In 1969, Miles Davis was in search of a new sound, and In a Silent Way is the soundtrack to that search. At 42, he had already reinvented jazz a few times, and with the genre on the cusp of being completely eclipsed by rock and pop, he pivoted once again, taken with the psychedelic electrics of Jimi Hendrix and Sly Stone. But this album isn’t a trend hop as much as it’s a soothsaying outlier—it hinted at what would become known as jazz fusion in the ’70s, but it also wafted into Tortoise’s post-rock of the ’90s and Radiohead’s most outré experiments of the 21st century. Even now, it still stands out of time, in limbo, floating.

“Why don’t you play it like you don’t know how to play the guitar?” That’s the advice Miles gave to his guitarist, John McLaughlin, while recording the record’s title track. On the surface, the suggestion is nonsensical. In practice, it’s a skeleton key opening doors to sounds unheard. So as McLaughlin’s clean notes begin to slowly unwind at the start of the song, electric pianos and organ quietly dot the background, like errant raindrops after a sunshower, and then Miles’ rasping horn begins its own quest out of the darkness. Everything has to earn its intrusion into the silent void. Consider how Davis mainstay Tony Williams, one of jazz’s great drummers, rides his hi-hat—and only his hi-hat—throughout the entire first half of the record before switching to an unfussy, rim-click metronome on the second side. This is music made by a bunch of geniuses who are doing everything they can to not sound like a bunch of geniuses. Nevertheless, genius ensues. –Ryan Dombal / Pitchfork.com