Miles Davis You're Under Arrest: The $20 Reissue Review

What Makes You're Under Arrest Worth a Second Listen?

Miles Davis - You're Under Arrest: Why did Miles Davis cover Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson on the same album?

Because by 1985, Miles wasn't chasing jazz orthodoxy-he was chasing the street. You're Under Arrest landed at a moment when fusion was fracturing into subgenres, when MTV ruled the airwaves, and when Miles, at 59, refused to play museum curator to his own legacy. The album features Marcus Miller's slap bass anchoring covers of "Time After Time" and "Human Nature" alongside originals tackling racism, pollution, and war. It's messy, political, and unabashedly pop-curious. The crystal clear 2022 reissue with Japanese obi makes it accessible at $20-a price point that invites exploration rather than mortgage-level commitment. With a 4.74/5 community rating on Discogs and only 446 collectors owning it versus 61 wanting it, it's quietly becoming a "I should've grabbed that" title.

Miles Davis - You're Under Arrest: Is this fusion or something else entirely?

It's fusion's awkward teenage phase-part jazz-funk strut, part new wave flirtation, part cinematic soundscape. Recorded between 1984 and '85, the album reunites Miles with guitarist John McLaughlin for the first time since On the Corner in 1972, while Mike Stern, Al Foster, and Bill Evans (the saxophonist, not the pianist) flesh out a lineup that sounds like a downtown loft jam session with a studio budget. Teo Macero's production keeps the edges sharp. The album doesn't apologize for its contradictions-9-minute sprawlers like "Fat Time" sit next to a 5-minute cover of the Isley Brothers' "Shout." That's the point. Miles was painting outside the lines, and the remaster, handled by Joe Gastwirt, preserves every deliberate smudge.

The Vitals

Full Tracklist

Side A:

• Fat Time (9:53)
• Back Seat Betty (11:15)
• Shout (5:52)

Side B:

• Aïda (8:10)
• The Man With The Horn (6:32)
• Ursula (10:50)

Start the stream. Let the groove settle before we talk about the wax.

What It Feels Like

This record feels like cruising through a neon-lit city at 2 a.m., bass throbbing through the floorboards, windows cracked just enough to let the night air cut through the synth haze. It's not the contemplative Miles of Kind of Blue or the cosmic sprawl of Bitches Brew-this is Miles plugged into MTV, restless and agitated, turning pop radio into something darker and more angular.

The sound is slick but not sterile. Marcus Miller's Fender bass is all muscle and snap, a funk engine that pulls you forward even when the arrangements drift into ambient territory. Mike Stern's guitar alternates between serrated edges and glassy sustain, while Al Foster's drumming stays locked in the pocket, never showy but always exactly where it needs to be. Sammy Figueroa's percussion adds texture-little shakes and clicks that animate the spaces between the big moves. Bill Evans' soprano sax floats above it all, sometimes conversational, sometimes soaring into the upper register like he's searching for an exit that doesn't exist.

"Fat Time" opens with a loping groove that could soundtrack a chase scene or a late-night confession. "Back Seat Betty" stretches past eleven minutes, its funk vamp hypnotic and patient, letting solos unfold without rushing. The cover of "Shout" is unhinged in the best way-Miles treats the Isley Brothers' anthem like raw material, bending it into something that sounds less like homage and more like hijacking.

This is headphones music for a solo walk through your city's quietest blocks, or living room music when you're hosting the kind of friends who don't need conversation to fill every silence. It rewards attention but doesn't demand reverence.

Pair it with mezcal and a slow reorganization of your record shelves-the album's mood amplifies the ritual of handling vinyl, of making small decisions with your hands while your brain drifts.

The Numbers Tell a Story

Let's get into the data, because the market behavior around You're Under Arrest reveals something interesting about how jazz collectors reassess the "difficult" albums in a legend's catalog. On Discogs, the master release page shows 446 people own it, with only 61 on the wantlist. That's a 7.3:1 have-to-want ratio-healthy inventory, low fever. Translation: this isn't a grail hunt. It's a "grab it when you see a clean copy" situation.

The median price hovers around $14.59, though the 2022 Get On Down reissue-the crystal clear vinyl with Japanese obi and deluxe insert-commands closer to $20. That's the sweet spot for exploratory buying. You're not gambling rent money. You're investing the cost of two cocktails in a piece of Miles' most polarizing era.

The community rating of 4.74 out of 5 (based on 31 ratings) tells a different story than the sales velocity. People who actually spend time with this record like it. They don't just tolerate it as a completist obligation. That gap between ownership and enthusiasm suggests this is a sleeper-a title that rewards listening more than it rewards flipping.

Now, the lineage. Musicians have quietly lifted from this album for decades. The vamp from "Fat Time" echoes through '90s acid jazz-you can hear its DNA in early Jamiroquai, in the UK funk revival, in the way Kamasi Washington's band approaches long-form groove construction. The bassline architecture Marcus Miller built here became a template. It's not about direct samples (though those exist); it's about the feel becoming a reference point. When you hear a track that locks into a hypnotic pocket for eight minutes without getting boring, there's a decent chance the bassist studied Miller's work on this session.

Session synergy: Marcus Miller and Al Foster had been in Miles' orbit since the late '70s. By 1985, they'd logged countless hours together, and that telepathy shows. They don't need to communicate-they just know where the other is going. Mike Stern had been in the band earlier in the decade, and his return here feels like he's picking up a conversation mid-sentence. The reunion with John McLaughlin, though, is the headline. McLaughlin hadn't played on a Miles record in 13 years. When he shows up, it's not nostalgia-it's two old sparring partners throwing punches to see if the timing's still there.

The Session That Refused to Behave

Recorded between 1984 and 1985 at Columbia's 30th Street Studio (and likely other NYC rooms), You're Under Arrest was never meant to be a "statement" album in the way Bitches Brew or In a Silent Way were. Miles was working, not mythologizing. George Butler executive-produced. Teo Macero, Miles' longtime studio collaborator, handled production, shaping the sessions with the same editorial instincts he'd used on earlier records-splicing, rearranging, treating the studio as an instrument.

The "mistake" fact: there's a story that Miles initially dismissed the pop covers as throwaway filler, material to satisfy Columbia's hunger for radio-friendly content. But once he started working the arrangements, something clicked. "Time After Time" wasn't a novelty-it became a genuine interpretive moment, Miles finding melancholy in Cyndi Lauper's melody that the original only hinted at. Same with "Human Nature." He didn't parody Michael Jackson; he excavated the loneliness underneath the gloss.

The sideman to spotlight here is Marcus Miller, who was transitioning from hired gun to Miles' primary musical director. By 1985, Miller had already played on The Man with the Horn and Star People, but here he's fully integrated-writing, arranging, anchoring. His bass tone on this record is surgical: punchy but warm, with a clarity that cuts through the synth layers without sounding brittle. Miller's touch is what keeps the album from floating away into ambient mush. Every vamp has a center of gravity, and it's usually his bassline.

Don Puluse and Stan Tonkel engineered, with Puluse also handling the remix duties. The production choices lean into separation-you can hear air around the instruments, even when the arrangements get dense. It's not the live-room bleed of the '60s Blue Note sessions; it's a modern multitracking approach that treats each element as a discrete layer.

And then there's the remaster. Joe Gastwirt took the tapes and cleaned them up without scrubbing away the grit. The 2022 pressing is warm but not muddy, detailed but not harsh. The crystal clear vinyl is a gimmick, sure-but it's a fun one, and it doesn't compromise the sound. The Japanese obi and insert add a tactile pleasure, turning a $20 reissue into something that feels a little more collectible than it actually is.

Grab one of the available copies of You're Under Arrest by Miles Davis at Miles Waxey right now before the "should've bought it" moment hits.

What the Deadwax Won't Tell You (But Wikipedia Will)

The original 1985 release came at a fraught moment in Miles' life. He was dealing with health issues, navigating the music industry's confusion about where to place him (jazz bins? rock bins? pop?), and trying to stay creatively hungry in an era that mostly wanted him to play the hits. You're Under Arrest was polarizing on arrival. Purists hated the pop covers. Fusion heads found it too slick. Pop radio ignored it because it was still too Miles-too weird, too long, too resistant to easy formatting.

But here's what Wikipedia makes clear: this album is overtly political. "Fat Time" deals with nuclear anxiety. "Shout" reworks the Isley Brothers into a commentary on urban unrest. Even the covers carry subtext-"Time After Time" becomes a meditation on aging and regret, while "Human Nature" explores alienation in a way Michael Jackson's original only flirted with. Miles wasn't just chasing trends. He was using pop material as Trojan horses for darker themes.

Miles Davis died in 1991 at the age of 65 from pneumonia, respiratory failure, and a stroke-complications tied to years of hard living and health struggles. By the time he passed, the narrative around You're Under Arrest had softened. It's now seen as a transitional work, a bridge between the electric experimentation of the '70s and the more polished, pop-adjacent albums of his final years. Not his best. Not his worst. Just Miles doing what he always did: refusing to stay still.

The Cultural Afterlife

This album doesn't get sampled as much as Bitches Brew or Kind of Blue, but its influence lives in the approach rather than the loops. When Robert Glasper mixes Erykah Badu vocals with jazz instrumentation, when Thundercat builds songs around elastic basslines and open-ended structures, when Kamasi Washington lets a groove simmer for nine minutes-they're all standing on ground Miles cleared here.

The reissue market tells its own story. Original 1985 pressings aren't expensive, but they're not plentiful either. Most collectors who want this album are fine with a reissue, which is why the 2022 Get On Down pressing exists. It's functional: good sound, nice packaging, affordable. It won't make you rich, but it'll make you rethink the lazy narrative that Miles "sold out" in the '80s.

Collector's Corner: Should You Buy This?

If you're hunting for investment-grade vinyl, this ain't it. But if you're building a listening library-a collection that reflects what Miles actually did rather than what the jazz canon tells you he did-then yeah, grab this.

The 2022 reissue is the smart buy. Don't chase the original unless you find one cheap in a bin. The remaster is clean, the pressing is solid, and the crystal clear vinyl is a nice visual flex when you're showing friends your setup. At $20, it's an impulse buy that pays off in repeated listens.

Skip the "collector grades" on this one. You're not buying it to flip. You're buying it to understand why Miles stayed restless, why he kept pushing into uncomfortable territory, and why some of his most misunderstood albums are the ones that age best.

One Last Question

If Miles were alive today, watching jazz-influenced artists dominate indie and hip-hop, would he view You're Under Arrest as vindication or just another step in an endless forward march?

We've got clean copies of You're Under Arrest waiting in the Miles Waxey bins. Twenty bucks. Crystal clear wax. A piece of Miles' most argumentative decade. Don't wait until the "should've grabbed it" moment arrives.