A 1972 live document so deliberately obscure that Columbia Records refused to tell you what you were hearing.
In Concert arrived in 1972 as a puzzle. Columbia's original release withheld the names of everyone who played it, the date it happened, and what the pieces were called — just two titles buried in the fine print: "Foot Fooler" and "Slickaphonics." That refusal to explain itself says something about where Miles was by then. He wasn't interested in making things easy for listeners. The music on this live document from Philharmonic Hall in New York City reflects a bandleader pushing electric fusion hard, sometimes careening, sometimes locked in, always restless. Without a printed personnel roster, we hear the album on its own terms: textures, grooves, the sound of a group working through material that doesn't sit still. AllMusic gave it four stars, which suggests there's substance here worth uncovering. Entertainment Weekly was less convinced, awarding it two out of four, and The Penguin Guide settled on three — a split decision that makes sense for a record this uncompromising. It's neither a greatest-hits moment nor a failure. It's Davis in the thick of the 1970s, before fusion either crystallized into something recognizable or curdled into pastiche. If you're coming to Miles for the first time, start elsewhere — try Kind of Blue (1959) or Bitches Brew (1969). But if you already know his voice, In Concert rewards the detective work. The mystery of the unlabeled tracks becomes part of listening to it.