Last night headed over to the Mezzanine to check out some selecta wizardy. On blasthaus, it was advertised that DJ Krush would be playing with a 6-piece band!

I mean I wasn't envisioning Lawrence Welk or anything, but the prospect of Krush's freer forms and some live [and probably improvisatory] elements was very alluring.

On arrival, the stage looked super teeny, and was mostly taken up by the warm-up DJ's gear. On the upside there was a grand [and probably prepared] piano on stage, but other than some miscellaneous microphones, that was it.

When Krush finally came on, he was accompanied by an older gentleman in traditional Japanese clothing, carrying several Shakuhachis. Krush then laid down a dreamily melancholic, highly textured base upon which the Shakuhachi player built upon melodically. Rhythmically, things felt like they were in a heady type of slow motion. The quasi-droney 1/4 time crunchiness, paired with the breathy pluckiness of the bamboo flute's melismata, made for a strange and mesmerizing experience.

Next, a Japanese piano player came on in the same format as the Shakuhachiste, aka layered over the Krush. He was however, all over the musical map, at times playing little delicate melodies, other times, reaching into the open grand piano to strum the strings, other times, belting out salsa inflected arpeggios. Matching the piano's free form, Krush featured deep drum'n'bass-eque sub-bass rumblings and skippy hi-hats, but no snare, no kick and no MC jammering over it all ... now imagine that with a half processed/half live reedy or piano texture filling it up.

Now my favourite performance of the evening came last, albeit surprisingly, a saxophonist. I suppose I was surprised, after the Shakuhachi, at the sequence of Western instruments that followed. Ultimately, there's nothing particularly Western about a saxophone is hands of a musician that handles it deftly. Take Fela or Manu Dibango's deft weildage that was completely African, now replace that image with a Japanese chap of comparable skills, that's what Krush had organized.

What followed with the saxophone was more or less in the earlier vibe, but crazier. In the opening sequences of one of my favourite flicks, Lost Highway, the protagonist, a saxophonist (hence this story), plays a hot'n'hard, furiously head-jerky, fingers-racing, whole-body-into it, sweaty solo that just uses him up. The sound of this specific solo shot to mind as soon as Krush's accompanist started tearing it up, and he was just getting started. Now what he did about 20 minutes into his accompaniment literally blew my socks off. Imagine this balding 45-ish, marginally portly Japanese chap, just puts down his saxophone on a chair, takes a step to the closest microphone and over the on-going melancholia belts out a rising vocal note, so achingly deep with yearning that you could just burst into tears. His voice, so pregnant with pain and feeling, transcending all linguistic barriers, was unquestioningly the highlight of my night.

Grosso modo, the show was musically tight and engaging. On the downside, having each musician play alone with Krush did feel a bit disjointed and incoherent, but not in a musical way, more in terms of logistics. This seems primarily because the “backstage” was upstairs behind the second bar, and each time one came out or returned to the lair, there was an entourage of helpers, assistants, bodyguards, etc. shuffling them along. I mean the Shakuhachiste was a bit elderly and frail, but that seemed a bit much. Nevertheless, I think things might have been all that more interesting if all these wizards were on stage together, jamming out ensemble!