Rising new piano talent Gwilym Simcock, 26, will play Tim Garland's piano concerto at the Royal Albert with the BBC Concert Orchestra on Saturday, August 9. Its second British performance will come in a programme starring Simcock, one on the BBC Radio 3 Young Musicians Scheme, in more than this piece.

Acoustic Triangle played what is essentially the slow movement and Proms fans, when they encounter it, will have no difficulty in accepting it as a natural element of the BBC's great summer music festival as we know it today. And in future, I suspect that fans of the Old Market Coffee Concerts will be unsurprised to find this ensemble bringing 'classical jazz' to their ears again within a future series.

The concerto movement we heard is called From The Land. It is on Garland's CD, If The Sea Replied, it had a relaxed, unwinding feel, and naturally whetted the appetite to discover next summer what else happens in the concerto.

Simcock's breadth and synthesis of musical language is not only wondrous. It is symptomatic of his generation of leading musicians, many of whom are the now inevitable product of the across-the-board gamut of musical genres with which they have grown up.

Acoustic Triangle set out their stall with three extended pieces before the interval and this item was the first of five in the second half.

The varied temperatures of these offerings were often subtly understated and, from cool to sultry to simmering, they were the product of three soloists who treasure the selflessness of ensemble playing and, therein, the composition, the creation live, and the mutual love and respect each has for the other as a musician and an indispensible contributor.

In front of a classical audience willing in a different experience, this was a fertile field for Acoustic Triangle to seed. The listeners understood.

Garland talked to me afterwards, of the ensemble, about the acute listening to each other, the four-way counterpoint they create (between the bass, the wind and the two piano hands), and the intimacy of the creative process (especially with the audience seated in the round). And this is exactly what characterises the creation and the absorption by an audience of the standard chamber music repertoire that the Old Market Coffee Series percolates up for us each winter.

So the fascination of close-quarters sharing between musicians and audience was enhanced by the unfamiliarity and fascination of the material played and its development in improvisation beyond the trellis of the initial composition. Any doubters among the audience, and there will have been few, would have had their worries evaporated. All were on home territory, except with the material itself.

Wonders unfolded in consequence. And from as early as 11am, remember.
Garland's Black Elk was a suitable, welcoming aubade, running straight into his Bourdion, which was a more insistent, rhythmic invitation to smell the coffee. The solo instrument moved from bass clarinet to soprano sax.

Then came Garland's arrangement of Ravel's (90-year-old) Three Poems of Stefan Mellarme, which revelled in Ravel's jazzy harmonic language. It was originally for voice and piano, later voice and orchestra.

Simcock's New Rhumba, now more accurately (!) entitled New Fundero introduced impish humour. Dampened piano strings clouded the intro before the music leapt out, staccato, elusive, seductive, mischievous, with trills and flourishes jabbing at us out of the rhythm. Garland returned from soprano to bass clarinet here. The collective and individual now virtuosity unfolding was at times staggering.

Then, after From The Land, Garland's Winding Wind, from his former folk-jazz fusion band of 10 years, Lammas. The saxophonist demonstrated his exceptional generosity by leaving, lots of space for Simcock's piano and then combined with it in some brilliantly complex unisons as the music rose to its climax.

Simcock's Temple Of The Body was coolly sensuous, contemplative and, a trifle enigmatic. They then improvised on Kenny Wheeler's Everybody's Song But My Own. Garland now introduced his lovely frosted silver Borgani tenor, with its gold keys and fittings, but not before one of several intriguing and inventive solos by Malcolm Creese, here as the introduction.

This was the most obviously mainstream jazz yet heard and, to end the set, they moved appositely into John Taylor's Coffee Time. A more extended piece than the others since the interval, this featured Creese exploring bowed ponticelli effects, portamenti and harmonics, and Garland's bass clarinet then deepened the sense of mystery.

For the encore they drew from the most popular modern jazz disc of all time, Miles Davis' Kind Of Blue and, as though confronted with an audience sated by a sumptuous aural lunch accompanying a suitable stretching of the intellect and a tickling of the emotions, they chose pianist Bill Evans' Bluey Green.

It was soft and sleepy. And much more edifying than a sprawling, snoring Sunday afternoon nap.