Women jazz instrumentalists just can't get a break. The jazz pantheon has always been a boys' club, off-limits to even the most virtuosic and inventive females. Despite those problems, thirty-three-year-old Geri Allen remains the finest pianist of her generation, a gripping stylist whose mastery can no longer be denied.

Granted, sexism doesn't totally account for Allen's public neglect; she simply doesn't sound like any other jazz pianist out there. While most of her contemporaries draw on the gung-ho dynamism of Herbie Hancock and McCoy Tyner, Allen's roots are quirkier. The lurching, rhythmic displacements of Thelonious Monk and the dark, unsettling ruminations of the undervalued Andrew Hill are Allen's beacons. Her playing avoids the juiced-up swing of her peers, replacing assertiveness with mystery and depth.

As commanding as Allen's playing is, the contributions of bassist Charlie Haden and drummer Paul Motian, who served as the rhythm section for Keith Jarrett through most of the Seventies, are equally essential. As Allen's partners – not accompanists – Haden and Motian help shape and structure the music, melding seamlessly with her one moment, prodding her into exploratory flight the next. Tackling be-bop (Bud Powell's "Oblivion"), deep blues (Haden's "See You at Per Tutti's") or open-ended improvisation (Motian's "Last Call"), the trio burns. But the most affecting moments are the contemplative ballads ("First Song," "In the Year of the Dragon"), which move at an internal pace set by the group's collective pulse. Geri Allen's time is now, but In the Year of the Dragon is music for the ages. (RS 585)

STEVE FUTIERMAN