The Birth of the Cool
Yesterday, when the kid is done playing an etude and fantasia over and over until the woman is satisfied and the kid is making up ailments, I slide some American noises into the stereo.
I like the hovering notes that begin Copland's Appalachian Spring � the kid sits at the piano and picks out the notes for me � and she likes the hoe-down from his Rodeo, which always turns her into a happy horse.
Then we try Miles Davis. When we stand between the speakers and listen carefully, we think we know, through the miracle of stereo, where Miles Davis and Cannonball Adderley and the other guys must be sitting or standing and what they look like when they play.
Today, she asks if we can hear that Mee-less Dah-vees again.