THE improvising tenor saxophone of Evan Parker, joined by that Godzilla of bassists John Edwards and the sometimes ferocious, sometimes tender slides of arch-trombonist and sound-installation artist Robert Jarvis are a free-playing playing and virtuoso trio, as they demonstrate at this gig.

As they open, Edwards’s bow seemed to mow his strings with long, lingering notes, while Jarvis’s moaning slides seem to go back to New Orleans and Kid Ory’s Savoy Blues and his curling, luxuriant multisonic speechifying suddenly interrupts Edwards’s quickfire plucking and the percussive embrace of his bass.

Through it all, Parker’s tenor blows out circles of sound — snatches of Coleman Hawkins, echoes of Sonny Rollins and sound-spectres of John Coltrane — in notes showering out of his horn. It’s as if a century of jazz is coalescing, earthed by a bassist whose pounding brilliance makes a drum for this percussion-free trio.

None of the three are present for mere accompaniment or for the horns to fly as mere individual embellishment or the setting loose of egos. This is ensemble music, collectively inspired and co-operatively played, with each musician as much a simultaneous listener as a simultaneous sound-maker.

In its own unique way, it’s a parable of democracy, with a surprising edge of drama and history and a solid, ever-moving body of sonic beauty.