As one would expect, the band is exceptional. On guitar, Jeff Parker (of Chicago alternative legends Tortoise) brings a fluid, exploratory approach that occasionally recalls Pete Cosey in both his phrasing and choice of notes. Anna Butterss alternates between upright and electric bass, her lines intertwining with Flea's in a way that avoids any competition for frequencies or space. The two instruments dance around one another, complementary rather than redundant, each equally vital to the music's movement. On saxophone, keyboards and electronics, Josh Johnson provides much of the group's atmospheric depth, while drummer Deantoni Parks somehow manages to be both anchor and instigator, grounding the music even as he constantly pushes it into unexpected directions.
Flea himself is superb throughout. Interestingly, he spends the entire evening serving the music rather than drawing attention to himself. Not once does he resort to the slap bass style that made him famous. Instead, he focuses on texture, melody, counterpoint, and interaction. Beyond the playing, he radiates an almost evangelical positivity that shapes the mood of the entire performance. The presence of his toddler son in the audience for his very first concert only reinforces that atmosphere. Preaching love, peace and spiritual awakening with the conviction of a street-corner prophet, Flea remains an oddly compelling figure: endearing, fascinating and occasionally just a little unhinged.
The repertoire holds few surprises for anyone familiar with Honora, though that is hardly a complaint. Particularly memorable are the gorgeous renditions of "Wichita Lineman" and "Maggot Brain," the latter featuring Flea tracing Eddie Hazel's immortal guitar lines on trumpet before launching into a gloriously distorted fuzzed out bass solo that would surely have earned a nod of approval from Bootsy himself. For much of the audience, however, the evening's biggest moments arrive with the two appearances by Thom Yorke, first on "Traffic Lights" and later on an unexpected take on Marvin Gaye's "Got to Give It Up" that gradually blossoms into a hypnotic groove.
I was admittedly suspicious of this project before hearing the record. Experiencing it live erased whatever reservations remained. Watching these musicians stretch, reshape and reinterpret the material in real time was a reminder that the best music resists easy classification. At various points the set drifted through spiritual jazz, ambient music, funk, free improvisation and electronics, yet none of those labels fully captured what was happening onstage. The music expanded and contracted, wandered and returned, occasionally losing itself only to discover something more interesting along the way. Jazz, certainly. But not exclusively. Perhaps the most accurate description is also the simplest one: music in its purest sense, alive, curious and perpetually becoming.
