Edgar Meyer is an extraordinary musician, one of the most versatile in America. What does he do? What doesn’t he do? He is a double-bassist of the highest rank. He plays concertos with symphony orchestras, and sits in with Garth Brooks, Lyle Lovett, et al. And he is a composer. He composes some of those concertos he plays with symphony orchestras. He has also composed a violin concerto for Hilary Hahn. And he composes music in more popular realms.

It’s important to point out that he does all of these things well. Anyone, I guess, can engage in a range of activities. It’s something else entirely to excel in all of them.

On Wednesday night, Mr. Meyer appeared in Zankel Hall at the center of a trio. His partners were Jerry Douglas, on the Dobro — a species of guitar — and Sam Bush, on the mandolin. Mr. Bush also plays the violin, or rather, fiddle.

Zankel Hall is the basement performance space in the Carnegie building, and when it first opened, in 2003, Carnegie officials promised it would be a place for cool. Accordingly, the lighting on Wednesday night was funky, and the audience was dressed casually. Mr. Meyer wore a shirt and tie; his partners were in similar garb.

Bantering with the crowd, Mr. Douglas said, “It’s Halloween, and we dressed as Edgar.”

What kind of music did they play? Hard to describe. Sort of roots jazz. Sort of “Hee Haw” meets the Blue Note. The music was twangy, soulful, groovy, hip, honest. There were elements of pop music, and of country. Frankly, I have come to think of music like this as Edgar Meyer-type music.

Many of the pieces heard on Wednesday night were by Mr. Meyer; Mr. Douglas contributed his share, too. Refreshing about all of the music was its minimum of doodling — of aimlessness. The pieces had structure and made sense. Pretty much absent was what I’ve called diarrheic jazz — a curse of the last half-century. The music from this trio was intelligent, nicely varied, and enjoyable.

Sometimes jazz, or jazz-like, performers act as though they’re paid by the note. You get musical (or unmusical) clutter. These players knew when to be spare, when to let air between the notes.

Piece after piece, they blended, grooved, and clicked. I should mention that they used amplification. Too much amplification? This, too, is a curse of recent years. Everywhere you go, you hear music that is overamplified, often grossly overamplified. You go into a smallish restaurant with a low roof, and the ensemble has enough amplification to jolt Yankee Stadium.

Anyway, our trio did not go overboard, but they may have walked up to the line.

Mr. Bush, with his mandolin, is one of the great head-nodders in all of music. In fact, every musical thought or impulse in him comes through his body. Mr. Douglas is not only a good player but a charming and funny stage presence. He often teased Mr. Meyer, doing most of the talking. Mr. Meyer was a kind of straight man, wearing a bemused expression. Sometimes, Messrs. Douglas and Meyer reminded me of Penn & Teller.

As a performer, Mr. Meyer has a wonderfully unhurried, flavorful sense of music. (He has this in his compositions too, of course.) In one solo piece, he proved he’s not above unleashing a little virtuosity — a little razzle-dazzle. In all, he gets the most out of the double bass possible. And, in doing so, he is respectful, rather than bullying, of his instrument. He knows what it can do; he serves it, and it serves him.

I might say too that, though a big man, Mr. Meyer moves gracefully — musically — as he plays. The guy’s cool — not self-consciously cool, just cool. I might note as well that he’s a toe-tapper — which most good musicians, in my experience, are not.

The stage of Zankel Hall was full of talent, life, and appreciation. Appreciation of what? Of the various musical traditions of America.

We have known other bassists who’ve branched out. Serge Koussevitzky, the conductor, was a bassist. So is a contemporary conductor: Zubin Mehta. If Mr. Meyer did nothing else but play the bass, he would be a standout (unglamorous as the instrument normally is). But that’s only the beginning.

Is there anyone else like Mr. Meyer? A man who can play all types of music, and compose all types of music? There’s André Previn, of course: He’s at the top of the list. But that list is not very long — not very long at all.