A short ride in a sexy lift in Braamfontein has effected a magic trick of some considerable magnitude.
I left contemporary Joburg with its gritty delights a minute ago, ushered through time and space by a charming concierge past a very modern art collection, to find myself transported directly into a speakeasy that could easily exist in a time capsule preserved in amber and nostalgia from 100 years ago.
Only the view of the inner city and the Nelson Mandela Bridge gives the game away.
The fairy dust must be in the many considered details of Hugh’s jazz club: rich burgundy velvet, swathes of it, glorious deco armchairs for music connoisseurs positioned front and centre, a breath away from the intimate setting of the stage, bevelled mirrors and subtle lighting that could dim at any moment to reveal a man in smoky headlights, trumpet in hand, with a direct line to the kind of music that demands a legendary epithet.
You cannot doubt that Bra Hugh’s spirit might linger here; it is certainly being summoned in the most reverential way.
Adam Levy, the fresh prince of Braamfontein, or rather one of the first property developers to see potential in the regeneration of this part of town nearly two decades ago, has partnered with the Masekela Foundation and Hugh’s heirs to conjure this marvellous trompe-l’œil. I am meeting him to taste his burgers, which the chefs are testing today.
The nice takeaway so far is that the conversation has been exclusively about the majesty of the space
— Adam Levy
“When people came here last Thursday for the opening, they had exactly the same expression you had,” he tells me. “There was a wow factor. It wasn’t about where it was on offer, it was what was on offer. People asked me for years, and for good reason, why don’t you do this in Rosebank, in Sandton, in Bree Street in Cape Town? All good questions. But this is laboured in a historical framework that gives it realism and dynamism — a tier of pedigree you can’t just supplement.
“You can’t mimic being on the 13th storey of a building with the city skyline as a backdrop. You can’t mimic the emotive feeling of being in four city blocks that are actually functional, when your perception of the city is otherwise failing. The nice takeaway so far is that the conversation has been exclusively about the majesty of the space.”
Levy is incredibly articulate when it comes to expressing his passions, which I soon discover are many and run deep. We cover a lot of ground, from his childhood in Birdhaven, which he describes as extremely happy, to his father’s way with words, which he clearly aspires to emulate. He tells me his father gave him a first edition of Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead when he was 17 or 18.
“It was a seminal book for me,” he says. “Not just because of the characters, but because there are certain people who do things with such depth of principle and conviction. Those ideas embed themselves in your DNA. They become the marking points of how you start to view the world once you’re consciously aware.”
But beyond his single-mindedness, it is a love of people that he says truly drives him. “I love people. The older I get, the less I need to be around them all the time, surprisingly, but the greatest luxury you can ever be afforded in this life is good company. You can surround me with beautiful things — art, cars, whatever — nothing gives me greater sensory elevation than company beautifully spent.”
It’s my love letter to the city that etched me
— Adam Levy
He pauses, then adds: “So I make things that will hopefully give people the luxury of having those moments. They might not even know it’s necessary, but I know what it can do.”
All his development decisions, he explains, stem from this philosophy, and nowhere more so than Hugh’s. “This is my narration as a starting point. It’s my love letter to the city that etched me.”
I ask how he feels about Joburg’s many foibles and failings. “I feel pangs about how the city lets itself down,” he admits. “But I don’t choose to be consumed by that. I want to be measured by the things I can influence. I’m saddened that the municipality doesn’t work, that so many stories are negative, but I want to be a purveyor of a good story — one that helps populate storytelling differently.”
You have to be upbeat to dream big on the 13th floor of a building in Braamfontein. Levy has taken several leisurely sabbaticals between degrees and developments. “I’m not a ticker of boxes,” he says. “I luxuriate in the journey. There’s still so much to be seen and done, but there are places I return to again and again because of a deep connectivity; Italy, for one. I was probably a Roman general in another life.”
I’m quietly gunning for a reincarnation of Marcus Aurelius. Levy has an introspective streak alongside a campaigning fervour, and a small empire built on inner-city blocks.
He tells me about a podcast he listened to recently on memory. “They explained that there are four aspects that amplify how we remember the world. Something new. Something surprising. Something meaningful. And something emotional. Occasionally, you get all four at once. I think Thursday night was one of those moments. And my hope is that Hugh’s continues to offer that — again and again.”
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