Wynton Marsalis & the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra, Barbican, London

In the old days, the days so beloved of Wynton Marsalis, trumpeters used to be kings. It was "King" Buddy Bolden. There's no need even to add parentheses to King Oliver, for the royal denominator clings to his given name as tightly as the skin on a snare drum. Wynton Marsalis has not been awarded the title, but, whether he chose it or not, he does sit on the jazz world's throne. And it's time for him to step down.

His technical ability on the trumpet is not doubted. Neither is the energy he brings to his Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra, nor his love of jazz history and his determination to bring it to new audiences. He can play the crowd pleaser, as he did on Monday night at the Barbican, snickering and cackling through his mute in a Cotton Club gut bucket display that delighted the audience.

But there is something missing with Wynton – passion. The first half of the concert concentrated on the music of Art Blakey, in whose Jazz Messengers the young Marsalis came to fame. The opener was "Free For All", a Wayne Shorter number from 1964. The original recording shows Blakey ablaze, driving his young disciples on with jangling cross rhythms, bush fire snare rolls of almost unbearable intensity, and then sudden dynamic drops that whip the ground from beneath his sidemen's feet. The LCJO's arrangement totally failed to convey that sense of urgency, without which there can be no true understanding of the great Blakey, a titan of a man who remained vital and exciting to the end.

Buhaina (Blakey's adopted Muslim name) would have had words for the band, all fine players, but musicians who – with the notable exception of Marcus Printup, a trumpeter who might be able to best Marsalis in a cutting contest – were bizarrely timid and light-toned in their delivery. Do they not know that a big band is supposed to be a swaggering, shiny beast that can swish the rest of the traffic off the road with the tiniest flick of its tail? Haven't they heard of Buddy Rich, or Louie Bellson?

The second half began with a three-piece suite with the scaled down LCJO accompanied by the JazzXchange dance troupe. Musicians and dancers mixed arrangements with improvisation, a more formal setting in which all shone. I would gladly have spent a whole evening listening and watching more, and this, along with Marsalis's recent work that adds symphony orchestra and chorus to a jazz band, suggests that his skills are increasingly as a conservatoire musician.

Many in the audience will have enjoyed themselves. But I would say this is partly because of the mystique attached to Marsalis's name. Could one have had a bad time at a concert conducted by Bernstein or Karajan, for instance? Of course the answer is yes, but it might be hard to admit to oneself, so overawing were their maestral presences.

The truth about this emperor is not that he has no clothes. It's just that his apparel is less lustrous than we have all come to believe.