The Jazz Brotherhood

It's a global thing

One of the true joys of my life is traveling the world, hearing jazz in far-off places, and connecting with fellow members of the jazz brotherhood. We’re a small tribe on this planet, but what we share runs deep—a love for the music that binds us across borders and time zones.

Jazz is the sound of the soul speaking in tongues—improvised, imperfect, and alive.

It drifts through alleyways in New Orleans where the brass bands still march like ghosts with purpose.

It floats over Tokyo rooftops, where late-night clubs squeeze Coltrane through tiny speakers into the neon sky. It burns in Paris basements, where expatriates and dreamers sip wine and sway to Django’s guitar. In Cape Town, it grooves with a South African lilt. In Havana, it dances with rum and revolution. In Mumbai, it bends around the tabla. In Stockholm, it freezes into something cool and Nordic.

Jazz is never static—it shapeshifts, absorbs, transforms. It carries the history of a people scarred by struggle but redeemed by rhythm. It remembers pain but sings anyway.

Jazz doesn’t care about your passport or your past. It doesn’t ask what god you pray to, who you love, or where you learned to count to four. It asks one thing: how do you feel right now?

And in that invitation, raw and real, people around the world find a home—not in sameness,

but in the shared spark of something deeply human.

On our way to Morocco recently, we spent a night in Mexico City before catching a direct ten-hour flight to Madrid the next day. It just so happened to be a Sunday—perfect timing to visit one of our favorite spots: La Lagunilla Antiques Market. This vibrant, open-air bazaar is a treasure trove of curiosities, packed with vintage furniture, rare vinyl, quirky collectibles, and the kind of oddities that seem to whisper stories from another era.

That morning, as we strolled into the market, the unmistakable, earthy scent of high-quality indica hung in the air. We passed two cheerful gentlemen clearly savoring the moment. I stopped, smiled, and asked if I might join them. They welcomed me with warmth and laughter, and after a single, surprisingly potent puff, we fell into a lively conversation—in Spanish, of course—about the virtues of fine Mexican cannabis. A few minutes later, with my spirit slightly elevated and my curiosity wide open, I wandered off into the market’s colorful maze, ready to see what surprises the day had in store.

Just moments later, I heard the unmistakable opening strains of “Gemini” by The Cannonball Adderley Sextet in New York—one of my all-time favorite tracks from one of jazz’s most iconic live recordings. Captured at the Village Vanguard in January 1962, that album was one of my earliest jazz purchases, and hearing Cannonball’s soaring solo echo through the market felt nothing short of magical. Even more surreal, it was through “Gemini” that I first discovered the brilliance of Jimmy Heath, who wrote the composition and who would later become a close friend—and, more than fifty years on, the subject of a documentary film I was honored to produce.

Drawn by the music, I stopped to take it all in—and that’s when I met Jorge, a kindred spirit and fellow jazz lover. We struck up a conversation that flowed as easily as a late-night jam session. Jorge turned out to be an artist—a sculptor and painter with a truly compelling body of work. Here are just a few examples of his creations:

We’ve been corresponding ever since and looking forward to our next visit to CDMX at the end of July.

So if you should happen to find yourself at the La Lagunilla Antiques Market in Mexico City, one Sunday morning, please stop by and say hello to Jorge, another member of the Jazz Brotherhood.

Until we meet again, let your conscience be your guide.