IT WAS a prime expression of jazz musicians' generosity on the 1968 London scene that, when Ronnie Scott moved to new premises in Frith Street, Soho, from the "old place" in Gerrard Street, he encouraged new bands to use it, responding to the upsurge of brilliant young musicians making their mark on the new music and the genius of the Blue Note exiles from South Africa, shortly to form the Brotherhood of Breath.

[[{"fid":"4648","view_mode":"inlineright","fields":{"format":"inlineright","field_file_image_alt_text[und][0][value]":false,"field_file_image_title_text[und][0][value]":false},"link_text":null,"type":"media","field_deltas":{"1":{"format":"inlineright","field_file_image_alt_text[und][0][value]":false,"field_file_image_title_text[und][0][value]":false}},"attributes":{"class":"media-element file-inlineright","data-delta":"1"}}]]Many of this powerful musical generation found their way into the Mike Westbrook band, giving precious opportunity for young virtuosi like saxophonists Mike Osborne, John Surman and George Khan, trombonists Paul Rutherford and Malcolm Griffiths, trumpeter Dave Holdsworth, South African bassist Harry Miller and drummer Alan Jackson.

For Westwood, it was an “almost unlimited opportunity to experiment and to push boundaries and gave us the chance to find our individual voices. We were fully aware of American jazz but no longer in thrall to it. As a composer, having a ready platform to present new work and an influx of marvellous musicians to play it, was a great opportunity.”

This record documents the last-ever music heard at Ronnie's Scott's "old place" and opening track The Few is an outing for Surman's rumbling and dancing baritone saxophone, with Jackson's flashing cymbals crashing beside him. The freedom mode of the music, its repeated riffs and percussive joy expresses the South African impact of the Blue Notes and the heartfelt unity that they created.

There are no intervals between the tracks and the sounds segue into the wonderful solo alto saxophone of Osborne and his gradual steps into Lover Man, with Miller's plangent bass accompanying Osborne's sweeping horn as he moves into the melodic phrases inside and outside of For Ever and a Day.

In We Salute You, the pealing trumpet is played by Dave Holdsworth, so often Osborne's horn partner, while Khan comes belching in with a growling and sustained tenor saxophone blast.
Folk Song is an anthem for the peerless free trombonist Paul Rutherford, a multisonic magician combining lifelong revolutionary politics with music.

His twisting, ever-inventive sonic gait, his uniquely perplexing slide technique and his ability to mesh with all who played with him — here, mainly Jackson and Miller — are all in joyous evidence.

Lionel Hampton's swing classic Flying Home has Surman's gushing baritone pushed on by Jackson's drums and the opening clamour is carried on by Griffiths's rumbustious slides, blowing like a tailgate horn man on the back of a cart in New Orleans, until Khan comes blasting in. Hampton would never have known the like.

There are some precious Westbrook solo piano doodles on Sugar before the full ensemble enters, then it is a delving Miller introducing Who's Who and Surman's gurgling baritone, with Khan's rasping, belligerent tenor in the full glory of a succession of epochal horns. Osborne comes forward again, this time rising above the riffing ensemble, pouring out his notes as if they were sonic wine throughout Can't Get it Out of My Mind amid the excitation of Jackson's drums.

This is indeed an invaluable record, pitched absolutely within its own 1968 times, yet creating universal sounds that rise right out of their era to reach us now, particularly in the everlasting instrumental song of those musical geniuses that have since left us like Osborne, Miller and Rutherford. Long live their artistry.