Is this even jazz? Sketches of Spain was perhaps the first Miles Davis album to inspire this question, though it certainly wouldn't be the last. Originally released in 1960, it was Davis' studio follow-up to the landmark Kind of Blue, and it found him, yet again, striking out in an entirely new direction.

Working with arranger Gil Evans, Davis cooked up a concept album, looking to the structure and texture of Spanish folk and classical music for inspiration. The two old friends and collaborators were on a huge roll creatively during this period. Davis was piling up hall of fame-caliber jazz albums with alarming regularity, while Evans, in addition to working with Davis frequently in the late 1950s, recorded what was perhaps his finest solo album in 1960, Out of the Cool (it vaguely shares a vibe with Sketches, but is in my estimation just a hair better). So to say both were in strong form here would be an understatement. Davis takes what is most striking about his trumpet style-- the controlled soloing in the middle register, with a mastery of subtle shifts in focus-- and amplifies it, creating measured phrases of almost painful intensity. While Evans' distinctive approach to harmony and tonal color-- one of the most enjoyable "Hey, I get it!" moments as you first explore jazz is when you start to recognize his arrangements-- inhabits a form that to the uninitiated can sound mysterious and exotic and sensual. It's hard not to be taken in immediately.

And that's the first thing to note about Sketches of Spain: Where Davis' "Is this jazz?" albums from the late-60s forward were often dense and challenging ("Is this even music?" even came up now and then), Sketches of Spain was always easy to like. So much so that, like its predecessor, it became the kind of record that someone with only two or three albums by jazz artists might have in their collection. That's partly up to its potential contexts being so variable. There's a lot going on in the music that rewards a close listen, but it's also something you can put on and read to (though admittedly, some of the dynamic surges could be a little jolting). It's often quiet and atmospheric, at points coming over as almost ambient. It's the kind of album that dims the light in the room whenever it plays. It's also absolutely gorgeous.

The writers of The Penguin Guide to Jazz felt that the moodiness of Sketches of Spain dominated to the point where it added up to something closer to glorified elevator music. There is some merit to their claim, but the criticism now seems, interestingly, dated. The majority of people encountering a record like Sketches of Spain for the first time probably have no special interest in jazz as an idea, and the notion of pursuing atmospheric records whose primary selling point is an overriding feel and an abiding surface-level prettiness is nothing to be embarrassed about. If we want something more forward with more improvisation and interplay, hey, there are a billion other records out there. But Sketches of Spain does something special.

There's a real charge that comes from the distant, clattering percussion that begins "Concierto de Aranjuez (Adagio)", the opening track and centerpiece. It's a piece by Spanish composer Joaquín Rodrigo, and if you hear it played with a classical guitar and full orchestra, you realize both how faithful Evans was to it in terms of structure and what he accomplished as far as texture. Using French horn, harp, oboe, and bassoon, as well as more typically jazz brass instruments like trumpet and trombone (Paul Chambers and Jimmy Cobb, the rhythm section of Davis' band, are both on hand, but they're playing charts-- there's no room here for improvisation), Evans creates a shifting tapestry of luscious sound. Sometimes the music just seems to hang in the air, and sometimes it lurches toward an unexpected climax. Davis is the only soloist on the record, and he burrows deeply into the melodies, turning them over with a huge, bulbous tone that's both strong and vulnerable. He sounds especially impassioned on "Saeta", a piece whose scales reflect the influence of North African music on flamenco. It opens with a march and a fanfare, and then Davis blasts an uncanny solo-- slow, choosing between a small handful of notes, but so intent and concentrated that his trumpet almost seems to be splintering. The contrasts between Evans velvety but complex backdrops and Davis' extemporaneous work out front is compelling from start to finish.

The problem with this edition is a familiar one to anyone who has followed the never-ending Miles Davis reissue campaign: There's an extra disc of material here, all of which was issued elsewhere and most of which is of interest primarily to collectors, and that extra disc inflates the suggested retail of the set to $25. That's a lot of scratch when you get down to what you're really paying for if you don't own the set already, and that's the first five tracks from the original record, 41 minutes of music total. Disc One, in addition to the full album, does contain the sessions' one true outtake, "Song of Our Country". It's easy to see why it was left off, since its tone is several shades brighter and the arrangement is more firmly entrenched in jazz proper-- it actually sounds closer to something from Miles Ahead, the 1957 Evans/Davis big band set. But it's still worth owning, even if it was later compiled into one of Davis' many odds-and-ends sets, 1980's Directions.

Eight of the 11 tracks on the second disc consist of alternate takes, including four that cover sections of "Concierto". As good as some of this material is, you'll never reach for this sequence over the master unless you're researching the subtle differences in the solos. A live version of "Concierto" from 1961, the only time Davis performed this material in concert, is the most worthwhile inclusion by far. But by the end of the disc we're hearing "Teo" from the 1961 album Someday My Prince Will Come, and all of a sudden Coltrane is soloing, which makes no sense whatsoever in this painstakingly arranged context. As the notes indicate, "Teo" bears a melodic and thematic resemblance to material on Sketches, and though that's true, its inclusion here is dubious. It seems more a way to pad out a set that needs to be of a certain length to justify the price tag. Better that this edition had included "Song of Our Country" and the live "Concierto" as bonus cuts on a single disc. The liner notes, by composer Gunther Schuller, a "Third Stream" pioneer who mixed jazz and classical, are informative and well done and do add value. The music benefits from his analysis, which is technical but still accessible.

So the score given here reflects a compromise between the vast musical riches of the original album and the questionable packaging of the reissue. I wish I could say that Sketches is an album that turntable owners should just seek out on inexpensive used vinyl-- with a jazz record this popular, there are plenty of copies floating around. But the music is so subtle and detailed, surface noise really can get in the way here. Sketches is a masterpiece that opens up with a close listen, with every detail of the music clearly audible. So do seek it out, but if you do so with this edition, it'll cost you a few bucks.