Can three guys subvert modern technology in the service of harnessing rock�s tensile strength and pilfering it via improvisation�s elastic means? Yep � they�re called Radian; but wait, the same ground rules apply to Trapist as well. Both units feature percussionist Martin Brandlmayr, who seems to have come from the Bernhard G�nter school of pregnant pauses, because Mr. Brandlmayr�s potency is buoyed as much by what he doesn�t play than what he does. Guitarist Martin Siewert � whose solo release on the Mosz label, No Need to Be Lonesome, curtails everything anyone knows about acousmatic interlacing, and is a criminally under-recognized slab of plastic to boot � has few precedents: he�s as elastic as they come, and as pliable, sharp of wit, a conscientious self-editor. Bassist Joe Williamson largely leaves his instrument functionally intact, yet he�s unafraid to work some Mingus mojo into the digital battlefield when the klaxon sounds. �Power� trio? A more preferential description might be �plugged-in� (as in a Web �plug-in�) because, for all the non-electric playing going on, Trapist are too enamored with the silicon slipstream that crystallizes their defining moments.

Tough to call Highway My Friend �minimal� (way too much business occurring for that to be the case), but Trapist disguise their bric-a-brac extremely well � little seems to �happen� until you realize half the recording�s finished and you�re left immersed in the trio�s aural wake. Right from the outset, �Mascoma� announces itself with a single struck bass chord adorned by cymbal trickle and snare-edge prickle; as the rhythm section mumbles nonchalantly, Siewert dons his cloak and dagger, flicking lapsteel strings while working laptop drones. This hovering miasma holds your breath in place for its nine-minute entirety � you await a crescendo that never arrives because the pressurized prologue is simply too absolute. Digital ferrets nudge their way into the buzzing landscapes of the lengthy �E101� as the group putter about with tapered feedback, a reminder how sticky sweet electricity can be when the amperage never gets too ungainly.

Both �Fenrus� and the album-ender �Mile� appear at first to be a showcase for Brandlmayr�s winsome talents, but Siewert ain�t having none of it � this is, after all, a trio � as the guitarist squeaks out metallic embroidery from his string-driven thing(s) and Williamson�s bass scurries in the background. When Siewert dips back into his electronic bag of tricks and gets all squiggy on us, Highway My Friend suddenly conjures visions of a parallel-dimension King Crimson simmering through its amps, soft(ware)-wired instead of mellotron-enhanced, short-circuiting minimalist aesthetics through jazz�s multiphasic conduits.