Les is the ageing pianist in a jazz quartet who do a weekly gig in a down-at-heel east London pub. But with Wes, the club's founder, fighting for his life in hospital, it looks as if this may be the end of an era. For traditionalist Les, the past is always better, and he hankers after a time when even the names of the jazz musicians somehow seemed more authentic.
Mehmet Ergen's production has a whiff of authenticity in the way it transforms the Arcola into a seedy club environment, where the quartet not only play (rather well), but also spar verbally with each other. Death is never far away. As Wes's wife, Joanne - Helen Andersen, so emotionally frail that she seems about to shatter like a china teacup - considers the future, the tensions build, disharmony grows and the characters start to reveal themselves. The double-bassist, Harry, is a drug-addicted philosopher; the drummer, Tony, is fighting his own battles with his father, a religious fundamentalist; and the slick saxophonist, Joe, never stops to think that actions might have consequences.
Jack Shepherd's play is seldom dull and always intelligent, but it is overstuffed with personal stories and big themes. The format, in which the characters get the verbal equivalent of a solo, is schematic, too. But the play has its moments as it considers issues of racism, and the relationship between art and its creation, music and life. As Les, Jack Shepherd mumbles too much, but the younger cast members do well, particularly Gracy Goldman as Sharon and Clifford Samuel as Tony.
· Until February 24. Box office: 020-7503 1646.
