I can always count on the free (mostly) and open doors at the Cleveland Museum of Art to welcome my creative cravings. Throughout February, CMA celebrated Black History Month with programs and events highlighting African American contributions to the culture. Curious about a few things, I ventured out on a Wednesday evening—timing my visit to align with a docent-led Black American Art tour and an evening musical performance by Nate Smith.
Arriving after work, I met up with other tour-goers in the atrium. If you search the museum’s collection online, there’s a filtered list of Black American artists, but not everything is on view. The tour, however, focused on select pieces in a few galleries, encouraging us to take a deeper look into the framed scenes. We learned about the artists, their mediums, and the historical contexts of their works, pausing for small discussions about what stood out to our gazing eyes.
The tour was good activation for the creative consciousness, and as I was heading out, I noticed the crowd warming up for Nate Smith’s performance. The energy was magnetic—a mix of eclectic music lovers (admittedly, I was being a bit judgy) filing in, each giving off that they know what they’re about to hear kind of vibe. Intrigued, I decided to grab a ticket and stay for the show—because I’ve heard that a little spontaneity is good for the brain circuits.
Settling into my favorite balcony center seat in Gartner Auditorium, recently named Suzanne and Paul Westlake Performing Arts Center, I did a quick Google search, followed Smith on Spotify, and prepared for what I hoped would be my next musical obsession.
I had never been to a drummer-led performance before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but the stage setup alone gave me a clue. Red-lit accompanying musician setups hinted at something atmospheric. Smith, as the bandleader, was joined by Tim Lefebvre on bass and Jason Lindner on piano and keyboards. Though this was their Cleveland debut, Smith already had fans in the audience—he has them everywhere, thanks to his Grammy nominations and genre-spanning collaborations. Oh… and maybe the two decades worth of experience. Before the music started, Smith took the mic and casually dropped an unexpected note:
The performance would be fully improvised.
As in, the whole thing. Every… note…
I caught the look of elation in the crowd, as concert mates exchanged wide-eyed glances with oh, this is about to be good head nods. I settled further into my seat, preparing for a new kind of listening. We were witnessing composition in real-time—free-spirited, funky, and fluid. They were having fun, and that made it even more intriguing. The performance felt like one long, seamless set, with a brief intermission somewhere in the middle. If I had to guess, they ran it back at least eleven times—the last note of one melting effortlessly into the first note of the next.
As the night opened with a sonic vibe, layers of repetitive, meditative tones that almost had a Hindustani feel, gradually intensifying warmed the ears up. The transition into the next came slow and steady, with a rhythmic, almost spoken-word cadence, though the words themselves never fully materialized. Then, the moment arrived—Nate Smith’s wrists became a blur, drumsticks moving so fast they seemed to chase themselves. The next shift felt cinematic—something out of The Lion King soundtrack, rich with percussive energy, like a pulse African dancers could line the aisles to. It was fascinating how the trio seemed to intuitively anticipate the next move, filling spaces with sound in ways that felt both spontaneous and intentional. By the third “song,” the room was electric. Smith worked up a sweat, moving from seated to standing, his rhythms locking in with Lefebvre’s rolling basslines while Lindner steadied the moment on the keys. Then, in an instant, the sound evolved again—leaning into something almost techno-inspired, digital, but warm.
The fluidity was fantastic—like jazz, but not jazz. Like a rap battle was approaching, but arrived as something appropriate for my yoga flow. It wasn’t long before the beat slowed, shifting into lo-fi chill, where things started to feel like home. This was their happy place, and they knew it. The chemistry was undeniable—the kind of natural groove that only happens when musicians trust each other’s instincts. The bass came alive in a staccato rhythm, while Lindner—the night’s unofficial MVP—gave the audience more than a few full-body rolls, completely immersed in the moment. Post-intermission, the soundscape returned to the jungle—layered and atmospheric, almost cinematic again. I closed my eyes here, letting it settle.
Then, a shift. A new instrument appeared in Smith’s hands, something he shook with one while keeping rhythm with the other. The bass mimicked it. It felt experimental, vulnerable, a moment of musical curiosity unfolding live. The night built up to an all-out jam session, where it was clear that they weren’t just playing—they were discovering something new together. And I wondered if they felt the tension of knowing they might never play this exact composition again in the same way. They’ll get better. They always will. But this particular meeting of minds, this trusting push-and-pull of looks, gestures, and improvisational cues—this was a moment that belonged only to us, to this FeelSpace, to that night.
The pianist played like a DJ, at times pushing the beat just off enough to make us question the rhythm—only to land it perfectly. And then, just like that, the night ended on a vibrant note.
After an encore (or two), they left the stage like they had someplace to be. And honestly? I wanted to go, too. (even on a school night 🙂
Instead, I settled for a deep dive into Smith’s discography, retracing the rhythms of the night through his recorded work. If you’re curious, the performance felt closest to his early Pocket Change albums—raw, exploratory, full of movement. But if you’re looking for something polished yet deeply soulful, the Grammy-nominated Kinfolk is a good place to start.
Check him out: https://www.natesmithdrums.com/bio
mj
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