Mark Stryker’s the best of the best: ‘Jazz from Detroit’ rewrites America’s jazz story

Detroit has always been in the story. It just wasn’t placed at the center. The Best of the Best: Jazz from Detroit corrects that omission with precision, scholarship, and lived memory. Guided by writer-producer Mark Stryker, director-editor Dan Lowenthal, and producer Roberta Friedman, the film makes one assertion clear: you cannot tell the history of jazz without Detroit.

Detroit’s influence isn’t abstract. It’s Kenny Burrell, Ron Carter, Elvin Jones — and dozens more whose innovations shaped the sound of modern jazz. Stryker frames the city’s legacy bluntly: its musicians were essential, and their centrality was overlooked. The documentary reorders the hierarchy.

The filmmakers anchor the story in the forces that made Detroit a generational engine. Mentorship rooted in the 1950s. Audiences who demanded excellence. Civic pride that treated Black musical achievement as a defining cultural asset. Out of this matrix emerged a lineage of brilliance.

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The emotional heart stays with the African American community that created the music. Creativity under pressure. Resilience against structural racism. Cultural affirmation in the face of systemic hostility. The film insists on that truth: Detroit’s Black community shaped American music at the highest level.

Lowenthal’s directing evolved from Stryker’s book Jazz from Detroit, which provided breadth and complexity but couldn’t be translated wholesale. The film became its own organism: selective, shaped through editorial discovery, open to the surprises of production. History set the foundation; the documentary uncovered its own narrative.

Detroit beats unfold

Key historical beats structure the film — the Great Migration, the auto industry’s creation of a Black working and middle class, the rise and destruction of Black Bottom and Paradise Valley, the power of Detroit’s public-school music programs, the 1967 uprising, and the city’s recent resurgence. Detroit’s fortunes and its music moved in tandem.

Even seasoned fans will find revelations. James Jamerson — Motown’s revolutionary bassist — was trained by bebop master Barry Harris, and began as a promising acoustic jazz bassist before changing instruments and reshaping R&B.

Mentorship stories add emotional weight. Charles McPherson, scolded by Barry Harris for mediocre grades, became a straight-A student because bebop demanded intellectual rigor. Detroit mentorship wasn’t casual; it built futures.

Unseen paths reveal

Lowenthal’s editorial approach minimizes narration and maximizes movement: interviews lead directly into performance, archival footage, and b-roll. Talking heads are kept active, not static. Friedman’s guidance shaped the balance for twenty-five years of their partnership.

Securing trust with icons like Pat Metheny, Charles McPherson, and Regina Carter came from preparation: deep research, pre-interview strategy sessions, and clarity with interviewees about narrative purpose. Every subject knew where their voice fit.

Detroit’s impact crystallized not in a single interview but in the accumulated weight of many — a layered understanding built through dozens of accounts.

Echoes of hidden strength

The “assembly line” metaphor is treated carefully. Education, mentorship, and the club scene created a system that produced excellence, but each musician remained singular. The analogy reaches its limit at the Model T: identical cars, unlike Detroit’s artists.

Hardship and soulfulness are visualized through stories like Sheila Jordan’s account of racist police intimidation, juxtaposed with her musical performance about the event. The music carries the emotional payload.

The archival material that cuts deepest: tanks, fires, news announcements, and finally Marsha Music’s memory of her father’s record shop destroyed in 1967 — tapes on the floor, a life’s work gone, a grief that never left her.

Editing challenges came down to music: what to include, where to place it, what the budget could support. Balancing history and performance became an exercise in narrative precision.

Lowenthal’s Newark upbringing shaped his perspective. Newark and Detroit shared the same pressures — segregation, cultural vibrancy, and the violence of 1967. His lived experience sharpened the film’s lens.

The producers’ biggest internal debate was the same balance: music vs. history. Solutions came through trial, discussion, and compromise.

Resilience echoes young minds

Portraying adversity without reducing Detroit to trauma required documenting duality. Opportunity from migration and industry alongside redlining, police brutality, and exploitative labor — the full spectrum without distortion.

For young musicians, Stryker’s hope is direct: learn the lineage, honor the community, protect the music, and it will protect you.

For Lowenthal, bassist Rodney Whitaker embodies Detroit’s soul — prodigy, church-trained, mentor, educator, tradition-bearer.

Unveil the unexpected allure

Improvisation shaped the production just as it shapes jazz. Plans shifted, material redirected the story, and the final film emerged from continuous reinvention.

Detroit’s women musicians are represented with depth: Regina Carter, Sheila Jordan, Alice Coltrane, Geri Allen, and more, supported by Marion Hayden’s insight into how Detroit’s public schools cultivated women equally.

The film dismantles the “ruined Detroit” trope, countering it with images of beauty, community, and renaissance — a city alive, not a cautionary tale.

Discover hidden melodies

Prime Video gives the film a natural home for the holidays: family, community, warmth — all at the film’s core.

If viewers remember one idea, Stryker wants it to be this: Detroit’s Black musical excellence was intentional, systemic, and generational — not an accident.

The conversations the filmmakers hope to spark reach beyond Detroit: how to grow jazz audiences, how to support musicians, how to sustain a civic culture that values America’s music and the people who create it.

Go behind the film with our interview below.

What gap in jazz history needed correcting?

Mark Stryker: Detroit’s innovators were treated like footnotes. You can’t tell jazz history without Detroit, yet the city’s musicians — Kenny Burrell, Ron Carter, Elvin Jones, and many more — were rarely centered. The film restores that balance.

Why does Detroit keep producing top-tier musicians?

Stryker: A mentorship tradition stretching back to the ’50s, demanding and educated audiences, and civic pride rooted in Black musical excellence.

What emotional truth about Detroit’s Black community did you want to center?

Stryker: Extraordinary creativity, cultural affirmation, and resilience in the face of systemic racism. Detroit’s Black community shaped American music with genius and courage.

How did the book Jazz from Detroit guide the film?

Dan Lowenthal: The book offered enormous scope — more than a single documentary could contain. We used it as foundation, not blueprint, and allowed the film to discover its own form.

What historical beats were essential?

Stryker: The Great Migration, the rise of the auto industry, Black Bottom and Paradise Valley, Detroit’s public-school music programs, the 1967 uprising, and the city’s recent rebirth.

What surprised you most in research?

Stryker: James Jamerson — the Motown bass legend — was trained by bebop master Barry Harris and began as an acoustic jazz bassist.

Which mentorship story hit hardest?

Roberta Friedman: Barry Harris telling young Charles McPherson that bebop required brilliance — and McPherson responding by becoming a straight-A student.

How did you balance archival, interviews, and performance?

Lowenthal: Cut away from talking heads early. Let interviews lead directly into music and archival images. Minimize narration. Keep the story moving.

How did you earn trust from icons like Pat Metheny, Regina Carter, and Charles McPherson?

Lowenthal: Preparation. Listening. Research. And making sure every interviewee understood where their voice fit in the narrative.

Was there one interview that shifted your understanding of Detroit’s impact?

Lowenthal: Not one moment. The cumulative weight of many voices revealed the city’s full complexity.

How do you illustrate the “assembly line” metaphor without cliché?

Stryker: Detroit produced many great musicians through education, mentorship, and clubs — but unlike Model Ts, every musician was a unique creation.

How did you translate soulfulness forged through hardship?

Lowenthal: Sheila Jordan’s story of racist police intimidation paired with her performance about that trauma. Story and song in direct conversation.

Which archival material carried the deepest emotion?

Friedman: The buildup to 1967 — tanks, fires, Johnson’s address — culminating in Marsha Music’s memory of her father’s record shop destroyed.

Most difficult creative decision?

Lowenthal: Music. What to include, how long, where, and what the budget allowed.

How did Newark’s cultural parallels shape the directing?

Lowenthal: Newark and Detroit shared segregation, musical excellence, and the upheaval of 1967. That lived experience sharpened my lens.

Biggest storytelling disagreement among producers?

Friedman: Balancing music and history. We resolved it by testing different cuts until the rhythm felt right.

How did you avoid trauma narratives?

Friedman: By presenting Detroit’s duality — opportunity and oppression — without flattening the community’s experience.

What should young musicians take from the film?

Stryker: Lineage, mentorship, swing, blues, individuality, community. Care for the music, and it will care for you.

Which musician embodies Detroit’s soul?

Lowenthal: Rodney Whitaker — prodigy, church-trained, educator, mentor.

Did the filmmaking process mirror jazz improvisation?

Lowenthal: Completely. You start in one direction, follow new paths, and the final form emerges through continual reinvention.

How did you represent Detroit’s women musicians with depth?

Friedman: By foregrounding Regina Carter, Sheila Jordan, Alice Coltrane, Geri Allen, and by including Marion Hayden’s explanation of Detroit’s egalitarian musical ecosystem.

What misconception about Detroit does the film dismantle?

Friedman: That Detroit is only decline. We show its beauty, pride, culture, and renaissance.

Why release on Prime Video during the holidays?

Friedman: Because the film’s core themes — family, warmth, community — resonate most when families gather to watch together.

If viewers remember one idea, what should it be?

Stryker: Detroit’s Black musical excellence was intentional — built by specific economic, cultural, and educational forces.

What conversations should this film spark?

Stryker: How to grow jazz audiences, support musicians, and sustain a civic culture that values America’s music.