The fulcrum of Tabla Beat Science is Bill Laswell, friend to all things hardcore, esoteric, skronky, and dubby. Here, Laswell has gathered some of the world's most accomplished tabla players and juxtaposed their classical raga rhythms with futuristic drum-n-bass. Laswell then sets this culture-clash within a frequently unsettling ambient framework. And, of course, it's unreservedly superb. If anyone can show the junglist massive that there are more rhythms than the ones employed by the Winstons' on their tiresome "Amen, My Brother," it's Laswell.

Unlike the Vedic Sound System's remix on Laswell's Oscillations: Remixed, Bill puts the tabla very much at the foreground here, allowing the junglism to stalk the background. This is a compelling strategy. We're forced into tuning ourselves to the unfamiliar patterns of classical tabla and the richness of those intense polyrhythms. However, Laswell's digital surroundings are not mere adornment, a stupefying padding of synthwashes a la Deep Forest or Enigma. Laswell makes a strong case for the next level of electronica to be severely Indian in descent.

This isn't so novel an idea. After all, many years ago, Lamont Young, Philip Glass, and Steve Reich each became entranced by the microtones of the drone and incorporated these drifting tonalities into their works. But while Laswell does leave room for the drone, it's sometimes implied rather than actual (cf. "Audiomaze," on which the digitized scrapings of metal objects serves as a ground for the remainder of the instruments).

On Talvin Singh's contribution, "Don't worry.com," the ground in fact turns into gravid clouds as his fingers beat out patterns while synthesizers roll overhead, menacing and portentous. Long-time Laswell collaborator Karsh Kale offers "Palmistry," taking the album into more downbeat territory. The cautious bass treads warily through a desolate landscape, Kale's beats taking few lurches into the show-off audacity that he brings to the pulsing, mechanically malevolent Indo-industrial track, "Triangular Objects." In contrast, Ustad Sultan Khan brings his sarangi violin and nasal, pliant vocals to Zakir Hussain's "Devotional," adding more than a few spiritual vibes to the track.

The album is at its most sparse during Trilok Gurtu's "Big Brother." The track is little more than a fractured conversation between the tabla and a snare/kick drum. Low-- almost silent-- in the mix, you can hear a sound like a conch shell being played, but it's barely audible and therefore all the more intriguing.

Tala Matrix is the fulfillment of a promise that Laswell made years ago when he collaborated with the Orb on Material's "Praying Mantra." But in the years since that recording-- and on this record in particular-- Laswell has delivered so much more. In the company of masters, he's made a solid statement that anyone interested in rhythm must appreciate the multiple, thrilling complexities of classical tabla. Talvin Singh has tried to educate people, but his O.K. album, to my ears, diluted this critical message in favor of universal appeal. Tala Matrix makes no such error. It does not compromise, and it's certainly no dry academic exercise. And though it's hardly going to keep candy-ravers from their cherished k-holes, it certainly provides a useful counter to the vapid, patronizing world-traveler stylings of Thievery Corporation.

Tabla Beat Science masterfully combine the ancient and the modern. Laswell takes the centuries-old skills of generations of tabla masters and fuses them with today's technology, creating a vital, compelling hybrid. And just as he's championed the wordsound power of dub throughout his career, Laswell now tells us to take notice of the traditions of classical Hindustan. But whereas labels such as Nimbus release stunning albums by such masters, Laswell has not chosen to release a rarefied museum piece. Tala Matrix is as street as any of his Crooklyn dub albums and probably even more essential. In these trance-dominated times, Tala Matrix bountifully offers a nimbly polyrhythmic alternative to the derivative four-four tyranny of the kickdrum without even a whiff of patchouli.

-Paul Cooper