Memorial concerts don't always catch the spirits of the departed. Sometimes the occasion is overly formal or overawed by the responsibility of conjuring up a magician whose powers might have been bigger than those of any of the mourners. In the case of last week's memorial gig at London's 100 Club for the British saxophonist Mike Osborne (who died at 65 last September), the talents of the congregation were many and varied, but their recollections might well have been hampered by the fact that Osborne's unique cry hadn't been heard in public for a quarter-century.
The outcome, however, was an inspiration. Osborne's edgy emotional intensity, virtuosity, selfless ensemble participation and alertness to the possibilities in the passing moment were reflected in various ways by an all-star jazz lineup that included Stan Tracey, Osborne's frequent frontline sax partner Alan Skidmore, his early bandleader Mike Westbrook and a headlong pair of specially-assembled bands featuring improv giant Evan Parker, visiting South African drummer Louis Moholo and plenty more.
The Guardian's Richard Williams, who knew Osborne's work from its earliest incarnations, sensitively described this troubled visionary's contribution in his obituary at the time. Williams drew attention to Osborne's crucial contribution to British jazz emancipation from its first American models, projecting "poise and passion in a way that helped banish the inferiority complex long endured by British musicians". Poise and passion were certainly apposite descriptions for much of the music played in his memory last week.
Drummer Louis Moholo, restraining the explosive energy he used to release in Osborne's company but sustaining his familiar seething, faintly demonic drive, particularly caught the mood in a clamorous improv trio with Evan Parker and Chris Biscoe on saxophones. Alto-playing Biscoe, suggesting links to post-bopper Jackie McLean and improvising free-spirit Ornette Coleman that had also driven Osborne, was in scalding form in this trio and a larger group assembled by trumpeter Dave Holdsworth to play the late saxophonist's wry, spiky and deviously playful compositions.
The only downside of the night was that most of the crowded house was of Osborne's generation, when his contribution to contemporary music by rights ought to be far more widely appreciated, and one day will be. He was a world-class creator of the stature of his former playing partners John Surman and Stan Tracey, a European jazz pioneer who might have had a string of prestigious ECM albums to his name by now had the insecurities, marginalisation and risky personal choices of the '60s and '70s jazz life not edged him into the mental illness that halted his career when he was barely 40.
Osborne's 1975 recording of All Night Long - Live At Willisau (Ogun Records) with Louis Moholo and the late bassist Harry Miller - is now on re-release. It should go some way towards reminding an older jazz generation of the flame that died down too early as well as letting a new one hear such a powerful contributor to the music's variety and resourcefulness today.
