An insider’s Miles Davis – Vince Wilburn, Jr. reflects on “Uncle Miles”

Even icons have families. Grammy-winning producer, drummer and bandleader of the Miles Electric Band (M.E.B.) and Emmy Award-winning force behind the Miles Davis documentary Birth of the Cool, Vince Wilburn, Jr. is also Miles Davis’ nephew. Wilburn was a member of the legend’s touring band in the late 1980s, living during that time with Miles and his youngest son, Erin Davis, in Miles’ beachfront Malibu home.

Ahead of the exclusive NYC concerts of the official Miles Davis Centennial Celebration featuring two stellar bands celebrating the acoustic and electric sides of Miles’ groundbreaking artistry (Oct 16 & 17), we talked with Wilburn, coming away with a rare inside look at life with Miles Davis – and a typical day alongside one of the most towering figures in music. Read Wilburn’s reflections.

On discovering your uncle is a star

In the days before TSA, you’d meet people arriving at the airport at the gate, and we used to go pick up Uncle Miles at O’Hare. Walking from the gate back to the car, it seemed every five or ten steps someone would stop him to talk – the skycaps, the pilots, the flight attendants – they all loved him. I was a kid, and I would ask, “Why is everyone stopping Uncle Miles?” because I couldn’t put it together.

I grew up in Chicago, and when Miles and the band would play there, I would ask my parents if I could stay in the wings and watch the band. I was maybe six or seven years old. And let me tell you, to get a birds’ eye view of the communication between these iconic musicians was something special even to a young kid.

Uncle Miles would call Columbia Records [his longtime label] and ask them to send records to our house for me – Otis Redding, James Brown, Sly and the Family Stone, and Miles’ own albums and he’d say, “Listen to the music.” And I did. I gravitated toward the album covers, but I would listen over and over. I didn’t understand the music, but it was hypnotic. It took me a while to recognize who Uncle Miles was to the world.

A typical day with Uncle Miles in the 1980s

Just imagine being with Miles at his home in Malibu: He’s up before you. He’s at his big glass dining room table, and he’s painting while the tv is on with the volume down. It’s the 80s, so it was often MTV. His trumpet is close – his trumpet was always close. There would be something on the stereo – whatever he was working on at the time, either a live or studio recording. And if something came on television that caught his attention, he’d turn up the volume. It could have been Michael Jackson. Or Cyndi Lauper’s “Time After Time,” and he’d pick up his trumpet and play along with it. Then he’d call the label and have them send over the record and next thing you knew, the song was worked into his setlist. He didn’t want to just play “Stella by Starlight.”

He’d paint some more, then we’d take the canvas off the dining room table and tape it up on the wall so he could look at, then we’d take it down, and he’d paint some more, and when he felt it was finished, he’d sign it. Then he’d say, “Let’s go swimming.” Then it’s out to the boxing bag he’s got in the garage. Then a run to the fish market. He was the ultimate chef. He could cook anything – bouillabaisse, pasta with anchovies – he had a little phone book with all of his recipes (I’m still looking for that), and get this – he doesn’t eat! He’d cook this amazing food, have a forkful, and say, “You eat.” And this went on all day, every day, and always with a different outfit on! He’d change clothes five or six times a day! It was just amazing to experience this every day. This was Miles. Anything he set out to do, he did it, and he did it incredibly well. His energy was amazing. It was hard to keep up with the man. And just to be around him in the same room – he had an aura. A presence. You knew you were with a genius.

On Miles as a style icon

We’d be on tour in different countries, and he’d send us to pick up the local fashion magazines. He’d look through them, then have his driver take us to the shops, or he’d call the designer of something he liked. The designers loved it. They loved him. They would bring him samples, “What do you think of this, Mr. Davis?”

He had style in everything he did. He gravitated to the finer things in life. He loved Italian sports cars. He knew about etiquette. We used to fly together, and I remember him taking the spoon away from me when we were served soup, so he could show me the proper way to eat soup – did you know that you’re supposed to scoop it away from you?!

On Miles performing with his back to the audience

Miles turned his back to the audience because he loved the communication with the band members. The conductor of a symphony turns his back, and that’s accepted, but in Miles’ case, people thought he was trying to be rude. He just loved the interplay with the musicians.

People called him the Prince of Darkness – I hate that moniker. He cared about the people he cared about. He had a great sense of humor, a great smile for the people he loved. He was close to me and to my mom and dad, and to his brothers and his family and his kids. When he would see someone like Dizzy, he would embrace him. He was tight with Clark Terry. Tight with Quincy. But let it be said: It was always about the music – the music was first and foremost. Then it was the people he loved.

On Miles’ greatest legacy

Evolution. Miles changed music. People always want to know, “Why did he stop playing acoustic?” It’s because he was all about evolution. And not only the evolution of the music, which was the primary thing. He thought about everything – what the stage looked like, how the musicians looked, what they wore. He didn’t dress the same as he did in the 50s and 60s and he didn’t want his band to either.

Uncle Miles didn’t care about the critics – he called them “the crickets.” He was so adamant about evolution and change, he wanted you to accept what he was playing now and what he was playing next. I lived with Miles and Erin in Malibu. He didn’t even have Kind of Blue, Sketches of Spain, those beautiful records – he didn’t even have them in the house! He was Miles. He changed the course of music four or five different times. There isn’t another musician who played with Prince and Charlie Parker. How vast is that?

On what he misses

Miles has been gone since 1991, but the musicians and I are always saying, “Remember when he said this?” “Remember when Miles shared this with us?” It’s amazing how present he is. I miss him sitting at the piano and just playing chords. And hearing him play the trumpet just by himself. That sound! With the Harmon mute in or the Harmon mute out – no one had his sound.

He was a thoroughly creative person. Anyone who played with Miles would say the same thing. He’d ask us to try things, and we’d look at each other and think, “Really?” But when we’d get on the bandstand, well, he had a canny way of knowing what would and wouldn’t work – both in the studio and on the stage. That’s genius. That’s actually super-genius. It’s why we all called him The Chief. I have dreams about him. I see his face, and he smiles. I miss him.

On what Miles might say hearing the concerts

Wait, am I allowed to curse?! Seriously, I think he’d be proud that we’re carrying on his legacy. I believe in my heart that he would be proud.

Miles Davis Centennial Celebration: concerts Fri, Oct 16 & Sat, Oct 17 at 7:30 PM. Tickets and details.