Long after his 70th birthday, Peter Br�tzmann � the archetype of a true musician � has surprisingly been celebrated in the planets where hip futility and verbose pointlessness reign supreme. This writer � who happens to think that the anniversary in question was more significant than the centenary of John Cage's birth this year � cannot disguise the appreciation for the profusion of recordings featuring the reedist that have been released of late. This double CD � whose contents were recorded at 2011's Musique Actuelle Festival in Victoriaville � is a useful illustration of the still impressive clout of Br�tzmann's imagination.

The solo disc presents him at his most sensibly temperamental, a cross of heartfelt melodic phrasing and scorching upsurges characterizing three improvisations and a rendition of Ornette Coleman's "Lonely Woman". Either on alto and tenor sax or on the b-flat clarinet, the man transmits images of bleeding hearts amidst a thick curtain of cigar smoke. Unyielding music throughout, defined by a touching huskiness that never ceases to stir. Countless undersized cells and patterns that coagulate, flicker, snort, wail and spit in a jargon that we find irresistible.

The massively reverberating set with Massimo Pupillo and Paal Nilssen-Love sounds devastating (quite expectedly, one would say), though certainly less meaningful in terms of soul-breaking emotions. Pupillo approaches the task � as per customary attitude � as a vicious guitarist brandishing a bass, thus the pressure introduced by the overdriven lower frequencies remains the performance's dominating feature. Nilssen-Love's drumming is a veritable twister, rolling and thumping with very few pauses, whereas at times Br�tzmann appear to fight against the accumulations of brutality generated by the others. But when he embraces the tarogato, a sharp knife is planted right into the listener's guts, howling pitches recalling decades of confrontation and abuse, ultimate peacefulness viewed as an outright chimera.