Sean Trane If there ever a place that would typify the word “underground” in Brussels, L’Os à Moëlle (marrow bone) would be it; and not only because it is indeed underground, but you’d also never guess there is a club there as you have to drive between buildings in a narrow alley, go into what looks like a tool shed and take the stairs down to what looks like hell, since the major colour is red. This club does theatre, jazz concerts, experimental projects and visual arts exhibition in their premises, but tonight they feature Domenico’s boys in PaNoPTiCoN for yet another concert, but this time, the first in a new decade, but not the first in this joint. Not many people that night, but that never discourage them, as they know the ones who are there didn’t come by luck, but because they were mega interested in flying and soaring musically, despite never knowing in advance what will be coming to them.

A great semi-acoustic guitar (Wang’s) starts over persistent whisperings (care of Dom’s prepared soundscapes, but it soon went electric and soared with Vindesa’s sax, before cooling down and cruising slowly In The arms of Sleep’s first part. The female whispers give way a male litany of semi-rap sentences, but Dom’s ballaphon intervenes in a motif that soon gets looped and strange frog calls give a tropical dawn feeling on Distant Shores. Sound of waves signal the end of that track, but we get some George Bush samples of stupidity opening the Promises And Lies track, where Catherine Smet’s electric piano leads the pack especially Wang’s wailing guitar and also the sax duo of Ourtie and Vindesa; Gates Of Beijing feature Chinese bamboo flutes and eastern percussions (most likely done on the ballaphon), with Catala’s Pastorius-ian bass improvising. Sleepwalking part of Arms Of Sleep goes wildly improvised and veers very dissonant and free-jazz.

Domestic Violence starts on African rhythms and Catala’s funky bass, but animals and human noises are sprinkled throughout the improv as well as electronic bending of W’s ramblings (sounding like Daffy/Donald Duck) and violent female rants, which carry on in Catwalk where the two saxes solo away alternatively. Dom chose the gig’s most sombre moment to dedicate it to his Guinea Pig that died that very night, and the funeral oration is very depressive, indeed. The long title track is the best part of the second set, lighting up a bit the mood. The gig finishes with the slow, soft and sombre Depression.

As with precedent gigs I’ve attended, my memories of that night are fairly different of what’s present on this album. Solazzo obviously compiles, cuts, remixes and edits the recordings (getting rid of lengths or inaudible parts), thus shortening the two 50 minutes gigs to come up with a single disc, most likely dictated by his own memories of the night but I wonder how that changes or alters the mood/feeling of that night’s performances.