Vicar Street: Ahmad Jamal hit the keys playing. The septuagenarian jazz legend, consistently recognised for his use of space, or silence, announced himself with the punch of a bass chord while swift arpeggios tripped from his other hand. Then he sat down. For over half a century, Jamal has been influential and restlessly innovative. His latest trio is sensitive and erratic, reassuring and bewildering.
Following the burst of his introduction, Jamal handed over a solo to drummer James Johnson. Meanwhile, Jamal stood in contemplation, either eyeing the soloist from behind neat, dark glasses or waiting to be possessed with a sudden idea.
Most of the time, however, ideas came thick and fast. Frequent juxtapositions between airy melodies and suddenly mauled ostinatos gave not so much the effect of light and shade, than of a strobe-lit imagination. Several times, Jamal seemed so playful he could have been scoring a Tom and Jerry cartoon; impulsively stabbed chords and clattering keys turned and dashed after a lulling moment of faux innocent flutter.
The sudden pivots in tone were certainly surprising. What was more surprising was how well such capricious improvising worked. Often, Jamal appropriated jazz standards such as Autumn Leaves and But Not For Me to provide springboards into uninhibited reinterpretations. Skirting bebop style with classical finesse, occasionally the swing piano obscured the original composition, but the rewards far outweighed the loss.
James Cammack's nervy bass line, on Jamal's famous arrangement of Poinciana, lent taut assistance to the pianist's flighty melodies, while Johnson accentuated the infectious rhythm with gratifying rimshots. Later, during the trio's delicate and sensitive encore, you heard what Miles Davis must have heard and emulated all those years ago.
