This article captures a 2012 Guelph Jazz Festival performance by the late Abdullah Ibrahim at the River Run Centre, incorporating the concept of ‘zanshin’ to describe the profound, meditative atmosphere. The piece reflects on the pianist’s martial arts-influenced, “Meditation in Motion” style, connecting it to themes of freedom and the legacy of other jazz giants.

In 2012, during a remarkable Guelph Jazz Festival, I was fortunate to receive accreditation reporting for Latin Jazz Network. One concert in particular touched me deeply — a once-in-a-lifetime event: South African master musician Abdullah Ibrahim in solo piano performance.

The River Run Centre was packed. A photographer from the webzine was on hand, but we were disappointed when an announcement was made that photography would not be permitted.

Globally celebrated South African jazz icon and pianist Abdullah Ibrahim — formerly known as Dollar Brand — passed away in Prien am Chiemsee, Bavaria, Germany at the age of 91.

When I heard that Ibrahim had passed, I was immediately transported back to that historic performance, one I had the privilege to witness firsthand.

Head bowed, the energy in the room palpable as zanshin—an awareness beyond the obviously apparent, a deep connection to spirit, and a utilization of the collective energy. As someone with an extensive martial arts background, I have always lived by the saying “motion is lotion,” believing that physical and spiritual fluidity keeps the soul alive. Watching Ibrahim, I saw the ultimate Meditation in Motion. His movements were deliberate, grounded, and deeply connected to his own martial arts discipline.

Yet, the piano also became something weaponized — a device that sparked deeply profound thoughts of pain, peace, love, hate, turmoil, and tenacity.

In titling my 2012 report Hymns to Freedom, I was, in a subtle way, also paying tribute to Canadian piano legend Oscar Peterson. The comparison was not in their distinct virtuosity, but in the shared use of music as a vehicle for freedom.

My experience of both master musicians carried with it their affiliations with other giants — trumpeter Hugh Masekela and drum icon Max Roach. As I sat in the audience painting these portraits of musical sound, I couldn’t help but be drawn into a fantastical jam session playing out in my mind: How would Max approach this tune? What would Hugh be doing? Albums like Streams of Consciousness and Jazz Epistles washed over me, playing concurrently as I meditated on this stirring piano virtuosity.

When the concert ended, I felt completely satisfied. The maestro had laid his soul bare. There was nothing left that needed to be said.

Thank you, maestro, for this experience and for the legacy of music you gift us. Rest in power, Ibrahim.

Latin Jazz Network original 2012 featured report: Abdullah Ibrahim – Hymns of Freedom

Sonny Rollins passed away on May 25, 2026, at his home in Woodstock, New York. He was 95. With his passing, jazz loses one of the last living greats of the bebop era — a Saxophone Colossus who, alongside John Coltrane and Charlie Parker, shaped the sound of an art form and the imaginations of everyone lucky enough to hear him play.

I was one of the lucky ones.

In May of 2007, Rollins and company stormed into Toronto’s Massey Hall on the opening leg of a world tour in support of a new album, Sonny Please, released on his own Doxy Records. The group accompanying Mr. Rollins that night was made up of Clifton Anderson on trombone, Bobby Broom on guitar, Bob Cranshaw on bass, Steve Jordan on drums, and Kimati Dinizulu on percussion.

I missed the introduction and the first song — a fact I will always regret. Because there was nothing quite like seeing Rollins in his transformer mode: the old man hobbles out onto the stage, hauls what appears to be a giant horn to his mouth, and before your eyes, the transformation takes place. Instantly, the old man becomes a mighty bebop god. The huge, melodic, wickedly swinging tenor sound billows from the bell of the horn; the musician’s body turns elastic — bending, swaying, dancing with his saxophone — and the most beautiful sounds imaginable fill the hall. A Saxophone Colossus, indeed.

I came in with the rest of the latecomers, settled in, and took in the scene. Mr. Rollins, dressed to kill and looking like a New York fashion statement, greeted us with a characteristic piece of mischief — a warning to beware of the unions. “No taping or videoing the performance,” he said with a grin. “I just don’t want to see anybody get into any trouble.”

At 76, Sonny Rollins was already an inspiration in his endurance and his refusal to surrender intensity. The band around him played with a relaxed confidence, conserving energy for the long haul with their esteemed leader. When Rollins took to the stage, jazz history came to life. His tone was exceptional, his style fresh and vibrant, full of fire — communicating with a sense of urgency, laying down bold statements of pure melodic grace, elegant and explosive in equal measure.

The house was a good mix of young and old. I overheard a gentleman nearby reminiscing about the legendary May 1953 Charlie Parker quintet concert at this same venue — Roach, Mingus, Powell, and Gillespie on the same stage. Rollins wasn’t part of that night, but he had played alongside all of those giants at various times. He carried that whole lineage in every phrase he played.

The sextet worked through songs from the new album — the title track “Sonny Please,” a dynamite tune full of great saxophone breaks, with Rollins still exploring and inventing at the highest level; “Serenade,” reminiscent of “Auld Lang Syne”; “Someday I’ll Find You”; and “Stairway to the Stars.” The standards came too — “Don’t Stop the Carnival” and “St. Thomas,” the calypso tune he had made his own decades before.

He didn’t announce songs. He was all business, commanding the stage. Clifton Anderson contributed some fiery trombone work once warmed up, and percussionist Kimati Dinizulu matched Rollins blow for blow, producing sounds from every corner of the globe. But the night belonged to Sonny. He could do no wrong. He played with integrity, honesty, fire, and passion. The love he had for this music was written into every note, every howl, every breath.

When the concert ended, and we applauded for an encore, I heard voices around me chanting — We Love You, Sonny.

There was no encore. Sonny Rollins simply waved. Then, leaning into the microphone one last time, he said: “Will see you again, I hope!”

We never did. But what he gave us was enough to last a lifetime. Rest in peace, Saxophone Colossus. The music you made will never stop playing.

Too Darn Hot!

In eager anticipation of a live performance at the renowned Jazz Cafe in Costa Rica—quite close to my vacation house in Escazú—I secured tickets to see New Yorker by way of Cuba, Ariacne Trujillo, making a special appearance with her band.

I’d reserved seats for myself and my partner, Nina, a few days in advance, and with good reason: the venue was nearly sold out. My table was positioned stage left, kitty-corner to the piano setup. Having studied the musicians’ layout, I chose the side that would place me in close proximity to Ms. Trujillo’s keyboard.

The show was scheduled for 8 PM. We arrived at 7:10 and settled into the pleasant performance space. This wasn’t my first time at the club—a couple of years ago, I’d caught a contemporary flamenco group here, a modern jazz- fusion meets flamenco-rock affair that left an impression.

Slowly, the club filled to near capacity by the time the musicians took the stage: a septet featuring saxophone, drums, conga and percussion, guitar with vocals and percussion, electric bass, and Ms. Trujillo on electric piano and vocals.

Ariacne Trujillo greeted the audience and was received with genuine warmth. A quick wave of her hand after checking her piano setup, and they launched into a rousing opening number, heavy on the percussion, with the conga player deeply engaged.

A few songs into what would be one long set, I sensed that Trujillo’s band was a local pickup ensemble. For the most part, they held back, awaiting her directions. The tunes—all engaging dance numbers in the rumba, tumbao and salsa styles—showcased her command.

Trujillo is a magnificent pianist. Her fingers dance across the keys, sometimes light and playful, other times pounding with force. Her sense of percussion runs extremely deep—I got the feeling she was drumming on the keyboard itself. Her style leaves no room for passive listening; you find yourself moving, and if not physically dancing, at least internally grooving hard. By the fourth tune, the crowd was up and dancing. Some of the dancers were excellent practitioners of Latin popular styles, and one couple who took to the stage seemed as comfortable there as the band members themselves.

An overall fun show that clearly appealed to the majority of the audience. For me, though, the performance wasn’t quite what I’d expected. Ms. Trujillo has a reputation in my realm as a fiery pianist who ventures deep into the Afro-Cuban jazz idiom. I’m familiar with her playing on the album Legacy, released in 2025—a recording loaded with familiar names at the top of their game: trumpeter Alexis Baró, bassist John Benítez, Yunior Terry on violin, and many more.

Ariacne Trujillo’s voice reminds me of the famous Cuban singers—the great Celia Cruz, with hints of Omara Portuondo—yet she has her own distinct style. One of grandeur. She is powerful, and her voice possesses a wide tonal range: at times very soothing, at others sharp and able to pierce your soul. She exudes joy and passion for the music, both in her piano playing and her vocalizing.

Not what I was expecting, but still a valuable treat to witness a talented artist take complete control of her band, her music, and her audience. Brava!

Ariacne Trujillo’s Costa Rican Band

Ariacne Trujillo – director, lead vocals and piano
José Obando – drums
Michel Carbonell – congas and backup vocals
José Elizondo – sax
Carlos Flores – güiro, guitar, backup vocals
Jorge Bringas – bass and backup vocals