We live in time that are pretty positive ones for jazz music in terms of the diversity and originality of music that is being played right now and the musicians who are playing it. The breakdown of support for jazz and jazz-influenced music at the major record label level along with the affordability of technology that makes it possible for musicians to compose, record, package, distribute and sell their work from their computer keyboard, has spawned an independent recording industry that releases more great music than ever before. The trouble is that it becomes very difficult for interested listeners to wade through the tide of newly-minted CDs by artists they have probably never heard of.

Then, too, there is the notion that innovative jazz is the most interesting and that musicians who choose to work in a particular style of jazz are somehow, no matter how skillful, merely replicators of past music. That is a ridiculous and sad notion, and one that must be dispelled. Jazz is innovative and forward-thinking music, but it honors its past. When it does not, it becomes something else entirely. We can still trace musical links and influences back to the very early days of jazz music’s development both inside the U.S. and in other countries.

In another time, a recording such as The Shelly Berg Trio’s Blackbird would have been seen as an incredible performance. It still is, but the fact that there are so many pianists out there fronting trios or other groups means that, for many listeners, the ability to spend time over a CD such as this and savor it through many listening cycles, is lost. Blackbird is the kind of intimate album that you become familiar with over time, a recording that you know will be there to comfort you through some trying times and to lift you up further when things are good. Berg is very understated here, rarely bringing things above a gentle pace that brings to mind the waves of the ocean on late spring/early summer days. His original piece “Hot It Up” brings a kinetic high point to the album, but otherwise things are fairly calm and unfold slowly. None of this should be taken to mean that the group lacks energy, but rather that they conserve it and use it in unexpected ways.

The group blows straight through “All My Tomorrows” without ever looking back before settling into the very soft, subtle samba groove of “Estate,” which is greatly enhanced by Gregg Fields’ tom-tom work and the very less-is-more approach of Chuck Berghofer’s bass. Berg’s elegance continues on his version of the Paul McCartney classic “Blackbird.” Here he takes the song to church, injecting blues and gospel freely into its folksy melody. Fields and Berghofer underpin it all with a slightly sassy strut that makes this more than just another jazz Beatles cover. The trio breaks into an easy swing for the blues-structured solos and then brings it home in the end.

A somewhat unexpected number is the trio’s rendition of Pat Metheny’s “Question and Answer.” Berg takes it a bit faster than Metheny did (check it out on the CD Like Minds, featuring Metheny with Chick Corea, Gary Burton, Roy Haynes, and Dave Holland) and makes a complete success of it. The song is a great vehicle for Berg, whose solo kicks up some dust, along with one by Berghofer and some sharp brushwork from Field. Other highlights include a sumptuous reading of the Billy Strayhorn classic “A Flower Is a Lovesome Thing,” a top-notch performance of the standard “All the Things You Are,” and a nice arrangement on Stevie Wonder’s “Blame It On the Sun.” Not so successful to these ears was the pumped-up version of Billy Joel’s “She’s Always A Woman.” But by the time Berg closes with his lyrical original, “Julia” you can’t help but realize that you are in the presence of a great musician who is playing within a certain group of boundaries but who, in honoring the traditions associated with those boundaries, achieves a great deal of freedom in his or her own right. Blackbird is a terrific jazz album by any standard, one that is done an injustice by merely thinking of it as ‘competent.’