I’ve Been Here Before

A Reflection on Django, Justice, and the Unexpected Kinship of Sound

Liessa and I often spend two weeks each year in New Jersey. It has become a gentle rhythm marked by laughter with our grandchildren and moments of quiet rediscovery together. On our most recent visit, a friend invited us to a Django Reinhardt style concert. She happens to be married to Stephane Wrembel, widely regarded as one of the finest Django guitarists performing today. He is French, which somehow made the evening feel even more intriguing.

Our paths first crossed with the Wrembels two years ago in Maplewood under circumstances that only time could explain. That story can wait.

We arrived at the concert with no clear expectations. Stephane opened the evening by introducing a single guitarist. His fingers moved with quiet command. The melodies felt playful and mournful at once, as though the guitar itself was holding a conversation with something just beyond reach. Then a harmonica player joined him. Her tone was raw and deeply expressive. She bent notes until they seemed to moan and then laugh.

They played only two pieces together. Yet each one grew in intensity and improvisation until it soared in ways I had not anticipated. I watched how they trusted one another. How they leaned in. How they took turns leading and yielding. There was no sheet music. Only listening. Only response. Only release.

It struck me that justice often begins this way. Not with systems or declarations, but with human improvisation. With attentiveness. With risk. With a willingness to respond faithfully to what is unfolding.

I am not a trained musician. Still, I have been given enough exposure over the years to recognize chords and tonal movement. Sharps and flats. Major and minor keys. Consonant and dissonant tensions. I came to this music as a novice, not fluent in the language of jazz, but open to its voice.

What surprised me was not the technical mastery. It was the feeling.

Something stirred in me that felt like recognition. I was not simply hearing the music. I was being drawn into it.

The room seemed to recede. My mind opened outward. And quietly, without explanation, a thought surfaced.

I have been here before.

“True justice can sound like music. Unwritten. Unexpected. Unforgettable. Played by those the world overlooks, it sings of mercy that refuses to disappear.” — Ron Randle