Tomeka Reid’s "3+3" feels like an aural Rube Goldberg machine - intricate, deliberate, and occasionally absurd, but always heading somewhere. At the helm is Reid, a MacArthur Fellow who’s taken the cello and asked it to step out of its classical shell and into the seething cauldron of modern jazz improvisation. The result? An album that’s simultaneously unhurried and full of momentum, like a chess match where each move feels like a calculated risk, yet fluid and spontaneous.

Let’s start with the obvious: Reid is not just a cellist anymore. She’s a visionary. And she’s not alone in her mission to dismantle jazz’s sonic structures; she’s flanked by bassist Jason Roebke, drummer Tomas Fujiwara, and fellow MacArthur Fellow, the ever-unpredictable Mary Halvorson on guitar. Together, this quartet creates an exploratory soundscape that makes "3+3" feel like one long, meditative suite rather than a collection of distinct tracks. You’re not just listening to music - you’re participating in an extended conversation.

Reid herself admits to stepping away from the short-form “jazz piece” structures she’d explored before. Instead, "3+3" feels like an experiment in endurance, a marathon of improvisation and composition. Each track unfurls at its own pace, with plenty of room for the musicians to stretch, bend, and occasionally warp your expectations. “Turning Inward / Sometimes You Just Have to Run With It,” the 16-minute opener, sets the tone. What begins as a simmer - a cymbal wash here, a cello pluck there - gradually builds into a rough-hewn pas de deux between Reid’s cello and Halvorson’s unmistakably jagged guitar work. The line between acoustic and electronic begins to blur, a testament to how comfortable Reid has become with letting technology seep into her string textures.

There’s something refreshing about "3+3"’s refusal to settle into predictable roles. Take “Sauntering with Mr. Brown”, which upends the usual jazz hierarchy. Who’s in the foreground? Who’s in the background? The answer: whoever feels like it. Reid’s cello is plucky and playful here, as she coyly takes on what would traditionally be a guitar’s arpeggiated part. There’s a sense of musicians winking at convention, as though they’ve all collectively decided that jazz’s rules are there to be gently - yet deliberately - shaken up.

At the heart of this album is a kind of mathematical approach to improvisation, but not in a cold, cerebral way. There’s still warmth, humor, and a hint of chaos bubbling under the surface. It’s like free jazz stumbled into a quantum physics seminar and somehow everyone came out more enlightened. “Exploring Outward / Funambulist Fever” exemplifies this tension. Reid’s cello playing is equal parts exquisite and unsettling, weaving between quiet, introspective passages and bursts of angular improvisation. The track’s title feels apt; it’s a fever dream of sound, veering between chaos and clarity, constantly threatening to lose its balance but never quite falling over the edge.

For those familiar with Halvorson’s work, her contributions here are as deliciously idiosyncratic as ever. Her guitar is less an instrument and more a sonic destabilizer, constantly poking and prodding the quartet’s harmonic foundation. It’s hard to tell where Reid’s bow ends and Halvorson’s electronics begin, and that’s the point. The interplay between the two string players is like watching two magicians perform sleight of hand in real time - you’re never quite sure who’s doing what, but you’re mesmerized all the same.

But don’t mistake "3+3" for an exercise in pretentious abstraction. There’s an emotional core here that makes the album more than just an intellectual puzzle. Reid’s compositions feel lived-in, as though she’s drawing from years of experience navigating the often thorny world of jazz and improvisation. There’s a fluidity to how these musicians play together, a sense of shared history and understanding, that makes even the most avant-garde moments feel grounded in something deeply human.

Reid’s influences are vast and varied - after all, she’s a veteran of Chicago’s AACM, has played with Anthony Braxton, and is a key figure in Nicole Mitchell’s orbit. But with "3+3", she’s stepping into her own as a composer and bandleader, crafting music that doesn’t just reflect her influences, but transcends them. There’s a sense that Reid is playing the long game here, slowly expanding the boundaries of what the cello can do in jazz, and doing so with a quiet, assured confidence.

"3+3" may not be for everyone. If you’re looking for neatly packaged tunes or traditional jazz forms, you won’t find them here. But for those willing to follow Reid and her quartet into the uncharted territories of free improvisation and experimental composition, this album offers rewards in spades. It’s a dense, multilayered puzzle of sound that’s as much about the journey as it is about the destination.

In the end, Tomeka Reid is doing something incredibly important with "3+3": she’s expanding the vocabulary of modern jazz, not through bombast or spectacle, but through careful, considered improvisation. And while it may take some time to fully unravel all the nuances of this album, the effort is worth it. After all, the best puzzles are the ones that keep you coming back for more.