Pat Martino first came to Britain in 2001, at 56, after a brain aneurysm that wiped out years of his career, and most of his memory of ever having been a virtuoso. Since then, the Philadelphia guitarist has often complemented his own startling technical virtues with another powerful front-line voice. On that 2001 visit, it was Joey DeFrancesco's Hammond organ. In 2004, at Ronnie Scott's, it was a Michael Breckerish tenor sax. During last week's season in Soho, Martino played with a straightahead piano trio. But, despite his soft sound, strict avoidance of histrionics and adherence to a long single set, Martino never had any trouble sustaining the momentum.
On the face of it, Martino is the kind of jazz guitarist his Hendrix-influenced peers (Scofield, Frisell and Metheny) seemed to be consigning to the archives in the 1970s. He uses no howling rock star treble bends, no pedals, no distortion and no funk hooks, and his dynamics are mostly level. But his sustained melodic invention, dazzling speed and pinpoint rhythmic accuracy (aided by Scott Robinson, a drummer who is as volatile and emphatic as the guitarist is impassively cool) imparted a quiet intensity to the proceedings that became increasingly absorbing as the set progressed. The presence of the excellent Rick Germanson on piano (previously heard here with violinist Regina Carter) has also upped the ante, powering several sustained passages of earthy, hymnal collective energy.
Martino began by alternating his favourite seamlessly purring uptempo bebop with his hero Wes Montgomery's chord melodies and octave-slides on ballads. A fast Latin Montgomery favourite swung over Robinson's hot and fizzy cymbal beat, with Martino wrenching the style's murmuring chromatic runs into more idiosyncratically contorted, wide-interval shapes. The band later strayed into a storming 1960s Coltrane vibe that sounded like an accompaniment to My Favourite Things. Coltrane's Impressions, usually played at warp speed, is a moody Latin groover in Martino's world, but tonight it spiralled up to a heated coda in which the guitarist alternated dark, heavy-hitting chords and impetuously scampering runs. You don't have to be a guitar buff to get the point of Pat Martino.
