Besides being an amazing arranger and most lyrical trumpeter and, oh, just one of jazz's finest innovators, he kicked a 4-year heroin habit cold-turkey in 1953. Just locked himself in a room in his father's house and stayed there for 12 days, vomiting up whatever he trid to eat, cursing himself in the universe, with his pores and nose running and "smelling like chicken soup," to use his own words. And then it was done.



The "Prince of Darkness," indeed. What an amazingly strong, proud, determined, disciplined man, even with a horrible drug habit. Plus, almost nobody could curse like Miles could. I love that motherfucker.