True to form, with the unbridled power and majesty suggested by this trio's new album title (translated as mountain, river, sea), trumpeter Natsuki Tamura, pianist Satoko Fujii and drummer Ramon Lopez slam headlong into a musical cataclysm. Yet, nearly a minute into "Headwaters," there is a sudden shift, a pungent near-silence broken only by Lopez's cymbals, and then, incredibly, by some of the most exquisite pianism imaginable from Fujii. Therein lies the music's mystery, the sudden and transcendent changes that have kept these veteran musicians going, together and separately, and always exploring new territory.

There has never been any way of providing anything like an easy categorization for the sounds unleashed by these three artists on an increasingly daunting number of recordings. They blur all conceivable boundaries even as they're erected. The slow but inexorable recovery and dynamic swell as "Headwaters" continues and concludes will tell the tale in microcosm, but it's only the beginning. It is impossible to pin mere verbiage on just how much the trio fits into each of these 9 miniatures, the grouping a suite larger than the life of each component. Even the piquantly minuscule "Malakoff," the briefest excursion on offer, manages an astonishing switch at 1:05, when Fujii's chordal resonances and Lopez's sympathetic rhythms bolster a couple of pithily aphoristic utterances from Tamura, all leading to two high-register exhortations from Fujii in turn anticipating Lopez's oceanic cymbal roll. Similar resonances from Fujii, this time arpeggiated, open the titular piece. She gets the entire instrument vibrating in the way that only her stunning pianism allows, the space between each rolled sonority allowing maximum audition before Tamura and Lopez enter with their commentary.

Instantaneous interaction is certainly one of this group's strengths, not so obvious as it might seem especially given the multifarious nature of improvisation. They stop on a dime, they build and burn in tandem, but interactions of that variety wouldn't be possible without each player's chops flyin' everywhere, to quote Louis Armstrong. Again, they're familiars, so each gesture is bound to give rise to another in the long chains of premises and conclusions. A particular and summative moment comes 1:57 into "Sparkling Water," where several of Tamura's ascending phrases are answered, conclusively and without hesitation, by Fujii via strummed piano strings. Lopez is simply providing a foundation for the exchange, which is not nearly as simple as it might seem, especially as he then builds the music toward its next section. These pieces move, stand and flow along similar lines of interaction, and the superb recording captures every detail.