Poetic Power involves two veteran improvisers from France, bassist Claude Tchamitchian, who composed all six tunes and has worked with Joe McPhee among many others; and alto saxophonist Christophe Monniot, who has played with Daniel Humair. Drummer is American Tom Rainey, who has backed scores of innovators on both side of the Atlantic. Younger in age, but not musical scope are The Choir Invisible’s members: Americans, bassist Chris Tordini, who has played with Andy Milne and drummer Vinnie Sperrazza, who plays with Jacob Sacks and German, New York-based alto saxophonist Charlotte Greve, who regularly works with Marc Muellbauer. All contributed compositions.

Major portions of the Tchamitchian Trio’s strategy maintain the fine balance among formal, conventional and exploratory textures while concentrating on group cohesion so solos are brief breaks not extended showpieces. Still Rainey’s ingenious and paced cymbal and percussion work is a constant presence throughout. For instance, on the introductory “Katsounine” his rim shots and cymbal bounces upset the bassist’s stentorian pulse, pushing the exposition into a groove. From that point on Monniot’s pinched reed tone that’s half Tab Smith and half Eric Dolphy works its way to multiphonics, trills and tongue pops mixing the poetic with the percussive. Eventually his widening timbres connect with mallet-driven Mylar smacks and billowing string sweeps

The alto saxophonist’s notes as split tones or rounded movement can shot skyward with double-tongued variations or are conventional enough to recap heads. Yet the characteristic of this performance is how each angle of the trio triangle is in constant motion, with brief interludes to establish shifting identities. The hard-hitting bass and drum backbeat that sets up the exposition that characterizes the final “Unnecessary Fights” can one-third of way through the extended “Shadow’s Breath” change moods to a formalized chamber-music-like narrative with muted beats and shimmering bowed bass behind clarion reed pitches. Changing gears once again to mix a swing beat with heighted corkscrew reed variations at the finale, that tune follows “So Close, So Far”, an exemplar of the trio members’ studied transformations. Beginning with contrasting string twangs and sweetened sax puffs it appears headed to ballad territory, then the tempo picks up with reed honks and snarls adumbrating a clattering yet balanced drum solo until thumping bass strings signal a return to a smoother, lighter theme.

There are similar quick-change antics and cooperation on The Choir Invisible, although the tripartite identity isn’t fully established until the third track. By “Low” however her reed arabesques lock in with Tordini’s careful rebounds and hardened drum slaps. Maintaining a looser, but paradoxically more straight-ahead interface than the Tchamitchian Trio, Greve/Sperrazza/Tordini additionally address the material from varied sonic perspectives. Probably the most notable occurs on the bassist’s oddly-titled composition “e(“. An instance of sophisticated swing, the scene is set with a looping pizzicato bass line that is followed by cymbal echoes and drum thumps. The saxophonist’s subsequent spinning tones echo cunningly over a repeated bass vamp. The trio also deftly confirms its versatility on “Zupplo”, the previous track, which appears to be another mainstream-headed tune. Soon, however, Greve’s repeated tonal spills and the bassist’s string pumps move the tempo from walk to canter without losing the flow as expressively intense variables are introduced.

Whether these trio programs result from one musician’s compositional vision or point to the improvisational talents of three in-the-know players, the sax-bass-drum format is flexible enough to express both visions,

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The Choir Invisible, a phrase lifted from Monty Python's "Dead Parrot Sketch", but originating in a 19th Century poem by Mary Ann Evans (better known as George Elliot), provides the name of the closing track, the album and also the Brooklyn-based outfit responsible, which comprises German-transplant alto saxophonist Charlotte Greve, bassist Chris Tordini and drummer Vinnie Sperrazza. Together they triangulate a 38-minute program of nine charts, sourced from each of the principals.

Notwithstanding the diverse origins, the group takes a cooperative, near-orchestral approach in its use of its constituent talents. That's helped by the way in which they all muck in. Greve often lays down repeated motifs as part of the structural fabric while Sperrazza is one of the most tuneful of drummers, tonally organized to support and complement what everyone else is doing. While no molds are broken, everything sounds just right.

Solos tend to brevity, punctuating the pieces rather than giving them their raison d'être. With her clean, full tone, Greve flutters and yowls to color her coolly lyrical lines, which suggest more than a hint of Lee Konitz. Tordini alternates between theme carrier and nimble contrapuntal commentator while Sperrazza unobtrusively gives the music loft without ever needing to apply the afterburners. In fact, the constant conversation he maintains with the other two is one of the pleasures of this date.

Among the highlights is Greve's "Low", like all her compositions infused with a vague sadness, which nevertheless incorporates a perky countermelody, doubled by Tordini, who squeezes knotted asides into the flow. Later there's a feature for Greve notable for the high cries and wavering vulnerability with which she stretches her almost classical timbre. Sperrazza's concluding title cut is another peak, a thing of melancholy beauty, leavened by a lovely consolatory tinge.

The band presented much of the repertoire from the disc in a celebratory live-stream from Barbès (Aug. 21st, but still up on YouTube at the time of this writing), which emphasized the collective ethos all the more clearly. Apart from those numbers already mentioned, other memorable episodes included Tordini's "Zuppio", which blossomed first into a series of rippling patterns from Sperrazza and then later into another purposefully wiry solo for the author's pizzicato, both becoming subsumed by thorny interplay, enlivened by Greve's overblown flurries, before the final recapitulation.

Unsurprisingly they saved their theme tune to nearly the end, giving it a reverential reading, though one both animated and restrained. But it wasn't the last word. That went to a song not on the record, being a soulful cover of Cindy Walker-Eddy Arnold's "You Don't Know Me", a tune turned into a Billboard hit by Ray Charles in 1962, whose valedictory feel made for a tender close to the hour-long performance. While in her poem Evans likened The Choir Invisible's music to the gladness of the world, this threesome's take is rather more contemplative though, nonetheless, uplifting and inspiring.