John Zorn doesn't have the best manners in all of music. He showed up late for his improv show with Brazilian guitarist Vinicius Cantuaria, late enough that Cantuaria and cellist Eric Friedlander and drummer Anton Fier had already played five bossa nova tunes. The musicians had become comfortable with Cantuaria's style, with its soft emphasis and silken rhythms. Then Zorn walked in in his army pants, strutting to the stage with confidence.

"I hope everyone's enjoyed the candy," - he motioned to Cantuaria as he said this - "because now you're going to get the medicine."

Zorn started to squawk and squeal on his alto. Cantuaria comped a bossa nova rhythm underneath. The sounds didn't gel, and the less the combination worked, the more stubborn Zorn sounded. Friedlander and Fier played tentatively in between, like children of divorce.

And then Zorn made the remark that would crystallize the set. He said, "If he won't listen to us, why should we listen to him?" Him. Us. When that song ended, Cantuaria was still playing his guitar, humming to himself. He fought Zorn's protestations by joking that he didn't understand English.

The bossa nova tunes that the group had started on were Cantuaria's (in addition to the music from his own albums, he's written pop tunes for some of Brazil's biggest music stars, like Gilberto Gil and Caetano Velosa). They had subtle texture, and Friedlander had been playing beautifully over them, alternating between plucking evocative melodies and bowing harmonics down by the bridge of the cello. The switch in styles was abrupt, and Zorn seemed to delight in it, and in his power to instigate it.

When Zorn conducts groups, he's constantly moving, micromanaging each sound that the musicians make. When he plays with the groups he conducts, he continues to conduct while he plays, seeming to give up on pouring all of himself into his solos in favor of keeping the group's sound how he wantsit. With Cantuaria, however, he shut himself off when he played, shooting high pitched noises from his sax much like a child would cover his ears and repeat "I'm not listening, I'm not listening."

As the set moved forward, the tension settled down, if slightly. Cantuaria played outside a bit more than he had been, making use of his amp's reverb and his guitar's tremulo arm. Notes boomeranged off his strings and then coast into the background.

Soon, Friedlander and Cantuaria each got the chance to start a tune with a solo. And each time Zorn came in over someone else's intro, he pulled the music in a new direction. His new directions were blunt, crass and they didn't leave the other musicians much room to resolve what they'd been playing. But once the others gave up on their own music and played where Zorn was, the group sounded like a whole, with reach and range. Zorn's own playing wasn't a highlight, but he did push the others to play music they otherwise wouldn't have.