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| (© Ash Knotek) |
After a tentative opening, Henriette's
tone focused, and her prowess in complex lines delivered with novel &
intricate fingering, trills and startling breath control began to grip the
hall. One couldn't avoid comparisons with the established north-European sounds
of Garbarek and the recent collaborations of Andy Sheppard, which is no bad
thing. She has a distinctive presence, not only in her command of the
tenor, but her very stature. It’s hard to avoid the cliché of an ice
maiden, but her shimmering steely-white gown and her still presence at the
epicentre of the stage suggested a bright silver reed in a sonic sea. Her
grounding in theatre and performance art paid dividends, making us hang on to
her every breath and, more importantly, every silence. It was where her
compositions started and finished.
On the way, contrasts were notably
supplied by Hamann, playing every part of the cello, from the farthest reach of
the tailpiece through the length of the strings. At one point, her suddenly
severe bowing evoked cracking wood, a stark contrast to Henriette &
Lindvall's folk-like melodies beneath. For all the apparent Nordic austerity,
the drama in this was startlingly effective. Perhaps a trio that ignores a
conventional rhythm section is a step too far for some dyed-in-the-wool
jazzers, but I would hope that anyone with a feeling for the broad church of
jazz would embrace the tone, technique and dramatic richness of Henriette's
music.
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| (© Ash Knotek) |
Lloyd's command of his instruments (mainly a gorgeously plangent tenor, plus an outing for generously rounded flute and clarinet) is second to none. He stands alongside Rollins and Shorter in fluidity and sheer bravura, with even the fastest run or surprising swoop skilfully articulated and focused. Yeah, he's got a lotta technique, but my gosh you feel it! There's a spiritual basis to all he does - not least in the encore’s Tagi (Lament), a Brahmin text he intones over his partners' vamping - but gospel, standards and blues inform every number.
Opening with Ornette Coleman's Peace, set the bar high, but established the Trio's role as soloists and rhythm section. A notable blues excursion from Sewell, swapping to a bottleneck & Fender had us whooping, even if the boss didn't join in. Lloyd has established some new standards in the last decade or so, the gorgeous gospel-inflected Lift Every Voice and the ballad How Can I Tell You?, with generous soloing of great delicacy from Clayton and Sewell along the way in the flute-led Booker’s Garden.
Like Henriette's opening set, there was always space to breathe, to play gently to help us listen, and hang on to those effortless low Cs and B-flats. Clayton's solos were as expansive as Sewell's were complex, and Lloyd seemed to relish them.
What a marvellous opportunity to explore
the Art of the Trio, specifically, tenor-led trios, both of the tradition and
the future. To hear a new generation handle the baton so superbly in the same
evening as a master effortlessly displays a lifetime’s skill was quite a
privilege. Quite honestly, the distance between them, in terms of sheer
inventive musicianship, was negligible. Bigger bands have their place but here
was everything to play for. Richard Lee
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