Rock ‘n’ roll will be the savior of jazz.

Tuesday night’s performace at the Triple Door revolved around the solar gravity of Marco Benevento’s grand piano. With Reed Mathis on solid, sub-sonic bass and Matt Chamberlain playing steady, mostly unadorned drums, it was Benevento’s wild creativity on the keys that sent the show into stellar realms. Call it post-rock or post-jazz—the terms are almost interchangable. This stuff was poetic, monumental, and mesmerizing all at once.

Benevento began the set with a few original numbers, rising into dramatic, right-hand-driven melodic heights. He occasionally added some sort of treatment to the traditionally stately grandeur of the piano; this little device made each note sound like distorted guitar, while also maintaining the clarity of the original note. He also had an tiny electronic keyboard set up next to the piano that he dabbled on, matching Chamberlain’s electronic drum pads for a song. Chamberlain sizzled with rim shots and rolls, and kept time by running around it.

The band only acknowledged the audience between songs, with Benevento’s goofy banter eliciting chuckles and catcalls from the crowd. Otherwise, the three were entirely locked in on each other, watching for cues, tossing leads and accents between themselves. I’ve long believed that the trio is the most potent format for a band, lean and streamlined, forcing an imbalance that leads to thrilling interplay; these three proved that point. And the grand piano filled the Triple Door’s main hall like no other instrument can. This was indeed jazz for people that like rock ‘n’ roll.

Then the covers began. First was a waltzy rendition of My Morning Jacket’s gorgeous ballad “Golden,” rendered delicately and appropriately by Benevento’s piano. Later, he phased into dissonant electronic weirdness with some sorta toy next to the piano; this intro became a cover of Pink Floyd’s “Fearless.” It’s one of Floyd’s early tunes, somehow not one of their most popular despite the unforgettable chord progression of the chorus. Benevento nailed it, again stipling around the melody with delicate stabs on the keys. Later in the set he played a slowly unfolding rendition of the Zombies’ “She’s Not There,” the deliberate pacing highlighting the plaintiveness of the melody.

What’s hard to get at here is the drama, the tension and release that the band flexed so deftly. For whatever reason you don’t get a lot of post-rock trios—with the exception of Trans Am, most outfits tend towards larger formats, intentionally condensing and complicating the music. Here, with a trio in a jazz venue, with the historic elegance of the grand piano at the fore, the concept of post-rock—surpassing rock but also embodying it—felt most fully realized.