A Snowy Morning, a Spinning Record, and the Rhythms That Took Me to Cuba

By Chaz Chambers, Founder of Havana Music Tours

It’s a snowy spring morning in Colorado—the kind that makes you pause, sip your coffee a little slower, and let the moment unfold. My six-month-old son is hanging out with me in the living room, and we’ve got an Afro-Cuban jazz record spinning on my new Rega Planar 1 Plus. It’s the first real high-quality turntable I’ve ever owned, and I didn’t realize how much of a difference it would make. This morning, everything sounds clearer—crisper. It’s the first time I’ve truly heard this record.

I bought this album years ago, probably around 2015 or 2016, when I was touring with Ringling Brothers Circus as a drummer. I can’t remember exactly where—some record store along the road—but I do remember picking it up with a kind of curiosity. At that point, I had already studied a little bit of Cuban music—things like the difference between rumba and son, or playing basic variations of guaguancó. But in music school, we never really dove into Afro-Cuban jazz or talked much about Chano Pozo. My interest came more from listening and exploring on my own.

When I found that record, something clicked. The rhythms pulled me in deeper than anything I’d heard before. Even though I didn’t know it at the time, that record was one of the things that nudged me closer to Cuba—to wanting to go there, learn more, and see it all for myself.

And the funny thing is, I didn’t even know it was possible to go to Cuba. Like most Americans, I assumed travel there was off-limits. But within a year or two of buying that album, I found myself walking the streets of Havana, studying music firsthand, and falling in love with the depth and soul of Cuban culture.

Listening this morning, on a much better sound system, I can hear so much more in the grooves—especially in the drums. The crispness of the congas, the phrasing of the horns, the way the percussion drives the whole thing forward with power and precision. It reminds me how much Afro-Cuban jazz owes to innovators like Chano Pozo, who fused the folklore and street rhythms of Cuba with the harmonic complexity of American bebop. He wasn’t even alive for the recording of the album I’m listening to—he died tragically in 1948—but his influence is everywhere in the music.

Sharing this record with my son this morning also meant a lot. His mom—my wife—is Cuban, and he is growing up half-Cuban, with a culture and musical legacy that’s deeply personal to our family. Even though he’s still too young to understand the music, I hope he can feel something in it. The rhythm. The history. The love. It’s important to me that he grows up with this music around him—not just because it’s part of my journey, but because it’s part of his.

Moments like this remind me how circular life can be. From a random record store on tour, to my first trip to Havana, to building Havana Music Tours, and now to quiet snowy mornings with my baby son—this music has been there the whole time. It’s guided me, challenged me, inspired me.

And especially in moments of stress, uncertainty, or just the chaos of life, it’s important to slow down for a second—put on a record, listen deeply, and appreciate small things. Music like this has a way of grounding us, reminding us who we are, and where we’re headed.