The cover art is of a raven and fox sculpted from paper, and Miles Okazaki is keen to tell you in his sleeve note that the ancient art of origami is all about creating new forms out of uncut squares of paper. As an allegory for musical form, you wonder why origami isn't referenced more often – after all improvising structure out of uncut stretches of time is the basis of how jazz musicians operate. Okazaki explains that all nine of his compositions featured on Trickster were generated from simple cyclic patterns of 12 or 16 bars (in 4/4 and 3/4), into which he inserted ‘folds’ that add layers of illusion and unpredictability – “I've always believed,” he writes, “that working within constraints focuses creativity, sharpens technique, and ultimately leads to greater freedom.” And nobody could fault the internal chemistry of Okazaki's quartet. Anthony Tidd's bass is usually raised in the mix and roars and swells like the pedal action of a giant church organ; Sean Rickman's drums assert an equally imposing presence. Okazaki doesn't start all that promisingly as his guitar indulges in obviously emotive portimenti, but that misdemeanor is quickly forgiven – he is a thoughtful and resourceful melodic improviser, and Craig Taborn's opaque lines resonate in sympathy throughout. So far so good, but that an album built around such an intriguing conceptual backbone should also sound so pasty and characterless is a pity. Interesting note relationships fall from their fingers – but the music is never resolutely beautiful or ugly, whimsical or sombre, angry or contented. Emotionally, it's trapped between the folds.