A fashion strategist by day and a jazz drummer by night, Brendan Brady has built a life in New York around the two, and they have more in common than the hours keep apart. We spent an afternoon following him through his city, captured on film by Joseph Beeching, from the wide-open water at South Street Seaport to the quiet of the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, with dumplings and a dive bar or two on the way.

He lives deeper into Brooklyn, but likes to come to the edge of it. "I find it so fun to remind myself that New York is an island," he says. "The sweeping views from the ports, or on the ferry, always take my breath away. A welcome reset from the day to day." It's the same instinct that sends him wandering on his days off, into small shops and hole-in-the-wall restaurants and galleries, letting one neighbourhood spill into the next. The museums are non-negotiable. "I grew up spoiled for choice in DC. You can spend an entire weekend at the Met and never see it all."

Ask where the eye comes from and he points to painters and authors, people who turn a life into something you can stand in front of. The admiration shows up in how he dresses, too. "There's something about a paint-covered chore jacket that checks my boxes," he says, and you know exactly the look he means: clothing that has done some work and wears the proof.

The drumming is the older love, and the one that reordered everything else. He came up on punk and rock, then fell for jazz studying in college. "Jazz really challenged my approach to making music. The listening required, the conversation, the trust to improvise freely. It's the best feeling in the world." Conversation is the word that stays with you, because it's how he moves through the city as well: call and response, one thing answering another.

That same idea runs through what he'd one day pass on. On a recent visit to his father, now in Arizona, he was given turquoise jewellery collected over years in the Southwest, Navajo and Diné pieces with history worn into them. A few instruments would go too, a favourite ride cymbal carried through years of gigs, a vintage snare kept in good order. "The coolest things, garments or otherwise, are artifacts that show a life lived in full," he says. "Something that, when asked about, has the potential to become a fifteen-minute story." It's a good way to think about the things worth keeping.

So when he plans a day, it has a rhythm to it. A walk across the Manhattan Bridge from Dumbo into Chinatown. A long stretch in Central or Prospect Park, or the Botanical Gardens. Then Sichuan food, eaten well past sensible, "enough to make yourself dizzy from the spice," before heading back across the river for a cocktail and a late set in a West Village jazz club.

He has more food recommendations than one day could hold. Theodora, Place des Fêtes, Four Horsemen and Fish Cheeks for something special; Rolo's and LaRina close behind. Lower-key, he'll send you to A&A Bake and Double, or Super Taste for dumplings and beef noodle soup. Mariscos el Submarino, he insists, does the best aguachile in the city. And when the day's done, it's a beer and a chat with the bartenders at Coyote Club.

The rest of the time he cooks, reads, runs long distances, takes photographs. All of it, in its way, the same pursuit as the drumming and the wandering: paying close attention, and trusting where it leads.

And if you want to hear where he's coming from, start with two records: Glass Bead Games by the Clifford Jordan Quartet, and the self-titled Eastern Rebellion, Cedar Walton's band. Two of the most formative albums he knows. Put one on and you'll hear the listening, the conversation, the trust, the same things he looks for in a city, a song, and a jacket that's been somewhere.

We came to New York to listen, and Brendan gave us the whole of his. We've a feeling it won't be our last time over. Until then, we're grateful for the tour.