“Hey, where are you going?”
“I’m going to work, Miles.”
“In the garment center, 40th and Broadway,” she said.
“Come on, I’ll give you a ride,” said Miles.
“He gave me a lift. So whenever he’d see me on the street, he’d say, ‘You need a ride?’ He was cool, nice and a little quiet.”
This picture differs from accounts by those who ruefully recall his mistreatment of women and his drug abuse. Troupe calls those times of substance abuse his “dark periods” and connects Miles’ abusive tendencies to his own demons, as well as hanging around pimps, drug dealers and the like. As much of a tortured artist as Davis certainly was at times in his career, his musical genius is the basis of his artistic reputation and the justification for his recognition via a street naming.
“He was second to my dad as a father figure and a teacher of music and life,” says Wilburn. “He always told me to stay true to the music. Don’t be pigeonholed, keep progressing and evolving. Never rest on your laurels. Keep it exciting.
“Some musicians peak or level off. Miles never did that. He was always striving to play what was in his mind to direct that sound to the public. He was the first one to wake up in the morning and the last one to go to bed at night. He’d change clothes five or six times a day. That’s how his mind worked.”
Troupe, author too of a memoir about his relationship with Davis, Miles and Me, says that Davis explained the basis of his Picasso-like love affairs with musical forms as well as what remained constant.