"Who'd have thought it," said a voice over my shoulder, "guitar, bass and drums." Sure enough, Massacre were a surprise - a convincing reinvention of the power trio, a rock format long ago discredited as a formula for self-indulgence. In fact, there's no lack of self-indulgence in Massacre, along with high-octane machismo, but this trio - playing as part of Robert Wyatt's Meltdown - also has more cerebral credentials then most.
Massacre was first launched in the 1980s by British improvising guitarist Fred Frith and bass player Bill Laswell, but this incarnation, with British drummer Charles Hayward, felt as if it could have been happening for the first time. Much of the set appeared to be hard improvising, moving elastically from pattern to pattern. Although Laswell's moody appearance - backwards cap and leather trousers - suggested he was approaching things in a spirit of dark seriousness, Frith and Hayward seemed to go about it more larkily. Laswell anchored the sound with sometimes showy muscularity but really excelled at meaty dub-reggae lines, especially effective when Hayward was playing at breakneck skittery pace.
Frith got his chance to show off too - from 1970s mainstream rock wailing to a frenzied gibber with both hands racing up and down the fretboard. He particularly enjoyed himself devising tortures (violin bow, tobacco tin, etc) for a guitar laid on its side, worrying at it like an amiably sadistic dentist.
When the trio really gelled, the effect was extraordinary. Moments on the opening number felt as if they should have been accompanying Grand Prix racing. There was an astonishing encore, too, a sort of high-speed barroom boogie with spluttering bass and double-spluttering guitar. The coherence of the whole thing came from Hayward's drumming. He appears to be a straightahead rock drummer, but his work has a deviousness that is rigorous and surprising. He's startlingly energetic, too, and alarming to watch - bony knees in very English socks and shorts, looking rather like a 1930s religious fanatic.
Massacre is probably what wags had in mind way back when they first speculated about the prospect of punk jazz. Factor in dub-thrash-metal and you have a concept that sounds horrifying. In reality, Massacre reminded you just how exhilarating high-speed noise can be.
