Ambrose Akinmusire, Ronnie Scott’s, London

There was a sense of occasion surrounding Ambrose Akinmusire’s first Ronnie Scott’s gig as a leader. The trumpeter was on the radar after appearing last year with John Escreet’s New Yorker band, and has just released a debut album on Blue Note. Lyrical, uncompromising and laden with technical skill, When the Heart Emerges Glistening suggests that the iconic label is once again nurturing new jazz talent. Expectations were high, and it took a meditative silence from Akinmusire – who stood impassively on stage, his eyes closed – to quieten the background hum.

Within two minutes he had summed up past glories and laid a foundation for the future. Breathy and brittle at the outset, Akinmusire squeezed a blare into a whisper, and angular modernism into a ditty, before cueing his band for the bittersweet melody of “Confessions To My Unborn Daughter”.

Akinmusire’s style is rich with references but they are reshaped in unexpected ways. He drapes long, jagged lines over swirling rhythms, adds semiquaver flutters, then swoops into high-note fragility. Sensual slurs and questioning glides explode into forceful sustains, and detailed investigations of harmonic logic end on a barely audible long note. His control of sound was quite extraordinary, and at this gig was matched by his band’s sensitivity.

The first set presented compositions from his album, the second introduced new material. Both conjoined tunes with angled duets and solo showcases. There was the lovely ballad “Regret (No More)”, two tributes to grandmothers – bassist Harish Raghavan’s “Jaya” and “Ruby” from Akinmusire – and an episodic closer from drummer Justin Brown, “Snakebite”. The boppy line set up chattering microtoned trumpet, there was a scintillating drum solo of rolls and rattles and an urgent play-out over walking bass. The first foray into straight-ahead jazz swung with vigour and ended on a single unison beat.

But it was the combination of technical excellence and accessible simplicity that really stood out. Compositions were so tuneful that they cried out for a lyric. Bass and drums roamed freely but were anchored by pianist Sam Harris’s bittersweet variations. And while saxophonist Walter Smith III trenchantly reinvented melodies of his own making, his duet with Akinmusire was a highlight moment. Harmonising an unfolding sequence of full-measure cadences, they ended discordantly at a volume bordering on silence.

Ronnie Scott’s