Two nights in north London with free-jazz drum pioneer Sunny Murray's European Trio was a prospect to set the pulse racing. That expectancy was widely shared, it appeared, as there was standing room only even on the second evening. Murray first found a way to shift beyond his bebop roots to pit a shimmering rhythmic undertow against Cecil Taylor's new thing in 1959, beginning a six-year tenure with the iconoclastic pianist, immortalized on the classic trio date Live at the Cafe Montmartre (Freedom, 1963).

As drummer of choice to feed the flames of another free jazz legend, Albert Ayler, Murray also appeared on the saxophonist's debut North American disc Spiritual Unity (ESP, 1964) and a host of subsequent sides. Since those heady days, his fortunes have been more mixed, with the flow of leadership dates in the 1960s and '70s drying to a more of a trickle in recent years. Though residing in Paris from 1968, due to a lack of opportunity Stateside, the drummer, often when in the company of reed maestro Sabir Mateen, has had his more recent American visits documented by the US-based Eremite label. .

Completing the lineup tonight was English saxophonist Tony Bevan and his compatriot, the almost ubiquitous bassist John Edwards. This trio has a history going back some eight years, as Bevan recalled: "John and I first hooked up with Sunny about eight years ago, when a bloke called Paul Kelly, a sort of promoter/manager, brought him over to do some gigs in Leeds and Newcastle. I think Alan Wilkinson did the Leeds one, and I was invited to do the one in Newcastle. I got John on board because I thought it would work better as a trio—which it did. We really hit it off immediately, both musically and personally, so we decided to set up a tour. It's always great fun to play with, and to hang out with Sunny—a very special bloke." That rapport, developed during subsequent tours, was captured on the acclaimed Home Cooking in the UK (Foghorn, 2004), which made several year-end "Best of" lists, and more recently on another on-location disc with Bevan's imprint The Gearbox Explodes (Foghorn, 2007), recording a gig from a short 2006 UK tour.

A lengthy Murray tattoo introduced the first set before Bevan joined on tenor saxophone with a folk-like Ayleresque refrain, launching what proved a high-energy trio. Nonetheles, Bevan extemporized melodic variations over the drum'n'bass wall of sound, avoiding the obvious blowout route at the outset. Murray played constantly during the first set, maintaining a continual, though not metronomic, thrum on his hihat. Though not keeping a fast tempo, Murray rumbled steadily, peppering his snare with rat-a-tat flurries and dropping bass drum bombs. Variations in intensity were signaled by increases in volume or density.

Fully in the zone, vision obscured by dark glasses, Murray mouthed wordlessly throughout, making him seem an almost otherworldly figure. Although it was Edwards' role to galvanize the trio with his explosive strums and frenetic arco work, Murray was definitely star of the show while Edwards and Bevan played to his strengths with fluent free-flowing jazz of the highest caliber.

Even so, Bevan hasn't quite garnered his due, despite helming his own label and appearing on a bevy of critically-favored releases. Though he came up as a free improvisor, taking part in Derek Bailey's Company weeks and subsequently recording with the guitarist on his Incus label, Bevan has also capably walked the funkier side of the street, featured on maverick drummer Steve Reid's Spirit Walk (Soul Jazz Records, 2005), so it should be no surprise that he proved so adept in the free-jazz idiom which Murray helped beget.

One of a select band of improvisors to specialize on the unwieldy bass saxophone, Bevan provoked an air of expectancy as he strapped on the harness he uses, in place of a floor stand, for his gigantic axe. He similarly made light of any technical difficulties with an unexpectedly airy tone, at least initially, before ascending rapidly into stratospheric overblowing, with Murray upping the temperature accordingly in support.

Bevan was no slouch on tenor either, alternate fingering for distorted tones, then gnawing at repeated motifs until they mutated into shrieks and cries. As he built to sustained altissimo notes, he held his saxophone up at a 90-degree angle to better project the sound. His tenor was particularly effective after one Murray solo, following it with a vocalized multiphonic drone before switching to a pure upper register wail that evoked bagpipes over the churning bass and drums. On curved soprano he was all scribbling multiphonics and piercing snake charmer squiggles. To say the least, he used the tonal variation afforded by his three horns to great effect, maintaining interest through the arc of the performance.