Joe Zawinul Syndicate, Ronnie Scott's, London

A global weather report

Dizzy Gillespie sometimes introduced "A Night in Tunisia" by saying: "It has withstood the vicissitudes of time and passed, in an odyssey, into the realm of the metaphysical." Nobody really knew what he meant, but it sounded great. I couldn't help thinking of this during Joe Zawinul's opening night at Ronnie Scott's.

The Austrian keyboardist has moved a long way from the cheery days of "Mercy, Mercy, Mercy" and the Cannonball Adderley band. Even the more melodic numbers from his time co-leading Weather Report have been left behind on distant shores while Zawinul voyages around the globe in search of newer sounds, picking up an eclectic assortment of mementoes like a musical backpacker.

With an Indian guitarist, a Puerto Rican percussionist (his old comrade from Weather Report, Manolo Badrena), a Cameroonian bassist and a drummer from the Ivory Coast, Zawinul's Syndicate is as much a world band as a jazz group. Those looking for a semblance of conventional jazz structure will find little on offer. But Zawinul keeps just the right side of the boundary beyond which so much world music descends into a grey porridge of jumbled sounds, rhyme and reason cast to the winds and blown, literally, to the four corners of the earth.

His music is certainly odd, and I don't find myself able to listen to very much of it on disc. Live, however, it's a different matter. His players are virtuosi, taking fiery, scattergun solos that demand the audience's attention.

The electric bassist Etienne M'bappe is particularly impressive. Some of his solos recalled Jaco Pastorius at his most demented, great rubbery chunks of notes streaming from his instrument. Partly because of the comparison, such moments were reminiscent of Weather Report at its best – inventive, raw and exciting.

Zawinul himself, clad as ever in cranium-hugging hat and still sporting his trademark moustache, sat behind his keyboards and commanded the band. Single lines of strange near-melodies emanated from his direction, full tenor-flute sounds cutting through the whirl of Badrena's percussion, alter- nating with a boomy organ that counterbalanced all the rest of the band put together.

Quite what it's all about remains a bit of a mystery – the logic of Zawinul's compositions is hardly ever obvious. But this was a rare chance to see a keyboard master more at home in the world's stadiums in the intimate setting of a jazz club.

Like "A Night in Tunisia", Zawinul has withstood the vicissitudes of time and remains as surprising and challenging as ever.