The Cookers @ Sage Gateshead - November 14.

David Weiss, Eddie Henderson (trumpets); Craig Handy (alto); Billy Harper (tenor); Danny Grissett (piano); Cecil McBee (bass); Billy Hart  (drums).

(Review by Lance/Billy Harper photo courtesy of Pam Young).

It had been some 18 months since these gentlemen of the road last appeared at Sage Gateshead and, as the minutes ticked by I began to think it might be another 18 months before they got here - well done British Airways! In the event, the delay was only 45 minutes and it soon became obvious that jetlag wasn't going to be a problem.

Because of the later start, the concert was one non-stop set without the customary intermission which, no doubt, affected the bar takings.

It was a cracking set composed mainly of originals by Harper and McBee with the only ringer being Freddie Hubbard's The Core which was also the closer. 

Listening to these venerable musicians (Grissett at 41 and Weiss at 52 the new kids on the 52nd St. block) was like seeing the Battle of Hastings through the eyes, or rather eye, of King Harold. They'd been there, done it and got the tuxedo. Not that they were wearing tuxes tonight. Grey lounge suits as befitted the music - casual but not sloppy.

Billy Harper, a most prodigious tenor player, whom I first encountered playing a tune titled Fingers on a Thad Jones/Mel Lewis LP. Last night, I swear, he'd grown an extra ten fingers since that first encounter. Down the middle tenor, occasionally  looking to the outside with shimmering sheets of sound. My kind of saxophone playing. Craig Handy wailed as only alto saxophonists can - my kind of wailing.

David Weiss (no, I haven't missed the er off) played with the fluency of a Clifford Brown or a Lee Morgan - my kind of trumpet playing. By contrast, Henderson played with a fuller tone albeit with less notes. Nothing wrong with that, he made every note count. Also my kind of trumpet playing.

Danny Grissett was a new name to me, Faced with stepping into the shoes of George Cables must have been a daunting prospect but the shoes fitted. My kind of footwear. Cecil McBee, a bass playing, jazz composing legend. 81 year old and still walking the dog. My kind of bassman.

Which just leaves Billy Hart. Did I say 'just'? When the (drum) roll is called up yonder he'll be there and pretty close to the right hand of you know who. Hopefully not  for a long time yet. To describe him as phenomenal is an understatement and I'm not just talking about his lengthy, yet imaginative, drum solo at the end but the backing he gave the soloists and the ensembles. When it comes to driving he could give my taxi driver a lesson [don't ask!] No wrong turns with Billy Hart. He knows where he's going and how to get there. My kind of legend. 

My kind of band.

Lance.