Miles Davis’s seismic 1970 double LP “Bitches Brew’’ wasn’t the first attempt to blend rock into jazz, but it was the one that caused a tectonic shift in the course of jazz. Suddenly everyone who was doing bop started doing fusion. “Bitches Brew’’ was an audacious record, one that foretold not just the popularity of jazz-rock fusion (and its wimpy cousin, smooth jazz) but later attempts to mix jazz with electronica, hip-hop, and ambient.
I remember the first time I heard “Bitches Brew.’’ I was mowing the lawn. Granted, this is not the best way to experience the album for the first time, but I had ordered it through the mail, and the mailman showed up with it just as I was filling the tank with gasoline. So on went the headphones, and in went disc one. My initial reaction was that this record was ridiculous; Chick Corea, Larry Young, and Joe Zawinul noodling around on electric pianos wasn’t jazz. But as the outsized rhythm section propelled “Pharaoh’s Dance’’ along, the groove set in — and then dug in deeper. When the trumpeter himself finally stepped forth, he announced himself with great, brassy blasts. As the tune sprinted toward the 20-minute mark, the lawn mower caught fire. No, literally: The lawn mower caught on fire. I’m not saying “Bitches Brew’’ did it, but there I stood in my backyard, dousing the flaming engine with a hose.
It is 40 years since “Bitches Brew’’ was first etched into vinyl, and now a new edition of the album arrives on Columbia/Legacy. (It has been 12 years since the last “Bitches Brew’’ reissue, so one supposes it’s about that time.) This version — the four-disc “Bitches Brew: 40th Anniversary Collector’s Edition,’’ out today — is pretty perfect. It removes all the extraneous tunes that were included on the four-disc “The Complete Bitches Brew Sessions,’’ paring down the studio stacks to two CDs’ worth: the original album (“Pharaoh’s Dance,’’ “Bitches Brew,’’ “Spanish Key,’’ “John McLaughlin,’’ “Miles Runs the Voodoo Down,’’ and “Sanctuary’’) plus alternate takes of “Spanish Key’’ and “John McLaughlin,’’ and a single edit of “Spanish Key.’’
For my money, the reason to buy this set is disc three, an unearthed live recording from Tanglewood. Miles’s band for this Aug. 18, 1970, concert included Gary Bartz on saxophones, Chick Corea on electric piano, Keith Jarrett on organ, Dave Holland on bass, Jack DeJohnette on drums, and Airto Moreira on percussion. Do they ever burn. Transforming the disparate strands of “Bitches Brew’’ — a studio creation that producer Teo Macero assembled from bits and scraps of recordings — into a full concert must have required all of Miles’s leadership abilities. This is some raw, nasty, low-down, dirty jazz-rock that blasted through the Berkshires 40 years ago this month. I mean that as a compliment.
Disc four is a DVD of a 1969 show at a concert hall in Copenhagen. Here, the band is pared to a quintet with saxophonist Wayne Shorter plus Corea, Holland, and DeJohnette. Watching them do their thing before an audience is revelatory. Despite the volume, tempo, and energy of their 43-minute set, no emotions are betrayed. The musicians barely look at one another; they know the music that well. Holland stares into space as he plucks the neck of the bass. Corea watches his own hands. The others seem to look off to the sides. The audience is not acknowledged. Tunes are not announced (nor should they be, since they bleed into one another). When Miles decides the music is over, the musicians put down their instruments and walk offstage, toward the back. That’s it. It’s over. The music spoke for itself.
STEVE GREENLEE 
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