The spot next to the indoor tobacconist’s is an excellent choice of place for that – band leader István Grencsó ordered the staff to switch off ventilation. The musicians stood around the guests, who thus became involved in it all, as if they were organic parts of music since the beginning of time. Four wind instruments open the evening, finely, like under a night in the eggshell (and we are there, actually, I know when I look at the ceiling), where souls speak through brass.
Then I spot Grencsó’s back, that’s typical of him, it’s probably the time he spends practicing his part of the chamber piece for wind, string and percussion, then he varies that when he turns to us, this time a serious man, not an elf. The brass session warm up, and the drums and cymbals are sounded, too. Mihály Dresch turns his sax into a nightingale, not for the last time tonight. The way the audience is arranged in space and time is similar to bus No. 7 nearing the Eastern railway station in the afternoon. Berci Márkos hits the strings – literally, as they chisel their instruments like naughty boys – and at once the nine play like hell. At a certain moment, double bass player Robi Benkő winks at the celloist, as a sign that he was the first to join him in this racket, then with the lively vibe they create together he pushes forward time, that seems to be rolling on.
Jelen is not the Opera, and so the musicians don’t let the audience applaud too often – only two tracks make up the concert of 1,5 hours. The first one is over soon, then Grencsó evokes recurrent melody parts like funeral songs. The others follow him, in organised and spontaneous manners alike.
“Take one road”, he sounds to the others, and we can hear that, too, some momentary notes of universal harmony. The guests express the same in words: what we hear has meaning and soul. Those sitting, standing here or leaning next to the bar certainly understand that nature is us, that’s our nature.