A little more than a decade ago, there was a major New York City event titled “The Undead Jazz Festival.” The use of that term was a catchy way to respond to the naysayers who had been proclaiming for decades that jazz was dead. 

Famously, there had been a wise-ass remark to that effect attributed to Frank Zappa, which so turned me off that for too many decades I refused to listen to Zappa’s music — thereby punishing no one but myself.  

I don’t know if saxophonist and composer Philip Johnston, leader of the Sydney-based Greasy Chicken Orchestra, had that in mind when he titled the band’s premiere album “I Cakewalked With A Zombie” — it could just be that he enjoys combining tropes of different aspects of popular culture in witty, irreverent fashion.

Now 69, Mr. Johnston was born at Chicago and then raised at New York, where he spent the best-known part of his career before moving to Australia 20 years ago. While he’s created and led many different bands over the decades, he’s doubtlessly most famous for serving as co-leader of the Microscopic Septet, one of the quintessential jazz ensembles of the 1980s.  

The septet, which consists of a saxophone quartet combined with a three-piece rhythm section, was officially together for a dozen years ending in 1992. In their heyday, they played regularly all over the city and the world, and, in particular, were a mainstay at the original Knitting Factory; I must have seen them a hundred times in those years. 

Since then, “the Micros” have frequently reunited for tours, new albums, and other projects; last Friday they returned to the Lower West Side for two shows at Smalls in the West Village, which sold out quickly.

Both the Microscopic Septet and the Greasy Chicken Orchestra offer indisputable evidence that jazz is neither dead nor zombie-fied. Both groups are truly post-modern in the sense that they address styles, sounds, and songs drawn from well more than a hundred years of jazz.  

“I Cakewalked with A Zombie” is a set of mostly jazz classics from the pre-swing era — Jelly Roll Morton, King Oliver, Louis Armstrong, Bix Beiderbecke, and the young Duke Ellington —  arranged in a way that can’t be considered a “recreation” but remains respectful.   

While there have been projects in which modernist arrangers such as Gil Evans and Bob Brookmeyer have “updated” vintage jazz tunes — as well as the Paris-based Anachronic Jazz Band, which achieves precisely the opposite — that’s not necessarily what Mr. Johnston is striving for here. In fact, his treatment of Don Redman’s “Chant of the Weed” makes that 1931 theme sound as if it had been written any number of years before then.

There are other surprises in store; “Zombie” also includes six original tunes, four by Mr. Johnston and two by pianist Joel Forrester, ongoing co-director of the Micros. Unless you’re paying very close attention, you probably won’t notice; Mr. Johnson’s highly personal takes on the likes of Morton’s “Frog-i-More Rag” and “Grandpa’s Spells” are no less original than his originals.  

His take on Mister Jelly-Roll’s “Spanish Swat” only sounds like it could be a recreation of the composer’s most famous band, the Red Hot Peppers, since Morton actually recorded it only as a piano solo, in 1938 for the Library of Congress. So, be careful; I would have sworn that “Longing,” which features Mr. Johnston on his primary instrument, the soprano saxophone, was a vintage feature for Sidney Bechet before it dawned on me that this was another Johnston original.

In the studio recording, the Greasy Chicken Orchestra has a certain polish that belies the group’s name; conversely, the Microscopic Septet played with rambunctious energy live at Small’s before a tightly packed and highly enthusiastic house.  The major point of comparison was “Baby Steps,” an original rag composed by Mr. Forrester for the GCO’s album but also played by the Micros at Small’s with considerable drive; while remaining in the ragtime idiom, it also sounded something like a blues with something like a bridge.  

It was clear that the crowd was grateful for what’s likely to be their only chance for at least a year or two to hear this iconic ensemble. Both the audience — including a lot of younger folks who clearly weren’t around during the 1980s — and the band seemed very happy to be there. 

They opened with Thelonious Monk’s “Bye Ya,” from their 2010 CD, “Friday The Thirteenth: The Micros Play Monk,” and closed with baritone saxophonist Dave Sewelson crooning “I Got a Right to Cry,” a 1950 R&B hit by Joe Liggins and the Honeydrippers. Along the way, it was mostly Micro classics, like Mr. Forrester’s major-key “Migraine Blues” and Mr. Johnston’s 3/4 “Waltz Of The Recently Punished Catholic School Boys.” 

The Microscopic Septet may be well over 40 years old, but this group still has the audacity of youth. Back in the day, traditional jazz fans viewed it as perhaps too avant-garde, whereas free jazz fans considered it somewhat conservative. The point, howver, was that both audiences listened and enjoyed.