Wanderlist 322
From Purple Mist to Tribal Rhythms - A Sonic Odyssey
The needle drops, the room goes quiet, and for a brief moment, everything stops. Then it happens—that first note breaks the silence, kicking off a journey across continents, decades, and musical traditions. Welcome to Wanderlist n° 322, where we're about to wander through sounds both familiar and new.
This playlist weaves together jazz, funk, bossa nova, and soul. It ebbs and flows like a conversation between old friends—sometimes exciting, sometimes reflective, but always genuine.
Magician's "House of the Purple Mist" is pure magic. This track doesn't just play—it surrounds you. The synths hover like morning fog, while the percussion doesn't just keep time, it tells a story. Ever had that feeling when a song creates its own little world? That's what's happening here.
Then there's Rosie Lowe's "Mood To Make Love"—a track that feels like candlelight and whispered secrets. Her voice walks that perfect line between vulnerable and confident. It's the musical equivalent of that perfect evening when everything just clicks.
Piero Umiliani's "Cantata per Maryam" is like a mini-movie for your ears. Each twist in the melody reveals something new. I first heard this track in a dusty record store in Rome, and I still remember how everyone in the shop stopped talking when it came on. Some music just commands that kind of respect.
And I can't talk about this playlist without mentioning Immanuel Wilkins' "Witness." His saxophone doesn't just play notes—it speaks. It asks questions. It makes statements. The first time I heard Wilkins play, I forgot to drink my coffee and found it cold thirty minutes later. His music has that pull.
Cátia de França's "Itabaiana" captures that uniquely Brazilian thing—joy and sadness dancing together. It's like remembering a perfect summer day that you know won't come again, but you're smiling anyway. That's the beauty of it.
Eddie Chacon's "Let You Go" is something special. After years away from music, he's back with something that feels both classic and completely now. Nothing wasted here—every note matters. It's like running into an old friend who somehow got cooler with age. The song breathes in a way that most modern productions don't allow for. Put this on when you need some space to think.
Green Cosmos gives us "Nach dem Sandsturm," which translates to "After the Sandstorm." And that's exactly how it feels—like the calm after something chaotic has passed. This is music that respects you enough not to rush. It unfolds at its own pace, like watching a time-lapse of a flower blooming. I had this on repeat last Sunday morning while making coffee, and somehow two hours disappeared.
Several of these tracks come straight from my record shelves. John Carroll Kirby's "Swallow Tail," Di Melo's "Kilario," Blossom Dearie's gentle "Tout Doucement," and Makaya McCraven's "Dream Another" all sound better with those little pops and crackles.
There's something about vinyl that changes how you listen. You can't easily skip tracks or shuffle. You commit to the journey. The occasional pop isn't a flaw—it's character, like the creaks in an old wooden floor. That first-edition Blossom Dearie album cost me a month's coffee budget, but every time I play it, I know it was worth it.
From Manu Dibango's Afro-jazz to Zé Roberto's Brazilian funk to Noriko Miyamoto's Japanese jazz—it's all connected by that human need to express something true. Listen to how Ginger Johnson's talking drums connect with Phil Ranelin's spiritual jazz. They're reaching for the same thing—just taking different paths to get there. It's like overhearing conversations between musicians across time and space.
Every Wanderlist is really an invitation. Maybe you'll discover your next musical obsession here. Maybe you'll notice connections between sounds that seemed worlds apart. Maybe you'll just have a better Friday because of what you heard.
When Tim Maia's "Ela Partiu" fades out at the end, I hope you feel not just entertained but somehow changed—even just a little bit. That's what great music does.
Until next time, keep your ears open and your record player dusted.
