No one saw this coming. On its release in 1997, The Buena Vista Social Club looked set to be one of many excellent albums released every year, loved by those lucky enough to hear it but ignored by the world at large. After all, the market for an album of traditional Cuban music of a style long out of fashion played by musicians long out of the game had somewhat limited appeal. It would probably sell to world music fans, dreamers enraptured by the idea of Cuba and a few trainspotters who saw Ry Cooder's name on the sleeve.
Sure, who buys albums made by 70- or 80-year-olds anyway?
February, 2001, and The Buena Vista Social Club campers have reached Hong Kong on the tour which no one wants to see end. In a scenario repeated around the globe, all three shows sold out within days of their announcement. The entrance is peopled by amateur touts desperately trying to buy tickets - but with little luck. You really can't fault them for trying, because tonight is a little piece of musical nirvana.
Live, as both the blockbuster album and the Wim Wenders documentary demonstrated, the Buena Vista magic takes your breath away. While many are here simply to see the feature stars of the show, this night is not merely about Ibrahim Ferrer, Omara Portuondo and the mighty Ruben Gonzalez.
There are 18 musicians onstage this evening and none of them is here to make up the numbers. Each applies an individual touch to the collective swing, sway and style, turning the two-and-a-half hours into one of the musical wonders of the world.
The focus may begin on the vocalists and legendary pianist, but it soon widens to take in the whole stage. Really, you can't leave anything out: the wonderful bass-playing at the heart of the ensemble, courtesy of Cachaito Lopez, the manner in which Guajiro Mirabel's trumpet sends each number soaring higher and higher, the brass section fine-tuning the momentum and the atmosphere at every turn, the masterly musical direction throughout.
And then, of course, there are the three stars, each shining in their own way. Omara Portuondo supplies the diva touch, disco-dancing her way across the stage like a hyperactive cheerleader. Ibrahim Ferrer is the man with the velvet tones, each song becoming an epic paean to love and loss. Ruben Gonzalez is simply a legend, his every spot at the piano another excuse for the audience to sigh and daydream.
Tonight, a night in Hong Kong becomes a night in Havana, and we're all strolling down Avenida de Santa Catalina in the moonlight.
The next morning, as the other musicians gather among tourists and businessmen in their plush hotel lobby, Omara Portuondo and Ibrahim Ferrer answer questions they have faced again and again. We may know the who and the what of this success story, but no one really knows the why. Not even, it seems, the musicians.
"We feel happy and grateful that the work we are doing is acknowledged," Ferrer explains. "I don't know why exactly it is happening, but we see every night that the people enjoy the music. Maybe they feel happy to share with us the music, the performance, the shows. It is a good record, and the movie has also had a good impact all over the world, whatever language they speak. And we are bringing our country's culture to other places and different countries. Musicianship is our trade and we love what we do."
For Portuondo, the success is as much about the reaction at home as abroad.
"I think the Cuban people are very pleased with our success," she says. "They are happy that we are so famous now worldwide and they feel we may have put Cuban music of this sort on the map. It is strange because the melodies and songs of that era - the 1930s, 1940s and 1950s - have reappeared everywhere.
"In Cuba, they are re-releasing old recordings, licensing them, not only songs we have done but also others of a similar style. And they are selling well. There are also many groups now that play Cuban music of that era and they are touring and doing a lot of work. It's coming back, the music of the 1940s and 1950s. And this, I think, is a good thing."
Back in London, Nick Gold echoes these observations. The record's executive producer and the man whose World Circuit label struck gold with the project has since seen and heard the upsurge in Cuban music.