This rare residency, his first London show for five years and first ever at Ronnie Scott’s — “apart from the Old Place (in Gerrard Street) with Dudu Pukwana in the mid-Sixties”— finds Abdullah Ibrahim playing solo.

He doesn’t mind. In a recent interview, the distinguished South African pianist-composer observed that not only must orchestras be paid, “but the music becomes ours rather than mine”.

Wily old fox that he is, Abdullah rations his appearances and takes care to give them atmosphere. He’s an architect of ambience, a master of mystique. Here, the club’s jazz tapes remained silent before showtime and no food or drink was served during the performance. Because the music was strictly acoustic, customers were also advised that “conversation should be kept to zero”.

Thus this normally buzzing room was like a mausoleum before Ibrahim’s black-robed figure glided on stage. Playing extremely quietly, a ploy that soon silenced even the loudest coughers, he fashioned a discursive free-association meander along memory lane which continued unbroken for fully 75 minutes.

Playing mostly rubato, with the beat not so much stated as implied, his ideas were graceful yet random, several last-second changes of direction being less harmonious than others. Some of his sources — snatches of Ellington, Monk, Harlem stride and the township gospel of his Dollar Brand days — sounded familiar but none lasted long enough to be developed. Nevertheless, few other pianists could manage a medley of this scope. He’s unique.
Until 4 November (020 7439 0747)