‘You don’t make music by listening to music,’ the French-Martinican trumpeter Jacques Coursil said. ‘You must listen to the world.’ Coursil died in Belgium in late June at the age of 82. Coursil, whom I knew in his last decade, was an elegant, urbane musician, at home with both jazz and classical composition. He had a second, equally distinguished career as a professor of linguistics, publishing work on structuralism, the poetry of Négritude and la Créolité. A nomad and a bricoleur, he spent much of his life on the move, borrowing whatever ideas and sounds appealed to him. He embodied what his friend, the Martinican poet and philosopher Edouard Glissant, theorised as the restless, creolised aesthetics of the ‘tout-monde’.