Kieren Hebden & Steve Reid - Academy 2

The evening begins with plans to watch England's game against Israel. Within seconds, it becomes clear that McClaren's tactic to distill all talent within the squad has been truly maximised; clearly training in the England camp consists of little more than trying to avoid being happy slapped by Rio Ferdinand. The torture of watching the game thankfully avoided we settle down to a nice game of Pro Evo, the Playstation equivalent of a succulent truffle, beautifully indulgent and utterly unecessary. Realising we've been playing for almost two hours, and that doors for the gig opened an hour ago, we make haste towards Academy Two, a nasty school-hall type room in the shape of a perfect square. And maaaan the Fence Collective are boring. Seriously. All their songs sound the same. I feel like bounding on stage to liberate James Yorkston from the clutches of their mediocrity.


Kieren Hebden and Steve Reid are, of course, a different kettle of fish altogether. Firstly, I'm astounded that these two people could have met and associated in the first place, one a genuine jazz legend who did things like play with Sun Ra and escape the Vietnam draft by playing in Nigeria with Fela Kuti, the other a twenty-something from Putney. Putney! I know Putney, and there can be few places more antithical to Sun Ra. Barnes maybe. But there they are on stage together, Hebden all hip nob-twidling and button pushing, Reid some thirty years his senior dressed in a floral shirt, behind a kit that becomes an extention of his body as the gig goes on. Reid grins and gurns throughout, twisting his face with every shift in tonality, smiling like he and the music are in on a naughty joke together, old friends happily reunited every night on stage.


I'm surprised at just how unjazzy the music is, closer to Hebden's last Four Tet record (Everything Ecstatic) than anything Reid did with Ra or Miles Davis, all buxom drums and bouncy beeps and squibbles. In fact, the predominant theme here is rhythm, Reid delighting in simply keeping time while Hebden bounces his samples against the beat of the drums, like a powerball against granite. The best moments come when Hebden abandons randomness and puts in a proper beat; the hugeness of the hall suddenly slips away, all that's left is a crowd of people revelling in rhythm, like at the last night of a festival.