There is a spot that exists in Central Park in New York which perfectly encapsulates the city. In spring this year, my wife and I walked past Strawberry Fields (a ridiculous ‘tribute’ to the late John Lennon), avoiding the camera-fixated tourists, and walked in parallel to the splendid mock Gothic Dakota building outside the park. Resting on a ledge underneath some trees we heard the dulcet tones of a bassist — a smart looking Hispanic guy who played tough, low humming tones which reverberated across the grass and hovered in the warm air. A drummer matched him for soul, drumming out placating yet percussive rhythms into the uptown air and an elderly black saxophonist, resplendent in thrift store chic, blew like his life depended on it. Out of the park and you’re into Spanish Harlem — Central Park’s mix of storybook characters and tranquillity gives way to edgy New York. Fifth Avenue’s tree-lined street becomes less green and more grey yet still evokes a beauty that only an energetic city can. And if you draw a triangle between the grandiose Dakota, the serenity of Central Park and the funky, street scene of Spanish Harlem, the perfect soundtrack would be the music of Robert Glasper.

At the Jazz Café on a bitterly cold November evening, Glasper, eschewing single breasted suits for hip hop casualness (baggy jeans, work boots and well worn tee) lovingly enters into a trance on the piano, playing ‘angular’ notes à la Andrew Hill and you are in no doubt at his skills as a pianist. Subtle, refrained and refined piano playing was the order of the day. Glasper painted pictures of solitude and pensiveness which sat well next to Hip Hop and funk influenced numbers. The show was less of a storming tour de force than his gig earlier in the year at the Pizza Express, and more a long melange of enchanting ‘pure’ jazz with added touches of repetitive ‘loops’ and head nod beats for the Hip Hop crowd. Glasper’s skill is his ability to mix the two together with competent ease; no gaps, hesitation, awkwardness, or rushes to the bar as one side of the jazz coin get bored (the old school ‘pure jazz heads’ or new school Hip Hop beat merchants). At a Robert Glasper gig, silver haired fifty-somethings stand happily next to trainer-wearing twenty year olds, all craning their head for a better look at the master pianist. Another difference between this and the aforementioned Pizza Express gig was the length (longer than before) and quantity of tracks (less). The opening track Theolonius Monk’s ‘Think of One’, and new tracks’No Worries’ and ‘Meditation’ incorporated snatches of ‘J Dillalude’ and Ahmad Jamal’s ‘Swaziland’, as well as refrains from his current album — I noticed elements of ‘G & B’, ‘Y’Outta Praise Him’ and ‘Beatrice’ present.

Look into my eyes: the samurai kill

Glasper’s formidable skills are met in almost equal parts by the phenomenon that is Chris ‘Daddy’ Dave on drums. Chris Dave has a huge reputation with a voice of opinion holding him in some ways higher than Glasper. An in-demand drummer playing with the likes of Q Tip, Mint Condition and Me Shell Ndege Ocello (Ocello’s classic session for Gilles Peterson’s Worldwide show had Dave on drums), Dave (like Glasper) is comfortable playing straight ahead jazz next to hip hop inspired beats. With the former he is excellent, although not the best (that accolade would probably go to Jeff ’ Tain’ Watts, Brian Blade, Ralph Peterson or Gregory Hutchinson,) but he can hold his own against the finest jazz drummers. As a contemporary drummer covering a wide black music repertoire (soul, funk and hip hop etc) despite the strong competition he is probably the best.

Glasper’s easy-going demeanour is matched by the seemingly casualness of Dave. But appearances can be deceptive. The pair play off each other across a stage — poignant moments played by each (particularly impressive at the Jazz Cafe which for quiet sounds can suffer poor sound and audience noise — both not present at this gig) are ably supported by the other. They both look across the stage at each other with glances and a smile, and here’s the trick, if you look very closely you will see the glance ever so slightly turn into a stare. And like Samurai warriors armed for the kill they move in one fell swoop from some delicate spots on Theolonius Monk’s ‘No Worries’ to swish cutting strokes of heavy duty drums and spacious piano, the latter hypnotically on repeat like the best hip hop samples.

And when the twin swords of drum and piano have killed their prey, the two move back without pause or hesitation and play some beautiful, heart-warming jazz, which leaves you catching your breath. It is something which is evidence in Glasper’s ‘In My Element’ (my album of the year), where tracks such as ‘Of Dreams to Come’, ‘FTB’ and ‘Beatrice’ have little Hip Hop segues expertly sewn into them.

In the end like the best chess moves, you are so caught up in the artistry of the (jazz) moves of the Grandmaster Glasper you forget to spot the kill. The Black Knight ends with two tracks; Herbie Hancock’s ‘Maiden Voyage’ which manifests itself into Radiohead’s ‘Everything In Its Place’ (who else can play a 40 year old jazz classic and a modern rock/electronic hybrid not just together but into one track?) and as an encore his own composition GTB. The crowd (receptive, enthused and impressive for a Sunday night let alone for a jazz artist) are in awe of the jewels of pleasure the Grandmaster drops. Over the course of 90 minutes, the most exciting jazz artist of the moment sweeps over the black and whites. And at the end of the game, with an air of confidence and backed by two able pieces, he sits majestically as the King of the board.