There are many ­flavours of ­fusion: jazz-funk, jazz-rock, acid jazz, bluescreen and punk-jazz. Few of them are cool. Nils ­Petter ­Molvaer, however, is cool. The ­Norwegian ­trumpeter was one of the first jazzers to internalise the shift in ­electronica at the dawn of the 21st ­century – the way digital ­culture was changing not just how ­people make music, but how they consume it. Since the ­landmark album Khmer, he has ­maintained his ­heavyweight status, forging a parallel career as a soundtrack composer.

This concert, however, was a dud. There were great moments, but his trio failed to match the high ­standard of his new release, Hamada. The opening was promising: Molvaer, hardly ­visible in the darkness, played low notes as digital art filled the screen behind, building ­lattices of sound and vision. Then he sang softly into the trumpet's bell microphone, ­looping and sustaining these tones to create a choral backdrop on his laptop, through which guitarist Stian Westerhus and drummer Audun Kleive emerged.

These are three of Norway's finest musicians, yet through an hour and a half there were too few moments to savour, and too many to forget. The ­performance was shapeless and relentless, repeatedly building to noisy ­climaxes before settling back to glitchy meanderings and muffled loops. It lacked the form of composed music, while rarely generating the surprise and delight of unfettered improvisation.

On record, ­Molvaer sculpts all these elements to create an adventurous ­setting for his fabulous trumpet-­playing. At this gig, despite the sonic beauty of ­Westerhus's bowed guitar or the ­otherworldly noises Kleive coaxed from his kit, it sounded as if they weren't ­listening to each other, and that's not cool.