Experiencing art can be life-changing. In 1957, a young Navroze Contractor heard his first jazz record, a music that was different from everything he had heard before. The same year, his mother took him to his first photography exhibition — The Family of Man, curated by the American photographer, Edward Steichen. One record and an exhibition changed Contractor’s life: he decided to become a photographer of jazz musicians when he grew up.

It isn’t the melody, but the beat that drew Contractor to jazz, and he records this rhythm on film by focusing on the moving hands and swaying bodies of musicians, bringing to life the beauty and cadence of jazz (Listening Camera, Seagull Arts and Media Resource Centre, Sept 23-Oct 4). Whether it is Max Roach or Billy Bang, the musicians’ hands are in blurry motion, playing drums, violin, trumpet and double bass. Even when not performing, their arms seem restless: the glass of water in Michael Clifton’s hands dances to an invisible beat, as he stands in a cluttered space.

Contractor is a purist. He lays great stress on light, composition and perspective, and shoots in black and white. Most of his photographs are taken in muted light. There is a wonderful picture of John Stubblefield surrounded by microphones and wires. He is dressed in a white shirt, and is holding a trumpet. The background is dark, occasionally ruptured by dim bulbs. There are two other men, but they are in shadows, and the camera captures the master in a patch of light. The restraint and economy that Contractor shows in the use of light is a deliberate attempt to reveal the interiority of this magical, but dimly-lit, world of the underdog’s music.

The performers’ discipline and commitment are total, and this intense engagement is reflected in the images of Tania Maria, George Coleman (pictures top and bottom) or Sony Rollins with a saxophone, his veins sticking out on his sweaty neck with the effort. Even the moments of leisure are spent immersed in music, and we see Louis Banks, in pyjamas, with his face turned away from the camera, working on notes. Those familiar with David Gahr’s photographs of American musicians will find a similar strain in Contractor who attempts to unmask the larger-than-life images of musicians. It is strange not to see a single photograph of the jazz clubs or audiences in this exhibition, for they are integral to jazz, as are the artists. This is the reason why Contractor’s photographs are, in a sense, deficient. They lack the completeness and the brilliance of, for instance, William Claxton’s classic images of the American jazz scene — clubs filled with smoky rooms, smiling faces in hats, and ornate dresses — that freeze the musician, spectator and premises in a perfect moment.