Kenny Wheeler / Stan Sulzmann / John Parricelli, The Spitz, London

Introducing the third way

While the cavernous concert halls of the Barbican and the South Bank are generally the London venues of choice for visiting American stars, some of the most rewarding music is to be found in intimate upstairs rooms such as the Vortex and the Spitz. Thursday night's concert by this new trio, which goes by the name of Ordesa, was no exception. No drums, no bass or keyboards, and pitifully little in the way of air-conditioning on a sweltering evening don't sound like the ingredients for a relaxing soirée. But into the stillness of the night came music that struck at the core of the listener, seeming to lift the curtain on a deeper wisdom, and to which silent awe was the only possible response.

Those familiar with Kenny Wheeler will know that this is no exaggeration. A slightly shambolic, mournful looking man, Wheeler could easily be cast as the janitor, disappointed by life, in an American film. When not playing, he stands motionless on stage. Not a shadow of a thought seems to pass over his impassive face. But when he lifts his flugelhorn or trumpet to his lips, the tumult in his mind is revealed. He is a man who asks questions, who knows life, and realises that the simple answers are almost certainly fatuous. The Wheeler sound is one of the most distinctive in the history of the jazz trumpet. A thin, overblown note is followed by a florid flurry, the high squeal by a long low note he rolls around his mouth like a chewy mint. Although his phrases are bordered, like blotting paper in ink, with romanticism, the comforting phrase is superseded by the querulous, a moment of tenderness by a scream of panic. He has his trademark tics, but is incapable of producing a hackneyed phrase. Like words from a prophet, every note counts.

This trio provides a perfect setting for Wheeler. He and Stan Sulzmann go back a long way, having been mainstays of the most rewarding strand of British jazz since the Sixties. The intuitive connection they have was evident in the way they phrased together, the intervals between the two horns twisting in trademark fourth and fifth intervals on the melody, slurring across the bar lines and forming a counter-rhythm to the metre. Sulzmann has a direct tone on tenor saxophone, accents spat out in rich dry chunks. On soprano sax, his sound seems too big to escape from such a fragile instrument when he's on full force. He, too, avoids cliché, always searching for new modes of expression.

Younger than the others, John Parricelli holds the trio together. His excellent compositions featured strongly in the concert, his guitar invariably introducing them and using a variety of textures to lay the ground on which the horns could tread. Two of his tunes stood out. "Ordesa", after which the group is named, is a valley in Spain. Wheeler painted dawn breaking over the crest of a hill, while Parricelli laid down a simple backing loop over which he plucked clear, singing lines. "Noah" emerged from dissonant chaos into a powerful statement of a timeless melody. When that melody was restated at the end it was staggered, with first Parricelli, then Sulzmann and then Wheeler following a couple of beats behind each other. It was quite astonishing.

When I first heard of this trio, I wondered if the lack of a traditional rhythm section would limit it. But after this uncompromising concert, I'd venture that this may be the strongest new band in Britain today.