's Chicago Tentet has become one of the foremost large groupings in free jazz, not least because of its unrivalled roster of talent and its durability as a unit. When asked how he had kept such an exceptional group of musicians together, German reed iconoclast Brötzmann replied: "Doing it for such a long time tells me that they want to do it." As he explained to BBC Radio's Jazz on Three in a live interview on the final night, it certainly wasn't for the financial reward: "I'm embarrassed when it comes to paying the guys." Rather, "it's about the spirit." And there was spirit in abundance for the three nights of the Tentet's (currently numbering eleven players) residency at north London's Café Oto in what promised to be one of the jazz events of the year in the capital. This was the Tentet's London premiere and its first gigs in UK since the Scottish 2007 dates in Stirling, which yielded American Landscapes 1 & 2 (Okka, 2007).
Made possible by support from the Goethe Institute, as well as the enthusiastic attendance of the Café Oto audience, the multinational grouping had the luxury of an extended stay and the space to present multiple facets of its artistry. Each evening comprised a set from a subgroup drawn from within the Tentet, followed by a solo or duo, and finally the whole shebang. While some might see these sets as diversions or unwanted hors d'œuvre before the much-anticipated main meal, they were largely successful in their own right and permitted greater appreciation of the constituent talents in these intimate surroundings.
Survival Unit III
As the inaugural event of the residency multi-instrumentalist Joe McPhee
McPhee's first Survival Units encompassed an electronic backing tape against which he could play in the early days when no suitable accompanists were to be found, while the next version, documented on At WBAI's Free Music Store, 1971 (Hatology, 1996) was a bass-less quintet featuring the Clifford Thornton's baritone horn. Although the application of the name to this unit remained unclear, there was a link to the initial incarnation as Lonberg-Holm's effects provided prominent support this time out. With his array of pedals and switches spread in an arc at his feet, easily accessible to expand upon the already broad palette afforded by his virtuosic cello, Lonberg-Holm was a key determinant of the group mood. He exhibited a predilection for extended techniques, which meant that this threesome dealt as much with sound as song. Zerang fitted right in, combining his buoyant rhythms with his love of unconventional timbres, exemplified by his use of an arsenal of unusual sound generators: implements resembling backscratchers, ping pong balls and cymbals deployed on his drum skins. For his part McPhee reveled in overblown saxophone skronk, though his tender side was never forgotten, being always ready to unleash melodic ruminations even within the most arid environs.
In fact, the saxophonist began the second piece alone and more lyrically, swinging the bell of his saxophone from side to side as he played the room, before a delicate, almost tentative exchange with the cello. What followed was a cogent demonstration of their highly attuned approach. Zerang thickened the soundscape by dragging backscratchers across the heads of his drums, then used a table tennis ball to let loose unearthly shrieks. Lonberg-Holm joined forces in what became a litany of abrasive scratching and lacerating squeals. Inspired, McPhee propounded a querulous circular breathed wail, before becoming honeyed once more. In contrast their final piece was completely different again taking on the dimensions of a junkyard symphony of bangs, crashes and guttural honks.