The only item lacking was a sign warning the capacity audience to fasten seat belts. Because, when Guy Barker introduced his new musical extravaganza, explaining that his magnum opus (dialogue by his chum, writer Rob Ryan) had been inspired by the Twilight Zone and a 60s soul song, clearly an evening of turbulent melodrama lay ahead.
The musically observant might have spotted another significant clue: the club’s stage can barely contain a narrator, two vocalists and two actors, five trumpets, four trombones, five reeds, piano, guitar, bass and drums.
What follows is a mash-up of Edward Hopper imagery, noir movies, Raymond Chandler and 60s science fiction, often accompanied by outpourings of stentorian brass and the energetic boogaloo of 60s fusion It’s also an experience akin to living inside a movie soundtrack with only the haziest idea of what was appearing on the screen. To be fair, Barker has outlined a plot, but it involves a man seated alone in a darkened office cutting to a car chase and the murder of a hedge fund manager by a mystery killer who may, or may not be, dead. “Run off the road by a ghost” (are you still with me?). Applying tricky time signatures, rich shifting textures and slurring trombones, the sound produced by this expanded big band recalls moments of Stan Kenton, Don Ellis and even Sauter Finnegan. Enter, at one dramatic point, the contrabass clarinet, a horn that resembles a medieval instrument of torture and whose default sound seems to be a snarl.
Designated narrator Danny Sapani wrestles bravely to disentangle the convoluted story, but is regularly confounded by events. He explains that, following the ghost car crash, Demetri Goritsas, playing a downbeat cop, is told to meet astrologer and mystic, Cassie D. (played by Emer Kenny), and informed “she’s Greek. Take Scotch whisky and a shrunken human head”. (Do try to keep up.) Shortly afterwards, Vanessa Haynes appears in a striking scarlet femme fatale rig, belting a 60s soul number. Applause. When LA cop encounters Cassie, tarot cards come into play and they wind up at a dubious Brooklyn nitery called ‘Hell On Earth’ (decorated, we’re told, in “menstrual red and upholstered with the foreskins of convicted rapists”) and we hear Joe Stilgoe sing the deathless line: “the chef’s in the nude / don’t try the food”. There are further similar lyrics but I’m frantically taking notes in the dark and the band’s volume is set at 11. At which point Sapani regains the microphone for a talking blues suggesting that, while the ladies in ‘Hell On Earth’ are free with their favours, “there’s no easy access to ladies in Hades”. One topical reference tickles the audience when the cop asks if they are about to meet the Devil, he’s informed “no, he’s in Mar-a-Lago”.
The fevered dream continues with extended tutti sections, heavy on brassy dissonance, although a sparkling clarinet solo stimulates spirited applause. Another song from Stilgoe includes the line: “you’ve the charm of an anaconda” (which describes a few people I know) and then, according to my scribbled notes, the world-weary cop and Cassie discuss reincarnation and gender re-assignation before someone mentions a police camera that predicts the future (you are following, aren’t you?). Fortunately, the effervescent Vanessa Bray re-appears, this time as a chantoozie in a glittering gown, emoting a soul piece in 3/4 time backed by rocking horns.
Eventually, the disillusioned flatfoot retires to Florida and, reportedly, an alternate reality. Meanwhile, the orchestra enters a roaring ffff finale persuading the enthusiastic person seated on my right to try clapping in time. Given the complexity of the time signature, she quits after a few bars. Then all the horns unite in an exciting upwards octave gliss and out. Perhaps a London Underground engineer should check that the Elizabeth Line wasn’t affected.
Ambitious? You bet. Successful? Well, it was the very first public performance and a few stumbles are to be expected. Pastiche and parody (think ‘Rocky Horror Show’) can be very entertaining, but both plot and dialogue could stand tightening and a touch of judicious editing. And, in case I haven’t made it clear, Vanessa Haynes was knockout.
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I saw this at Ronnie Scott’s and not being a jazz expert in any way shape or form, it totally blew my mind, we loved it, it was utterly amazing and we want to see it again Asap.