Master Musicians of Jajouka

During the course of the South Bank Centre’s Meltdown Festival in previous years, the curator’s presence has sometimes been felt as little more than a face on a poster and a vague shadow before their own closing night performance. Not so this year. Every night Ornette Coleman has been on stage, sitting in with the likes of The Roots, Yoko Ono and Bobby McFerrin in the build up to this, the first of his own pair of performances. An even more familiar sight has been that of The Master Musicians of Jajouka, who have given free performances every day on the Festival Hall’s Terrace and Ballroom – so their right to play on the big stage with the big man himself was well-earned.

Ornette’s relationship with the Master Musicians dates back to the 1970s and his Dancing In Your Head album, since when they have toured together on numerous occasions. Their presence here this week was therefore not exactly a surprise, but was very welcome indeed. Their green djellabas and masterful blend of Moroccan drums and reed instruments have brightened the Royal Festival Hall all week, even when I saw them playing under the greyest of skies on the terrace on Thursday. Led by Bachir Attar, himself the son of a former leader, they build a formidable slab of sound: four drummers lock together in one polyrhythmic whole, while from within strident ghaita wails emerge dense flurries of notes. Pulsating at great volume, their calls are hypnotically irresistible, and when they walked from the stage tonight, still playing all the way to the dressing room, it was all I could do to keep myself from following them.

Master Musicians of Jajouka

After that warm-up, excitement levels in the hall were at a record high, and the roar which greeted Ornette Coleman to the stage was a mighty one. His deceptively frail-looking 79 year-old frame (extravagantly wrapped tonight in a gold suit and green shirt) was accompanied tonight by his son and long time drummer Denardo, and pair of bassists Tony Falanga and Al McDowell. The excitement was punctured pretty quickly for me when they started: the sound was initially horrible. Ornette caught the engineers on the hop by talking to the audience at the off, speaking into a dead mike. Dennardo’s energetic flapping behind the kit (his exciteable mannerisms remind me of a pigeon bathing in a birdbath) was both too loud and strangely flat and – unforgiveably – Ornette was far too quiet. When he played in his lower register, the strain of trying to pick him out of the murky bottom end actually made my head hurt. Bill Frisell soon joined them on stage, but he too was initially indistinct – I began to wonder if they had actually soundchecked at all. Patti Smith’s later unbilled appearance, adding (I assume) improvised lyrics on the theme of “In All Languages”, seemed to surprise the engineers as much as it surprised us, beginning in silence before shooting up to a volume which bordered on the painful.

A few songs in, someone in the crowd beat me to it by bellowing “turn Ornette up!” – thankfully, they did turn him up a bit, and we were able to hear just what astonishingly good form he was in. He hardly stopped playing throughout the entire gig, shuffling between his white alto, his trumpet, and for one brief moment, his violin. However it was on alto that he continually blew my mind, singing and declaiming in that familiar tone, that shrieking, bluesy timbre. Tonight’s performance was called “Reflections on The Shape Of Jazz To Come”, and a couple of tracks from that 1959 album were played tonight in the shape of “Peace” and “Congeniality” (no “Lonely Woman”, sadly), the latter in particular featuring some great interplay between Ornette and an otherwise restrained Frisell, with the guitarist playing on the theme and Ornette dancing fleet-footedly around it. The highlight of the evening however was when the Master Musicians of Jajouka took to the stage to build their thick, seemingly endless, Moroccan wall of sound, challenging Ornette to vault it. Against their deep drones he played a succession of short, repeated phrases – wailing on sax, squawking on trumpet, lingering powerfully on the top notes. Particularly when Denardo’s drums dropped out, Ornette’s sax sang out round the hall like a call to prayer – this was an intense and emotional experience which I didn’t want to end. I wish more jazz was shaped like this (and that I was back to see him play again on Sunday. Hope they’ve sorted out the sound by then).

[NB: I couldn't for the life of me secure a photo pass for this, but there are some great pictures here courtesy of Pixgremlin]