I sit here in a dark room. Not a sound penetrates these thick walls, a barrier between me and the brutal and oppressive reality of life. I notice a poster slides underneath my door, I recoil followed by muttering under my breath about my displeasure of this rude interruption. I glance at the intruding object, it reads, “A Night of Wonders: Ross Anderson’s Cubism Band and Aussie Rob”. I reach out for the poster, I can’t say I haven’t heard of the captivating musicianship of Ross’ cubist improviser’s ensemble; a “collective force for hope” they say. I snort, “not me” I think to myself as I prepare to discard of this surprisingly well designed poster. As I approach the bin I can’t stop my eyes from drifting towards the legendary names on the poster, that of Robbie Belchamber (guitar), Maddison Carter (drums), Zac O’Connell (alto saxophone), Callum Mintzis (trombone), Eitan Ritz (electronics) and bass sensation, Ross Anderson. As I move closer to the bin I notice a flicker of light dance across my chest. I look for its source with a sense of agitation but contained within it is an underlying and unshakeable curiosity.

What is that seeping through my fully boarded up window? A glimmer of hope? The possibility of enchantment and wonder? An opportunity for further questioning and personal discovery? I see it now. May the cubist ideals of Ross Anderson offer mea change in perspective, an offering of a sonorous hand to give me an encouraging pat on the back. Ross’ fierce and emotionally manipulative (artistically speaking) ensemble shall offer me an experience which will be indelibly linked to my sense of self, for good and bad I shall not know.

I bring the poster to the light. Is that a semblance of a smile coming across my face? My despair and apathy so entrenched I have almost forgotten its sensation. The unused muscles needed for its formation causes an aching pain in my cheeks. I go to read more of the poster and in sheer horror I see that name, that cursed name which I dare not speak of and can only type. Aussie Rob. His burning eyes searing into my frontal lobe, causing me an instant migraine. For he is the devil, the devil lives in him and his music, and he lives in redacted name of northern suburb. Convulsing with rage and fear I see those rancid names; Bede Ford-Gaddes (trumpet and piano), Callum Mintzis (trombone), Paul Kascaminidis (guitar), Lewis Pierre (drums) and that man. Dare I write it again, the thought of his name a poison, but one that I cannot resist. Aussie Rob. I curse that man. They say the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing us that he doesn’t exist. Well the greatest trick Aussie Rob ever pulled was actually this really neat sleight of hand card trick, honestly it was pretty impressive.

Where were we? Oh yes, Let us go and see a night of exciting original contemporary jazz at the Wesley Anne, share in a communal experience and bask in the spontaneity only live improvisation can offer.