Contrary to what you might think, Ori Kaplan doesn't play drums. He's an alto saxophonist, and the Percussion Ensemble is his sometimes-band. They're an able bunch of companions; you've probably even heard them on albums you own without realizing it. Whirlwind improvisor Susie Ibarra plays percussion, which means every kitchen-sink implement you can think of, from timpani to djembe. She's also responsible for the plodding rumble on Yo La Tengo's "Everyday" and "Saturday." Ori Kaplan himself played the sleazy horn line on Firewater's "Ponzi's Theme." These two are rounded out by Geoff Mann on drumkit, and Andrew Bemkey, who plays hammers pounded into taut strings (more commonly known as the piano).

Gongol is driven by discrepancies between the stubborn march of the rhythm section and the less grounded explorations of the sax, while the piano dances between the two boundaries, shoring up the sound with sharp accents. The real tension arises not from the band, whose cool never rises to the boiling point, but in the role of the listener trying to determine the extent of improvisation. Irony may have guided the sequencing of Gongol's tracks, because the opener, "Crisis Dream," shifts from one mode to the other. Kaplan lights a circular riff that smokes out Bemkey's sinister, skulking piano line. Ibarra's percussion ripples like a stream in the background. Then, each element dissolves, the quiet broken only by the scuttling fauna of Ibarra's textures. Finally, Kaplan's swanky sax groove actually becomes the rhythm for the rest of the piece, while the others jam over it. The moment is pure "Bolero," and the effect is more orchestral (or even funky), than it is jazzy.

"Slow Boat" drifts along on the type of tribal groove that has caused critics to describe Gongol as Arabic or North African-influenced. But you hear mainstream moves, too. Bemkey cuts his rapid-fire lines with a couple of ominous, two-note chords that recall bassist Dave Holland's work on Miles Davis' Bitches Brew sessions. Kaplan rides the changes, soft and introspective. The instant reaction might be that this is more related to film scores than free jazz, but that would reflect the listener's inability to come to terms with slo-mo improvisation. Traditionalists might feel at home during "Shadow"; despite the Eastern drum pattern, Kaplan fires off a recognizably frenetic sax solo, encouraged by Bemkey's Jelly Roll rags.

Whereas a lot of free jazz seems hewn from blocks of pure sound, there's a silence that pervades this recording, out of which each note rises. On "Prayer for Ramón," Mann shifts to the mandolin, deftly picking out a sentimental, Segovia-like melody amidst the quiet. Ibarra adds faint drones, soon followed by crashes and Kaplan's rapid buzzing until the sound swarms like a cloud of dragonflies. But on "Sky Drop," each player gets a solo without accompaniment, and I can't help but think that the hushed gaps here would be improved by an extra player-- maybe a bassist to navigate the trenches. Bemkey's piano fills the spaces well, though occasionally, he employs too many ascending and descending waves of notes. The effect is a bit bourgeois, especially for a guy with a big-ass Oldham beard.

Kaplan's style lacks a certain emotional resonance. He's content to chase his playful lines into temporal cracks and crevices, like the rare occasions when the Dave Brubeck Quartet seemed more concerned with time signatures than natural appeal. But it would be a mistake to force a kind of emotional requirement on jazz. Gongol belongs to another tradition, one that harkens back at least as far as the jaunty, Westernized esoterica of Duke Ellington's "Caravan." Gongol is an album of and for journeys, where the point of departure never matches the final arrival. And just arriving at their 30s, these musicians no doubt have many awesome expeditions ahead.

-Christopher Dare