Groove Clawing, Pipe Squeaking, Tube Blowing ? Medeski, Martin and Wood in Buenos Aires

No-one was expecting this at a jazz gig. Ten minutes after the New York trio had finished their encore the floor lights were up in the Gran Rex but the capacity crowd had refused to disperse. They were very much still there, and producing an insane ruckus. Rhythmic clapping, whooping and the traditional Argentine crowd tune that is chanted in such situations and which can be roughly translated as ?Give us more!?

How could they refuse? Medeski, Martin and Wood, contemporary jazz legends, came back on stage blinking in sincere surprise at the feral appreciation of the crowd. They took up their positions and started funking a flagship number when something truly extraordinary happened. Chris Wood, tall angular bassist, disconnected his double bass from its moorings and planted it on the lip of the stage plucking mikeless with his hands clawing a groove. Band leader Billy Martin was next, emerging from his fortress of a kit with his hand shoved up a bizarre percussive pipe that produced a variety of farmyard squeaking noises. Finally John Medeski appeared from behind his banks of keys with a handheld melodica keyboard that he powered through a long rubber tube curling into his mouth like a Arabian hookah pipe.

The crowd were trendily dressed and largely bearded and male. Jazz. The only beard on stage was of scraggly haired Billy Martin, who had managed barely more than ?Muchas Gracias? into the mike but sang in espa?ol for a Cuban salsa number, which was the first time Medeski played the baby grand piano at the back of the set. The mix was rich and full, coming principally from the range of keys that were occasionally used with a plucking jazz guitar sound. MMW did their lunatic versions of the mainstay styles and rhythms, touring through an organ drawl trip waltz that homaged Kind of Blue, Ray Charles-esque rhythm and blues, shuffling backbeats, breakbeat electronica and even a soft jazz version of Hendrix?s Hey Joe, but each track held its atmospheric aesthetic intact, and their personality came through in their versatility. The show stopper was Chris Wood, who provided a more intense groove on electric but always impressed more with his acrobatics on the upright bass.

Having played for two hours in their respective zones of their stage, the unforeseen finale saw them in a row at the front of the stage, bobbing in unison. They played a cheery blues that with the thick bass, the squeaky whooping of the pipe and the tinny melodica sounded so fresh and divine that one would have liked to throw up two spoons, a cat and a toy car to see what they could come up with. This last feat felt like something they had improvised as a special treat for a particularly deserving audience, and the audience stood or sat, heads bobbing, mouths open at the compulsive synchrony of three musicians at the peak who are tight as they could be after fifteen years, without having lost any of the electricity that has deservedly made them into contemporary legends. It was breathtaking. The crowd were overawed, with those who could not contain their whooping (I confess) shushed angrily by those who puritanically wanted to hear every note. The roaring continued after the trio had left the stage, but when they came back on to bow a final farewell, everyone knew that they couldn?t ask for one drop more.

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