisatory composing. In Circle, he reveals again his unique capacity to enter into a ballad as if it were autobiography: he uses a mute here, and there is no other trumpeter in jazz who can sustain, through a mute, his quality of unsentimental and yet naked intimacy, nor his ability to keep time at once so elastic and so tightly controlled. Absorbing in different ways are Davis’ performances in the searching, almost imploring Footprints and the complex, serpentine Freedom Jazz Dance.

Though tenor saxophonist Wayne Shorter does not quite reach the incandescent performance level attained by his colleagues, he is inspired by them to deliver some of his most inventive playing on records so far. Since this recording was made, Davis has added the formidable tenor saxophonist Joe Henderson to his unit, so that his next small combo album is one to look forward to with keen anticipation. This one, however, is certain to remain an important part of the Davis discography, both for the trumpeter’s persistent brilliance and for the lesson by Williams and Carter in how the functions – and the dynamic range – of the jazz rhythm section are being explored and changed.

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Indianapolis News
Ralph J. Gleason : 03/02/1967

“I made the piano lay out so you could hear the bass and drums better,” Miles Davis says of his new album, Miles Smiles (Columbia CL 2601).

The new LP is Davis’ first release in almost a year, and he approves of it.

“You can really hear Tony (Williams) and Ron (Carter) play, you can hear what they do without the piano in there all the time.”

Noting that drummer Williams contributes such a remarkable series of breaks and fills and backgrounds, it was suggested that sometime it would be nice if Williams and Davis played a duet. “We do,” he said succinctly, and actually it is true that some of the most fascinating parts of the LP are the passages in which the dominant voices are the trumpet and the drums.

Throughout the album, Davis plays with a freshness and creativity that is amazing.

“I’ve been playing on weekends,” he said, “and it’s a lot better. It gives you three or four days to fall in love with the trumpet again. I can’t make the regular club scene any more. We’ve been playing weekends and concerts. This month we have seven concerts in Detroit, Philadelphia and Chicago.

“We have two tenors now. Joe Henderson is in the band along with Wayne Shorter. It sounds pretty good.”

Davis, who was just named one of the victors in he Playboy poll, had some salty words about polls.

“I wrote Playboy a letter,” he said, “and told them to stop giving awards until they did something for musicians. Why don’t they give some money to some composer, to write something?” Davis’ point has long been made by jazzmen, as the futility of the various polls is obvious.

IT TAKES WORK TO CREATE MUSIC

Davis’ point about preferring to work weekends and play concerts is another aspect of jazz sociology that’s becoming increasingly important. The kind of music which men like Davis create can’t be ground out night after night, three and four times a night in a saloon indefinitely.

Jazz musicians have to work in order to create, but there is a point of no return after which the debilitating effect takes over.

Davis’ new LP is a perfect example of how fresh and interesting a group can sound when it has the proper working conditions and can fit into that groove for a time.

In their early days, when the individual jazz musician is working out his style, perfecting it, establishing his own creative concept and hammering out the foundation on which to build, he can’t work too much.

However, once the creative musician is at the level of a Parker, a Gillespie or a Davis, it is really essential that the creative energy be carefully conserved and not wasted.

A Miles Davis at the height of his powers, as is the case at the present, can look forward to years and years of creative production. Randomly exploited, as most jazz musicians are due to the rigors of the business of music, the hazards in the way of those creative years are almost insurmountable.

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Milwaukee Sentinel And Gazette
Keith Spore : 04/08/1967

A jazz critic and sometime trumpet man, Michael Zwerin, recently suggested that rock ‘n’ roll is assuredly a better product these days, but said that when rock musicians try to improvise – “forget it.” He based his opinion on a Jefferson Airplane jam session and offered the usual jazzman’s holier than thou observations: The guitarists stuck to E, A and B chords, the bass patterns were “uninteresting” and the pulse was “simple minded.”

Well, here’s a big phooey for Zwerin and a counterblast. The new Jefferson Airplane RCA LP, Surrealistic Pillow, is definitely more interesting, for example, than the new Miles Davis Quintet LP on Columbia, Miles Smiles. The bass patterns aren’t very complicated during the Jefferson Airplane’s flight through She Has Funny Cars, My Best Friend, D. C. B. A. and Plastic Fantastic Lover, but the melodies twist and turn with startling originality.

On the other hand, the written parts on Davis’ LP are disjointed, ultracomplex and a thorough bore. The written intros and outs on Circle, Dolores, and Footprints could be lopped off the LP and nothing would be lost.

Davis and his sidemen do improvise with more allure than the Jefferson Airplane. But unless we’re mistaken, the melody is still the thing, and rock musicians on the whole are turning out an infinitely better product than jazzmen. The jazz world ought to wake up – young America is turned off by their introspection and complexity.

The young can’t whistle a John Coltrane chord exploration, and they can’t dance to it, either.

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Peterborough Standard
Alan Twelftree : 04/28/1967

Miles Smiles is an odd title because it contradicts the introspective image created for Miles Davis over a long period. The smile should be one of content, since this album by his present quintet can compare with his best. He smiles, too, at the younger avant garde players and at the same time his rhythm section use more freedom than any he has previously employed.

Drummer Tony Williams is the brilliant shifting backcloth to it all with Ron Carter (bass) and Herbie Hancock (piano), uncannily sympathetic to every rhythmic change. Wayne Shorter (tenor) is finding his own way these days, and it is only occasional hesitation which leaves him behind the superb performance of Miles himself.

With or without a mute, Miles is unmistakable whether striding through or treading softly; but this is less of a one man show than some of his other records. This group has unity of direction and a forward look in its eye.

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San Francisco Examiner
Ralph J. Gleason : 02/19/1967

The world of jazz records has become such a swamp of trivia in the past couple of years, with every musician who owned an instrument making albums as if he had the creative genius of a Duke Ellington, that the releases of works by the really important and creative people such as Miles Davis have become an event.

Miles Smiles (Columbia CL 2601) is the newest work by Miles Davis and his quintet. It was recorded last fall with tenor Wayne Shorter, pianist Herbie Hancock, bassist Ron Carter and drummer Tony Williams, the group with which Miles has been working for some time.

There are six tracks on the album, three to each side. The compositions are by Davis, Shorter, Jimmy Heath (tenor saxophonist who played with Davis for a while) and Eddie Harris.

The format is a variation on the usual Davis format – introductions utilizing one voice and then a tenor-trumpet ensemble leading into a string of solos by the tenor, trumpet, piano and occasionally by the bass and drums. Sometimes the ensemble exchanges break with the drummer as an introduction to the piece, and occasionally the beat is changed. Or the illusion of change is given, by drummer Tony Williams switching around what he is playing from a basic four beats to eight or down to two. It is remarkable what a startling effect this has.

A Fast ‘Orbit’

Orbit, which was written by Shorter, is a fast number which has Williams repeatedly giving the impression that he is playing more than one bass drum. He is able to produce a sound approximating a roll on that usually cumbersome instrument.

At times in this, and other numbers, the pianist Hancock, instead of feeding chords to the soloist or plunking down little chordal fills during the solos, plays out completely which allows the listener to really hear the complex interplay between the bass and the drums. It is a highly effective device and instructive as well.

Circle, which is Davis’ own composition, is a beautifully slow number in which the composer plays with deep, moody intensity and to which Williams contributes some remarkable drumming. Williams plays brushes behind Davis’ opening solo and switches to cymbals behind Shorter’s tenor. Later, after returning to the brushes, he contributes some fascinating fluttering sounds just before Davis comes in for the final statement. All the soloists, Davis, Shorter, and pianist Hancock, play very romantically on this number and Carter’s bass is beautiful in the final passages.

Footprints, a composition by Shorter, is in medium tempo with an introduction by Davis and Shorter playing ensemble which leads into a bright, pert trumpet solo by Davis behind which Williams plays cymbals with no piano being heard. The cymbals, incidentally, are tapped in tonal sequence, rather than in the traditional “rinso-WHITE beat” and end up being a duet with the trumpet.

Shorter’s moody tenor follows and Williams uses the hi-hat foot cymbal here for an eight-to-the-bar counter rhythm that is highly effective. As Williams shifts the beats, the moods of the number shift, too. There’s a short drum solo just before the final ensemble.

Dolores, another Shorter composition, is medium up tempo with a drum and bass introduction to the horn ensemble which begins a series of exchanges with the drums that introduce a bright explosive Davis solo behind which Williams really drives with a bubbling, seething sound that is exciting. During Shorter’s tenor solo, Williams predicts and plays in unison with rhythmic phrases of the tenor sometimes getting a sound like a kettle drum.

A Twirling Firefly

Freedom Jazz Dance, is exceptionally interesting in stereo, with the bass and drums on one mike and the horns on another. Heard like that, it sounds as if there were two simultaneous duets. Davis acts like a director on this number, coming in here and there and pointing the direction. If drummers are dancers, as Jon Hendricks says, there’s no better example on record than this exhibition by Tony Williams.

Gingerbread Boy is a swiftly driving number in which Davis plays open horn in an exchange with Williams’ drums for the opening sequence and then solos like a darting, twirling firefly in a wildly exciting manner followed by long, beautiful solos by both pianist Hancock and bassist Carter. At the end, Miles says “Teo, Teo! Teeeee-o! Play that!” as he instructs the recording director, Teo Macero, that he thinks this is good “take.” Thus Davis, like Ellington, ultimately becomes his own vocalist.

This is a grand album in every way possible.

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Saturday Review
Martin Williams : 09/30/1967

Finally, let me give a somewhat belated notice to the Miles Davis LP, Miles Smiles (Columbia stereo, CS 9401; mono, CL 2601). The album is directly in the tradition of the “experimental” Davis recordings, the tradition established by Kind of Blue in 1959 – an album whose implications jazz musicians are still exploring – and continued by E.S.P. of 1965 – an album which seemed to me much less successful. Miles Smiles is an exceptional recital, Davis’ best album in some time, and clear evidence of his continuing dedication as an improvising musician. I was particularly taken by Davis’ solo on his own ballad, Circle, and by the way he re-employs some of his favorite phrases on the Jimmy Heath piece Gingerbread Boy. Davis’ saxophonist Wayne Shorter, both a writer and player, contributes some of his best work so far. Pianist Herbie Hancock plays with a firm strength I do not hear on the LPs he has been making under his own name. As for bassist Ron Carter and drummer Tony Williams, their superb contributions are beyond the words I could muster for so brief an account as this one.

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Sydney Morning Herald
Craig McGregor : 05/24/1967

This Miles Davis disc features much the same group – Herbie Hancock, piano, Ron Carter, bass, Tony Williams, drums – that recorded that superlative ‘Four’ And More album a couple of years ago, with the exception that Wayne Shorter replaces George Coleman on tenor sax.

During the interval, Miles and his merry men have obviously been listening to “the new thing,” as the free form music of jazzmen like Albert Ayler and Ornette Coleman is reprehensibly labelled, and the startling results can be heard on the opening track of the new album, Orbits. This, to my mind, is one of the best performances Miles has recorded for years. After the characteristically dissonant introduction, Miles takes off on a fiery, uptempo solo which is a far cry from those misty “seven steps to heaven” soliloquies we have come to expect from him, throwing off ideas and hot, searing phrases like firecrackers. Solos by Shorter and Hancock follow.

Circle, a slow ballad, sounds more like the old Miles. But with Dolores, a deliberately fragmented and angular composition by Wayne Shorter, and Ginger Bread Boy, which features some outstanding bass playing by Ron Carter, we are back in an uptempo groove with new-sound edges.

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Down Beat : 06/29/1967
Dan Morgenstern : 4.5 stars

This is Davis‘ most exciting album since E.S.P., recorded by the same quintet and issued two years ago. Like the earlier record, this one is a confrontation with the avant-garde, and since the trumpeter is one of the spiritual fathers of the new jazz, what he and his sidemen do here is of considerable interest – aside from the intrinsic interest of the music itself.

Three of the pieces are by Shorter, a gifted composer-arranger as well as a fine player. They are Orbits, Footprints, and Dolores. Freedom, by saxophonist Eddie Harris, and Gingerbread, by Jimmy Heath, are given treatments quite different from their composers’ recorded versions.

Circle is by Davis, and it is the album’s best track. A lovely ballad, it focuses on the trumpeter’s lyrical side, in contrast to the more aggressive playing in the other performances. Here is the essential Miles Davis, completely himself – and not a bit dated.

Elsewhere, he sometimes sounds a little like Don Cherry, but with more consistent command of both horn and structure. It is always commendable when an established player, especially a highly creative and original one, remains open to new ideas.

But no matter how experimental Davis gets, his improvisations remain melodic and logical. Even when they are not, strictly speaking, tonal in the Western European sense, they imply tonality and fall pleasantly on the tonally oriented ear. And he swings.

Though Davis remains the individualist, it is as a group that the quintet is at its most impressive, and, specifically, it is the extraordinary rhythm section that makes this one of the most cohesive and original groups in contemporary jazz.
There is almost uncanny communication among Hancock, Carter, and Williams. At will, they can go from “inside” to “outside,” never losing the thread of continuity so essential to jazz rhythms. And their collective sound (or rather, sounds) always enhances what goes on up front.

Each of the three is masterly, and there is, apparently, no disruptive rivalry among them. They are a unit – nobody ever seems to be saying “me, me,” and even their solos are integrated.

As for the solos, which always benefit from the support that never flags, Hancock’s are the most provocative of the “sidemen’s” contributions. Hear him on Circle, on which his imagination matches that of Davis, on Dolores, and on Freedom, and one will hear one of the outstanding pianists of the day.

Shorter, always a thoughtful, searching player, seems to be finding his true style, one which combines tradition with adventurousness in satisfying fashion. I liked him especially on his own Dolores, with Carter working wonders behind him.

The bassist is splendid throughout – and so is Williams, whose crackling ensemble fills and momentous drive on Gingerbread are among many details that could be singled out for praise.

In their approach to musical “freedom,” these five men never lose sight of the foundations of musical communication. They are always musical, and what they do makes sense. This is definitely a record to hear and hear again. And Circle is a masterpiece.

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Liner Notes by Anthony Tuttle

Miles smiles?

Wow! What have we here? Who’s kidding who? … Miles smiles? … Is someone putting us on?

What about the infamous Davis mystique, the brooding artist, the tortured soul, those critics who write liner notes that go on and inexorably on about the Integrity of the Artist in This, Our Complex Twentieth-Century World: Davis, the introspective quasi-Hamlet with a horn whom Nobody Truly Understands? Is this, then, a mellowing Miles, a new face, a different sound, a corner turned?

Absolutely not. There’s no need for that sort of melodrama. Miles is Miles and the man is his music and what counts is that the music should speak for itself. Hamlet has many faces, but, always, the language soars. Why the smile? Because Miles Smiles happens to be the name of the album, and lo, like a smile it is — open, inviting and, above all, pleasing. In fact, the entire quintet plays as if there were a shared smile between them, each man lending his effort to the whole while the whole reflects the solid contribution of each man. It is neither New Stream or Old Guard — just good modern jazz that sings with Miles’ own song of invention and is backed by musicians who understand the intent of their leader.

His sound? With open horn, it can be driving, frantic, joyful or harsh, a painter liberating a canvas to realms of vivid color; muted, it has the lyric delicacy of wind-whistling grass or the subtle hesitancy of sunlight piercing clouds. No matter which, the sound bristles with inventiveness and harbors an intricately welded internal core, an inherent musical tension that probes as it plays and seems never at the point of resolution until each song is fully realized, and finally ended.

Supporting it here, the voice and weave of Wayne Shorter‘s tenor blends well with the Davis sound yet is individual enough in its own right to lend its own ideas and cooperative color. Sustenance, of course, also comes from the web of support furnished by Herbie Hancock, Ron Carter and Tony Williams. All three fashion the springboard from which Miles and Shorter jump: Hancock with his richly textured chording and his lyric solos (especially note Circle); Carter stitching the group with his subtly insistent bass work, while Tony Williams drives the quintet with the jubilant persistence of a Fourth of July rocket-master, his cymbal bursts exploding in showers of sound to add dimension and pulse to each song’s texture.

Orbits opens the album, and the mood of the side is sky-high. In fierce union, Miles and Shorter state the melody, its far-out line conjuring stellar exploration, galaxies visited, the world left behind. Miles then cuts loose with a vibrant, hard-attack solo that sails skyward immediately and doesn’t come down until Shorter picks him up and, in a slightly less dramatic vein, again orbits with the line. Hancock takes it next and gives it a good ride before Miles and Shorter, still space-bound, gradually return the song to earth.

Circle is a different story. A sophisticated ballad, it is beautifully played by Miles, his horn muted, his sound rich with a delicate poignancy. The line is simply stated, but in this simplicity we find the same depth of feeling and direct emotional commitment as we have in Miles’ brilliant work with Gil Evans. Inspiration is evidently catching, for Shorter follows with a similarly lovely solo which is then matched by Hancock in a beautifully wrought expression of simple lyricism that at times seems to echo both Chopin and Debussy. Lending tonal body throughout is the equally tasteful work of Carter, who seems splendidly turned to the needs of the group, his moves invariably seeming to be the right ones.

Footprints provides a gentle, lilting melody that at first seems bound to contain the group in the confines of its gentleness. But as Miles builds his solo (and Williams gradually expands the dynamics) the breadth of the side widens into a full-blown vehicle for Miles’ probing horn. Hancock provides a questioning argument throughout the song, one which Shorter takes up and attempts to answer. The only resolution, however, is a return to the refrain which, hauntingly, seems to leave the “question” still unanswered, and though a final dialogue between Carter and Williams nicely takes the song out, the air of mystery and of intrigue still remains.

Dolores is up-tempo all the way, a hard-driving side that features the quintet with all stops pulled out, Shorter first stating the theme alone, then joined by Miles who explodes into a slashing, high-spirited solo that demonstrates the range of his horn and technique. Shorter follows with a solid solo of his own (backed by the plash and chatter of Williams’ busy ride-cymbal) which is in turn followed by a pesky, well-defined solo by Hancock. Shorter and Miles then take the song out, cutting twos and fours with Williams and Carter, who (here and throughout the album) employ a wild stylistic nuance of holding one note in suspension, letting it serve as a bridge to the next phrase. It’s a pleasant jolt each time we hear it.

Tony Williams highlights Freedom Jazz Dance. Starting with a rapid double-time that weaves throughout the side, he generates a sustained frenzy and dynamism that nicely undercurrents the more controlled solos of Miles and Shorter. Williams’ sound is ritualistic here, pulsing, almost menacing in its sustained drive. A dance is definitely conjured as Miles, Shorter and Hancock weave their separate spells around the heart of the song — the music of the drums.

Ginger Bread Boy takes the album out under full drive. In tight unison, Miles and Shorter introduce the striking theme and then Miles takes off on a flight wild and free. A spiraling solo full of passion and drive, it is followed quickly by Shorter who doesn’t relax the pace but rather sustains it, driving his horn hard in a wailing reworking of the opening statement. Hancock takes it next and plays with equal fire and up-tempo verve, Williams and Carter backing him splendidly. Then the song is concluded in a last wild statement of the theme, at full blast, the quintet playing beautifully in wide-open style.

Miles smiles?

Sure he does, and don’t be surprised if you do, too.