There’s a generally accepted piece of so-called wisdom going around town that would have all traditional New Orleans jazz musicians playing the same eight songs over and over because “that’s all that the people want to hear.” This attitude is based on real experience gleaned from playing for tips from drunken conventioneers on Bourbon Street, where the joke always ran that “Saints” could not be summoned by Washington, Lincoln or even Hamilton. To this mindset, recordings are just another piece of merchandise to flog to customers looking for a keepsake of their big night out that will last longer than the next day’s hangover. Aside from the fact that this attitude produces a lot of cynical musicians, it also poisons their creative instincts, which can only atrophy in the face of such indifference. The musicians in question and their mostly interchangeable takes on the New Orleans canon are all too familiar, which is why their albums are for the most part forgettable.

And which is also why Creole Nocturne is such an intoxicating variation on the standard fare. Pianist Tom McDermott has cleverly placed veteran traditional jazz cornetist Connie Jones in a context in which several songs he has played ten million times, including “When It’s Sleepy Time Down South,” “Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans” and “King Porter Stomp,” are juxtaposed with compositions he never even remotely thought about playing and others he was completely unaware of. Jones is a thoughtful improviser with a respect for the work that almost might be called oblivious because it’s so instinctive.

McDermott cuts a sprightly tempo for the brass band staple “Just a Little While to Stay Here” and Jones adds a solo of improvised brilliance, floating over the top of the rollicking piano line. The effect is amazing, especially on the final choruses, where McDermott seems to be playing double time to the relaxed Jones until he cuts across the beat on his final statement to nail McDermott at the wire.

The inventiveness of McDermott’s vision is obvious on the title track, a jazz arrangement of Chopin’s E-flat Nocturne Opus 9, No. 2. It’s a formal exercise for McDermott, whose piano references Chopin’s cadence, ragtime and early jazz, but Jones handles his job of translating the melody into jazz improvisation as if he’d been trained at Juilliard. Similarly, the stripped down arrangement of Louis Moreau Gottschalk’s “Danza” and the French Vals-Musette “Ambivalence” are both familiar ground to McDermott, but you’d never think it was alien territory to Jones the way he sashays through his parts with seeming effortlessness.

One of the remarkable things about the album is that by placing himself in a support role, McDermott’s playing has never sounded more relaxed, even as he’s doing the contextual heavy lifting. I guess that’s because the context is so joyful. Mel Lastie’s “Keep on Gwine” is a New Orleans delight, a simple, syncopated melody that just makes you want to dance. And on “Satchmo Speaks,” McDermott employs one of his favorite tropes, taking a familiar melody and writing a new song around it. In this case it’s a signature passage from Louis Armstrong, used in almost all cases to sum up a solo, but it’s employed here as a jumping off point, an idea that excites Jones so much he improvises a whole new exegesis on Armstrong’s approach to structuring his solos. This is an outstanding example of idea and execution working hand-in-hand and a real treasure map revealing some of the destinations traditional New Orleans music can still journey to.