Jazz drummer, composer, and renowned Yes/King Crimson alum Bill Bruford (whose one-time reed man Tim Garland appears on the final night of this year's festival) recently described one of his pieces as having a "strong British flavor." What does that mean? Does British jazz somehow sound more, um, mannerly? Is there an intangible quality of reserve or even dry humor to the way the players hit their notes? Those last two questions are meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but over the years RIJF has presented enough acts from around the world for audiences to begin forming a picture of how jazz adapts to other cultural mindsets and transforms itself.

And although nine shows isn't enough to give you a complete grasp on British jazz, there's no better place to start than Christ Church, which hosts an all-UK series this year. Last night, pianist/singer Liane Carroll's soaring, creamy voice and sparkling piano went perfectly with the majestic church space, the blue-and-amber color schemes of its stained glass windows coming to life with the music. Carroll, a lovely presence both musically and in the way she addressed the audience, was radiant as she played. And her enthusiasm acted as a kind of fifth instrument. She charmed the audience with a story about taking in the Irish countryside by train before introducing a three-song Irish-themed medley that featured, in her words, Irish-styled takes on Leonard Cohen and George Gershwin. Carroll's drummer and bassist seemed to glide through the material with an ease in their touch, acting as nimble dance partners to Carroll's piano and singing.

Carroll announced that the night before, minutes after leaving the Christ Church bandstand, Peter King pianist Steve Melling found out he'd just become a grandfather. She dedicated Tom Waits' "Picture in a Frame" to him, and her impassioned cries of "I love you, my little baby" took the music to a real-life place that rarely gets touched on so directly in jazz.

On paper, watching electric bassists Stanley Clarke, Marcus Miller, and Victor Wooten onstage together looks like a pelvic-thrust competition between three Olympic gymnasts. Or a three-way gunfight. In other words, there's bound to be flashy moments, but what can you really do with it? And could it possibly end well?

"Do you like bass?," Miller asked the crowd after a funky intro jam. "I hope so."

The answer would seem obvious, but you didn't have to be a bass-head to dig on what these guys (along with a keyboard player and drummer) were doing. Apparently, if you increase -- or even triple -- the amount of excess, sometimes it cancels itself out. While each of these three players is known for an audacious, in-your-face approach to playing, together they supplied all the different functions of the bass in a way that meshed beautifully. Melody, soulfulness, taste, and restraint were all in abundant supply. And three bassists captured the warmth and groove of old funk, soul and even -- shock! -- a slow ballad.

One bass guitar slapping tends to jump out of the music, but when one of these guys started slapping, the others could hold down the melody and the chords. And when all three started slapping together, they sounded like a well-tuned percussion ensemble. As expected, their combined technical proficiency wowed the people in the crowd eager to see explosive displays of chops, but Miller, Clarke, and Wooten also proved in no uncertain terms that they were there to make music.