100% Improvised Music: Manfredo Lament at the Eveleigh Hotel

“One hundred percent improvised music!”

Shouted to their audience before and after each performance, this is the de facto slogan of Eora/Sydney jazz-fusion duo Manfredo Lament. It is hard to say what synth/keyboardist Kurt Lam is aiming to achieve as he hollers the statement. It may be an affirmation to the disbelieving audience – confirming that ‘yes, everything played on stage is 100% improvised’. Or it may be a rally cry. A love letter. A verdict that improvised music is a rarity that deserves to be platformed more across this city.

No matter the intention, the excitement behind Lam’s words is infectious. Whether crowded in a small alley or amassed before a festival stage, the audience will always respond in kind. And on Thursday April 2, in the intimate upstairs room of the Eveleigh Hotel, the response of the sold-out 80-person audience was no different.

It was the first of two Manfredo Lament performances set to take place over the Easter long weekend. Tonight, and Saturday night, Lam and drummer Gabriel Haslam would cram their instruments onto the tiny stage and – collaborating with close friends – record four live improvised sets, two each night. On Saturday, percussionist Dom Kirk, bassist Cairn Peterson, and guitarist Yanni Adams were set to contribute guitar solos and weaving beats to the duo’s psychedelic, free-moving music. And tonight, saxophonist Finn Koslowski and bassist Luke Gerber would assist with soaring melodies and warm, vibrating rhythms. If before there was any doubt as to the sincerity of Lam’s claim, with these varied minds and voices, the music was guaranteed to be 100% new and improvised each night.

For an audience, watching and dancing to this style of music can be difficult at first – as was clear in the first forty-five-minute set. Rather than a meticulously composed string of songs, with structures readily understood, tonight the small crowd had to wait for a moment to move. Craning necks to find band members within the forest of fans, at first, we were left to simply watch with awe as the music evolved.

With Lam’s keys as conductors, the band slowly, hesitantly reached for melodies and rhythms. Over extended periods, the four reached toward singular, brilliant climaxes. Saxophone would swoop in, bass would rise into a run, and Haslam’s drums would glitter like water running downstream – building into rapids before finally, with showering cymbals, careering over a waterfall and exploding into the air.

As this music bloomed, and as the band grew increasingly comfortable with each other, these watershed moments seemed to evolve naturally. Both band and audience members would close their eyes and sink into the rhythms. Lam – with one hand looping melodies over a keyboard and the other drawing clouds of electronic noise from his synthesiser – would slowly begin to bounce to Gerber and Haslam’s beats. Intuitively, the audience would begin to bounce too – shouts of unbridled excitement let loose at the unbelievable moments where all four instruments locked together as one. Necks would forget to crane, and the small crowd became less interested in watching the band and more focused on their bodies guided by the music.

Over a combined two and a half hours, besides a short fifteen-minute intermission between sets, the band only stopped playing once. Dragging themselves from the state of flow, Lam announced that they were to perform a cover to conclude the night.

Beginning with fast, rolling drums – briefly interrupted by Haslam laughing about his foot growing tired – a twenty-minute rendition of Azymuth’s Jazz Carnival blazed into the space. In a perfect pinnacle, here the audience need not wait for a moment to dance. Instantly, bodies came together in joyous commotion. Whatever energy both band and audience still had, was dug up and poured over the floor. Until finally, breathing heavily and coated with sweat, we erupted in applause.

“Thank you so much!” Lam shouted into his microphone, beaming. “It has been a pleasure to play one-hu – well – ninety-nine percent improvised music for you tonight!”

With the ephemeral music still clinging to our limbs, we dripped down the stairs into the bar below. Murmurs of amazement seeped onto the street outside. And collectively, wordlessly we agreed the pleasure was all ours.