Being a jazz drummer, even in New Orleans, is a lot like being a writer anywhere; when people ask what you do for a living, they usually say, “That’s awesome!” Followed by a mostly innocuous follow-up: “So what do you do for a living”? (It doesn’t help that their assessment is usually correct.)

Drummer James Clark’s day job was—at least it appears to be past tense—putting the swing in the local country-swing combo Gal Holiday and the Honky Tonk Revue (and also a side project with the Americana-ish NOLA County). Solo or not, his first musical statement under his own name is a bold one, splitting the difference between jazz fusion, prog-rock lite, and your darker sort of movie soundtrack. Definitely aimed at the headphones, in other words, and not the dance floor; these eleven tracks average out around five minutes, for most of which Clark’s beats are positively martial.

When they’re present, the makeshift band of local pros he’s assembled act as a cross between a jazz trio and a backing band: solos shift between trumpet, flute, and cello, but most of the considerable atmosphere comes from Clark’s keyboard—not piano—textures. The result is surprisingly warm and open, matching the title landscapes: jarring yet delicate on “Swimming Through Space,” languid and wise on “Shells.” It’s as if he took a vacation from the cowboy music, made a hard right off the trail, and headed deep into the brush. Whatever he ends up doing for a living, he’s definitely proven he can survive out there on his own.