Peter Brötzmann Chicago Tentet +1, Budapest, 30.04

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There are superheroes among us and I'm sure of it now. The Peter Brötzmann Chicago Tentet +1 form a league, many of them from different places and background, some rather rogue than good-natured.

Apart from every member's story and (super)powers, the recently turned-70 Bard of Wuppertal is the polarizing figure. Given his memorable, uncompromising, blunt style, in taboo expressions and primal essences, you'd think that this belief is immediately dictated (mellow: transfered) to the entire collective. But the Tentet is among the most versatile free-jazz bands out there, really. The music changes from one concert to another - and each of them will assume that, should you ask them about their methods, like it's a code.

The A[rtemovk]38 wasn't truly inspiring for a venue, save the fact that it's a frigging boat on the Danube. Concerts like these are more than significant, but when you have three more show the same evening (like the Grencso Kollektiv Toltet, also playing down in the bilge, trying to squeeze some more free-jazz after everything's been blown apart by the Tentet - plus more stuff happening on the upper terraces), it's clearly a business going on. The Tentet presented a two-part, hour and a half gig, with two improvs and a fugitive, but cool encore. The first part started with a bang (a sort of varesian cluster), quickly absorbed by a fantasy by Peter Brötzmann, "accompanied" (so to speak) by Paal Nillsen-Love and Michael Zerang. This solo seemed hallowed, not only to me, being fully exposed to his characteristic acerbity, but also for those from the Tentet that paused and were listening. Otherwise, the scenario seemed more competitive than that, like a showdown between the brass players, each one (except Per-Åke Holmlander, in the back at the tuba) lining up front, each with a different body language (Mats's frowning, Ken's rascal look, Joe's poker face, Jeb's prudery).

The art of the ensemble rises to a high point here. Not saying it isn't tempting to pick apart the heroes from the drifters. It's already the second time I've heard Mats Gustafsson and, I gotta say, I fear the third, because he could devour me for good then. There's something dark just waiting to burst outside of him everytime he starts playing: the man is absolutely Mephistophelian, spitting like a varan. Similar to Brötzmann's interventions, Joe McPhee's pocket trumpet solos were rare, but special and breathtaking. He isn't just playing his instrument, he's talking, reciting, singing, gurgling, spitting through it. Johannes Bauer seemed very British to me, in a sweat banker suit, the type that does free-jazz for a hobby. Wide allonges at the trombone, awkward body moves and a taste for isolated high pitches, punched separately, in sarcastic rhythms. I was more attracted to Nilssen-Love's energy than Zerang's good manners. With his skinny junky arms, Fred Longerg-Holm made the cello present in the more composed sections, although I would have preferred him not switch that to electronic shrieks.

At the end of this first epic, the Tentet shattered, with different music played individually or in small groups, wonderfully superimposed: warbles coming from the percussionists, grave syncopes carried out by Per, rag pizzicatos played by Fred, delirious music by Brötzmann and Ken Vandermark, with Mats, Johannes and Jeb signaling back the initial clusters. The second part was somehow less captivating, although a more complex game plan. And with a much-anticipated trio improv by Brötzmann, Vandermark (who was slightly scrooge for me that evening) and Gustafsson. The encore proved simple, Brötzmann starting with a grieving song, the Tentet introducing itself slowly, each eventually lamenting and wailing in their own way.

Edited by Ricochet - 06 May 2011 at 5:13pm