There's something timeless and monumental about tenor saxophonist Sonny Rollins. He was born in 1930, and his career bestrides the entire era of postwar jazz. Unlike others of his generation, he has had no need to reinvent himself - the music renews itself around Rollins.
At the Barbican, he ambles on to huge applause, an imposing figure in a red shirt, black suit, bad sneakers and shades. As the band starts up he roams around the stage. And plays, and plays, and plays. Each phrase sounds newly minted, as if he has never played exactly that way before. Although his improvising style is based on repetition, on teasing every variation and nuance out of each song's theme and structure, Rollins always sounds fresh: an extended blow over an old Billie Holiday number can sound as radical as a piece of electronica made this morning.
Rollins is good value as entertainment, too. He announces that because of the bad state of the world they're "gonna keep things earthy". And he has the ideal band to do that, powered by percussionist Kimati Dinizulu and drummer Steve Jordan, with sweet-toned trombonist Clifton Anderson and ageless, longtime associate Bob Cranshaw on five-string bass guitar. The opener, HS (dedicated to Horace Silver), is funky soul-jazz over an extended blues chord sequence. They launch the second set with an even earthier tune and a glorious long Rollins solo over a one-note bass pulse.
The absence of chordal instruments means that you hear everything very clearly, and there's plenty to hear: the way the explosive Jordan locks into Rollins's phrases, rangy, like a young Elvin Jones, almost leaping from his kit; the way Dinizulu manages to swing and rock at the same time, with a sure touch on congas and bongos; the harmonious way Cranshaw and Anderson blend on ensembles behind the leader's gruff tenor. Rollins can be cerebral, sentimental, joyful or emotional, whether playing bebop, standards, his own Caribbean classics (Don't Stop the Carnival, St Thomas) or the corny but moving Italian Folk Song. The audience, packed to the rafters, loves him madly.
