Flautist Esinam, clarinettist Louis Sclavis, and Pentadox group bustle to Brussels for Brosella Festival

Underneath the legs of the still shiningly futuristic Atomium, the Brosella Festival transpires in Osseghem Park’s verdant amphitheatre, combining jazz and folk programmes which, despite happening on separate days, could easily switch allegiances, from jazz with ethno-global streaks to folk played by jazz musicians. This Belgian three-dayer has been running since 1977, and its opening Friday offered the further hybrid form of gypsy jazz, topped by Myrddin, a younger member of the significant De Cauter dynasty.

On its Sunday, Brosella provided a rare chance to catch the French reedsman Louis Sclavis (below), fronting 3Men In A Boat, a Belgian combo of drums, bass and accordion. A chamber funk strut emerged, with slinking brushwork on the drums, behind the bass clarinet and accordion, all elements sliding very well together. Sclavis also played the ‘regular’ clarinet, and accordionist Philippe Thuriot sometimes vocalised along with his traipsing runs, sculpting lines with spiny fingerings, edged with a whistling effect, also aided by a ringing-snare and a taut bass bounce. Sclavis frequently hit the bass clarinet’s higher range, leading the set’s climax with a honking-then-squealing solo, across an intensifying groove.

Just prior to that set, the augmented Pentadox threesome investigated compositions that sounded like an organised form of improvisation, abstract sculptures created by a line-up of tenor saxophone, piano, drums, and added bass. Devoted to a flow of simultaneity, they gathered together a gnarled complexity, although not lacking a sprouting melody or two, turning into a repeated phrase, often underpinned by the emphatic bass of the German guest Felix Henkelhausen. A core jazz structure was often present, although diaphanous as it levitated towards its resting place, with Sylvain Debaisieux holding a poignant note on his tenor saxophone. Geometric developments were allowed, with another eloquent tenor solo followed by an equally exploratory piano sequence, making a winding river journey.

Esinam balanced in the most equal fashion between jazz groove and Afro-Brazilian song-forms. She could have easily appeared on Saturday’s global-folk roster. Familiar as a multi-talented solo artist, juggling voice, flute, keys, percussion (organic/electronic) and real-time looping, Esinam crafted a very unusual, rhythmically creative song-set. Debuting her new band, she’s now free to stretch out on flute, stirring up a volatile motion of stewing psychedelicised solos, traded with guitarist Pablo Casella, while Axel Gilain uses electric and acoustic basses to paint deep, dubby texture-scapes. His lowest magical powers shimmered when extruding fuzzed or pure-whoom synth basslines on his keyboard. On one level Esinam has become more conventional, in terms of the band structure, losing her spontaneous craftswoman nature, but the gain is now that this band has an increased power, loaded for the next year of festival touring. Casella switched from Brazilian to Senegalese licks, with sticksman Martin Méreau at one point making his kit sound like a huge pandeiro-shaker. Esinam also triggered her own harmony vocals on an electro-pad. This band is now harnessing a slower, deeper groove-power, taking us all down to dubbier depths.

Azmari appeared on the ‘folk’ Saturday but had the instrumentation and attack of a jazz group, following an innovative route further along the Ethiopian path. They cite vintage Turkish sounds as an equal influence, but it’s the Addis sound that’s most prominent. Dijf (Dave) Sanders is another multi-instrumentalist, combining samples, keys and percussion, flanked by saxophonist Mattias de Craene and drummer Simon Segers, the latter a member of De Beren Gieren, one of Gent’s most creative jazz outfits. Both Segers and de Craene are also members of MDC III, and like this Sanders trio, another Can-descended combo.

The thrust of the chant came down from the podium, upon which the shawm-wielding Sanders sat cross-legged, surrounded by wired-up gear. Sometimes the mix became frustratingly muted, and it seemed like the leader wasn’t so enamoured with his earphone input. Electroacoustic meddling ensued, with liberal thunderings of gong-bass, the set slightly sluggish in the middle, but thriving on wild sonic invention. The Brosella festival also featured those old chestnuts The Sun and The Downpour, this last event being one of the most heavy and protracted gushes ever experienced at a festival, forcing the audience to renew old acquaintances with weather extremes, in this unfamiliar corporeal-life situation.