Graeme Stephen:

Nosferatu

Queen's Hall, Edinburgh

Rob Adams

It can't be too often that the leader of the onstage ensemble informs the audience that the performance will last one hour and 22 minutes.

Such precision must now be second nature, however, to Graeme Stephen who has made a specialism out of creating new soundtracks to accompany screenings of classic silent films.

In a sense, the guitarist has extended the jazz musician's modus operandi of taking an established tune and improvising on its theme and/or chord changes by using an existing work to fuel his imagination at considerable, and yes, exact, length.

And FW Murnau's 1922 portrayal of the Dracula legend, Nosferatu, is perfect material for Stephen's muse.

It involves journeying, which Stephen has become adept at conveying in his writing, and if you add to the scale of the hero's odyssey from Bremen to Transylvania an eerie Mary Celeste factor plus the obvious vampire content, the bringing out of the dead and a beauty and the beast element, there's a wealth of atmosphere to be assimilated.

Stephen brings all this out brilliantly. So well, in fact, that I fancy the music would easily stand up by itself, with characterful idea after characterful idea in the writing and superb playing from Phil Bancroft (tenor saxophone), Martin Kershaw (alto saxophone, clarinet and bass clarinet), Mario Caribe (double bass), Tom Bancroft (drums and percussion), and Stephen himself.

Kershaw's tri-tonal contribution is especially telling and Tom Bancroft's strokes, perfectly synchronised with the action where necessary, are ever-apposite.

But it's Stephen's far-reaching guitarist-composer's voice, now vast and scary, now dreamily delicate, now devilishy catchy, that's making this strain of his output so enthralling.