I’ve been retired for a while now, and I’ve learned that routines matter. Every Sunday morning from 10 to noon, you’ll find me at Jones Coffee on Raymond in downtown Pasadena, listening to live jazz. I’ve been doing this for three years, and it’s become one of those things I’d really miss if it disappeared. Jones is what I call coffeehouse culture: a coffee shop with soul.

I go for the music, of course, but I stay for everything else: the coffee, the art, the people, and all the unexpected things that happen when you put a bunch of people together in one place. You never know what’s going to happen next. And that’s part of the fun.

Jones is an old industrial warehouse with high ceilings, bare walls, and furniture that has seen better days. The chairs aren’t comfortable, but the coffee is excellent. Local art covers the walls, and behind glass doors, you can watch the coffee being roasted. It’s part gallery, part neighborhood hangout, and on Sunday mornings, a jazz club.

I first came in 2023, shortly after moving to Pasadena. As a lifelong jazz fan, I was delighted to find the Goldline Jazz Collective playing in a coffee shop. The lineup changes often, with musicians dropping in to join the fun. The word collective is exactly right. These are working musicians who love jazz and want a place to play. Jones provides the space and a piano; the musicians play for tips and a bag of coffee beans. The band plays below an audacious, large neon sign from a motel that no longer exists. A marker that jazz is played here.

Sam Morgan has organized the Sunday sessions for a couple of years. He plays tenor saxophone with genuine energy and style. The lineup has stabilized somewhat in the past few months. Sam’s brother James plays piano, Frank Canino plays bass, and Julian Rodriguez is on drums. Other talented Los Angeles musicians sometimes join in. The result feels like a rehearsal that happens to have a live audience.

That’s what I like about jazz: nobody knows exactly where the music will go. A saxophone phrase inspires the piano; the bass changes direction; and the drummer takes everyone somewhere unexpected. There’s no stage separating the musicians from the audience. We’re not just listening to jazz; we’re watching it happen.

The audience gets involved, too. Children dance near the musicians or pretend to play toy instruments. One morning, Helen Kraus and I watched a little boy use a plastic toy as a saxophone, imitating Sam’s energetic playing. Another Sunday, a couple jumped up during an Ellington number and danced Western swing in the aisles. Everyone applauded.

Over time, Jones has become a gathering place for Pasadena Village members. At least 25 Villagers have joined us, and we’ve claimed a corner around the wooden tables near the band. There’s always someone familiar to talk with between tunes. The reactions are part of the fun. When Norma Shamas heard Sam play, she said, “This guy is fantastic.” Beverly Lafontaine agreed: “These musicians can really play.” A few weeks later, Beverly brought her teenage granddaughter, who plays piano and bass. Patrick Mathews, our Music Group Organizer, is a regular. He has told me, “This is the best part of my week.” Paula Rao once pointed out the drummer’s use of polyrhythms. Gigi Driessen put it more simply: “I love this kind of music. It makes me feel better just listening.” Monet Martinez feels the same way.

Kim Santell first came for the music and gradually became part of our conversations. She eventually joined Pasadena Village and began organizing the Easterners Neighborhood group. Many other Villagers have brought family and friends. Helen Kraus often comes with her daughter Rachel. Patrick Mathews brings visiting family from Ohio. Barbara Madden has family from San Francisco who love seeing mom enjoying herself with friends. Jones is an easy place to introduce someone to what makes Pasadena special. The music can get loud, so we catch up between songs. Sometimes a smile, a nod, or a shared look when the band really gets going is enough.

I remember one Sunday when the musicians had packed up, but the late Sally Asmundson, Barbara, and I stayed for another hour, talking about the future. Whenever I return to Jones, I think of that conversation. The music and the friendships have become part of the same experience.

That’s coffeehouse culture to me. It isn’t about fancy interiors or comfortable chairs. It’s about music, art, coffee, and people coming together naturally. Musicians get to play the music they love; children discover jazz; friendships develop; and Sunday morning becomes something to look forward to.

Jones has become an important part of my life in Pasadena. I order my cappuccino, find my seat, and wait to see who shows up and what the band will play. No velvet curtains. No dress code. Just coffee, art, people, and jazz. Every Sunday, we discover it all over again.

Come join us. It’s fun.

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