DISGRACELAND Double Elvis

Jake does a deep dive on the one and only Miles Davis, touches on artists he isn't touching (for now), teases big things coming for Disgraceland in February, and replies to your texts DMs and VMs. Leave your message for Jake to respond to at 617-906-6638 and join the After Party.
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When it came to music, Miles Davis wasn’t about no safe, tired yesterday bullsh*t. After kicking his heroin addiction, he traded bespoke suits for fringe jackets and spearheaded an experimental blur of jazz and rock, eclipsing his contemporaries with a complete reinvention of himself. But the second act of Miles’ life came fraught with failures and new fixes, including a wrecked Lambo, two broken legs, and a mountain of coke and pills so massive that Miles almost never made it down the other side.
This episode contains themes that may be disturbing to some listeners and includes descriptions of domestic violence.
To see the full list of contributors, see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com.
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Miles Davis is jazz’s first and only rock star, with the rap sheet to prove it. He did enough cocaine to run down the entirety of 52nd street, and pimped out women when performing wasn’t paying the bills. At one point, his heroin habit was so public that clubs who had once welcomed his brilliant bebop instead froze him out completely. When he wasn’t vying to keep his rightful spot in jazz’s upper echelon, he was doing time at Rikers Island or dodging racist cops on the prowl for any junkie they could find. Miles Davis invented cool, but nearly destroyed himself in the process.
This episode contains themes that may be disturbing to some listeners and includes descriptions of domestic violence.
To see the full list of contributors, see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com.
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Jake comes in hot from a cold studio in snowy New England with this week's bonus episode. Flashback to Jake's hardcore zine days for a key Paul McCartney take, find out the ties between all the Season 8 episodes now binge-able in your feed, hear your calls, texts and Disgo community feedback, and share your pop culture recommendations with Jake at 617-906-6638.
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In 1960s London, for young guitar enthusiasts, believing that “Clapton is God” was practically the 11th Commandment. In 1970 he lent his big, sticky tone to yet another band: Derek and the Dominos. The group’s white-hot blues burned bright for barely more than a year, but their impact was massive. Guided by drug, alcohol and heartbreak free-fall, Eric Clapton created one of rock’s most recognizable guitar riffs, while drummer Jim Gordon contributed God’s great piano coda. Except Gordon was guided by something far more sinister — something that started with incessant voices in his head, and ended with a hammer, a butcher knife, and a dead mother.
To see the full list of contributors see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com.
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The original Woodstock was a literal disaster, declared so on its first day by the state of New York. There were fights, onstage, armed black-shirted hippie gestapo on patrol, and most notably, two dead kids on record. The festival was born of violence, sparked into existence out of organizer Michael Lang’s standoff with hillbilly armed guards and cops from down in Florida. The lasting image of Woodstock as a time of idyllic harmony is a nostalgic gimmick, as is the 1970 documentary about the events that took place up in Bethel, New York that fateful weekend. If any director were to make a truly realistic movie about Woodstock, their film would be an unhinged disaster movie.
To see the full list of contributors, see the show notes at www.disgracelandpod.com.
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