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But it has to be about something, doesn’t it? Even when three people simply play together using their instruments, with no theme set, no course agreed upon, no sonic strategy defined.

A few things are at least in place: one female player, two male players, their attitudes toward one another and toward their instruments. Then there’s the setting: stage or studio (which sometimes makes little difference and other times a great deal). And finally, the shared intention that something should emerge — independent of any predetermined plan, but in harmony, through communication and cooperation.

A trio is a trinity, and therefore also a little mysterious: playing alone, you draw on your own experience; in a duo, you toss the ball back and forth; in a trio, you do both — and sometimes more, or sometimes less. What emerges is a shared space that seems almost autonomous, detaching itself from each individual and their intentions, yet in which all three participate and where much can happen, be discovered, and be done.

Even though there were no binding agreements, something like a consensus emerges at first: the drums send brush rustling across the snare and toms, along with friendly cymbal caresses without any particular metric intent. The saxophone introduces a series of melodic fragments, arranging them into place. The piano adds individual notes in the upper register, cautiously, building small chords from them. From this, a thickening develops almost on its own. Still no bass drum to be heard anywhere. It grows rougher, more intense, until the saxophone retreats to the edge and a taut stillness settles in. For the saxophonist, a phase of breath sounds begins; the pianist works inside the grand piano on the strings — still no reason to use a bass drum. From three sides, the sounds grow back together. The saxophone develops a melodic and articulatory persistence around which the collective process can crystallize. The brooding time spent toward the end is not short, but full of fine events. Waterfall Weir.

In Frozen Lake, there is plenty of movement, but nothing stormy — so that attention can spread itself well across what’s happening. The flute foregoes any elfin shimmer and enters the scene with a strong, often dark insistence, venturing into surprising duets with the flutist’s own voice — her tongue clicks, the windy sounds of an air column, the clatter of her own keys. There is so much life in the frozen lake. The pianist and the percussionist don’t leave their flutist alone in it; they listen closely.

Ice Heave. The tempo is high, but the material is handled sparingly at first: shorthand figures from the saxophone, from the piano, but the drums want to push forward. Something like a polyphonic arc of intensity takes shape. For a while the saxophone is out front, then the piano — the drums are everywhere anyway. The energy level is way up without ever getting too loud. Should one perhaps, in the middle of all the commotion and dense material, start over fresh? No, not that. But ease up a little. The trio reorganizes itself into a song-like passage featuring the saxophonist’s richly layered, beautiful voice. A gradual fading.

Zu dritt zu spielen und sich dem Spielprozess auszuliefern, das ist eine Probe aufs Exempel. Ein Ernstfall, aber nie und nimmer ein un-determinierter Vorgang. Niemand kann sich verstecken, niemand ist allein.

Auch wenn das Spiel, das gespielt wird, keine Themen und festen Regeln hat wie Mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, gibt es Material, mit dem man spielt. Es gibt Anfang und Ende, dazwischen Entwicklungen, die nicht vorhersehbar waren. Zustände und Bewegungen von Energie. Konsens und Dissens. Es gibt, wirklich!, große und kleine, aktuelle und tiefsitzende Gefühle in verschiedenen Mischungsverhältnissen und Dringlichkeiten. Es gibt Vorschläge, Folgebereitschaft, Verweigerung und eigene Wege, die gesucht, vorgeschlagen, eingeschlagen werden. Manchmal kommt es zur gemeinsamen Erschaffung von wahrhaften Klang-Gegenständen mit Kanten und Oberflächen, die eine Weile halten. Es gibt eine Aufmerksamkeit für den gemeinsamen Raum, in dem sich ein Geflecht bildet. Es wächst, es formt sich, es pulsiert.

Es gibt so vieles, was es nur in der Musik gibt.