Brotzmann is a player I very much admire, yet, curiously, the only album I can claim any real knowledge of is one of his earliest (the beyond essential ‘Machine Gun’, by the Peter Brotzmann Octet). So I rejoin him here, nearly fifty years down the line (‘Machine Gun’ was released in the appropriate year of 1968), to find the same energy, weight and bluster as before - though tempered with passages of more lyrical, overtly melodic playing. The five improvisations are all endlessly restless, with ideas explored in passages fluidly; Brotzmann patiently creating and moving through distinct sections, with a sense of timing and grace. The first piece, ‘Bushels and Bundles’, sounds like it’s being played on a double-reed instrument; possibly the tarogato, which I know Brotzmann uses sometimes. He spirals and trills through the cathedral, falling into and out of eastern scales (this is the limit of my musical knowledge) in a very rigorous piece - it’s almost as if, assuming the tracks are presented as recorded, Brotzmann is staking out his ground from the off. The second and third tracks (played on a saxophone - though possibly ‘Move and Separate’, the third piece, is clarinet…) both start very softly and quietly, before exploding into squeals and shrieks - the cathedral responding accordingly. Perhaps the bulk of the playing on ‘Munster Bern’ is to the quieter, more introspective end of things; but, naturally, Brotzmann punctuates this with sections (if not actual punctuations) of skronk and blast. The performances are separated by audience clapping and a few, quietly muttered, words from the performer himself, in German - but I can’t help you there. The album ends with the shortest piece - and an encore, by the sounds of it: ‘The Very Heart of Things’. This begins and ends with a stately melody that nagged at my brain for ages - but I think it’s quoting (or riffing on) the theme from Ornette Coleman’s ‘Lonely Woman’. This kinetic and persistent performance is a succinct end to the album; encapsulating the ‘other side’ to Brotzmann’s playing, that this release reveals (to me, at least).

I can’t claim any particular knowledge in this area, or offer you any insights; but what we have here, is someone recognised as a great musician, being just that. It’s over an hour of solo playing, it is hardboiled; but, with close listening, the listener is truly rewarded. I realise that that’s an old cliche, but it’s true. Reduced to background listening, I got very little from ‘Munster Bern’; but listening ‘properly’ was genuinely hypnotic at times. Hearing ideas unfurl and develop, not to the mention the fact that as well as listening to Brotzmann playing, you’re also listening to the building responding - and then Brotzmann responding back: human and stone collaborating. Indeed, playing in an ‘unusual’ space like a cathedral, reminds performer and audience that all sound making is a collaboration with a specific environment. This is probably not the album with which to make a first encounter with Brotzmann, but, for persons au fait with his work, it’s a fascinating release.