week 20 reggae rocking

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Back on the couch!

Image
Back on the Couch! It’s been a minute— six years , to be exact—but I’m back. Life did its thing, stretched time thin, and shuffled priorities. But like any good vinyl, sometimes you just need to flip the record over and drop the needle again. Sometimes the B side is better. That’s what this moment feels like. A restart. A return. A soft re-entry into something that’s always been more than a hobby. Music, for me, is medicine. Rehab’s Couch was born from that belief—that rhythm, melody, and bassline can do the kind of healing no prescription ever could. It’s a space where soul and reggae meet, where lovers rock whispers into funk’s groove, where the Black musical diaspora reminds us that we’ve always known how to survive—and thrive—through sound. Music evokes memory. It can transcend time and space. One chord and you’re back in your grandmother’s kitchen. One bassline and suddenly you’re sixteen again, heart racing on a sticky summer night. Music isn’t just something we hear—it’s someth...
Read more

Part one : The velvet Frequency.

Image
  The Velvet Frequency: Sound That Touches the Pulse Beneath the Pulse By Jo 90, your musical therapist on Rehab’s Couch There’s a sound that doesn’t just enter the ear—it settles . A tone so smooth it bypasses logic and lands somewhere between your ribcage and your recollections. I call it The Velvet Frequency . It’s not a genre—it’s a vibration. A texture. A sensual register that wraps itself around the inner you. The place where goosebumps rise unbidden and your heartbeat syncs to a stranger's falsetto or baritone like it’s known them forever. We know this frequency when we feel it: The gentle ache when D’Angelo sighs into a verse. The way Sade’s voice folds into the dark like silk on skin. The magnetic pull in Barry White’s spoken interludes, Or the tremble in Maxwell’s upper register when desire tips into devotion. These voices don’t perform—they inhabit . They don’t just sing to the heart—they score its rhythm. The Velvet Frequency lives in that lower register, th...
Read more

🎚️ Crate Diggin’: Bang, Crash, Soul.

Image
There I was. Back bent. Dust on my fingertips. Eyes narrowed like a detective in a 70s cop show. Somewhere between the warped Heatwave 7-inch and a bootleg “Best of Shabba” tape, I felt it. That tingle. That crackly whisper from the wax gods. Crate Diggin’ ain't therapy. It's resurrection. This mix isn’t polite. It doesn’t ask permission. It walks in with dusty boots and soul on its breath. From the first slap of Mr. Foxy’s “Cashville Chronicles”, you know exactly what time it is — grown-folk grooves, dusty gems, no filler, no filter. We’re talking Tom Browne’s brass strut, Little Beaver’s backroom two-step, Latimore’s gravel-growl bedroom sermons, and Thee Sacred Souls floating in like new prophets with old souls. You know those record shops where the real heat is never out front? Where the gold’s behind the beaded curtain, next to a rusty fan and an old fella named Marvin who hasn’t moved since 1996? That’s where this mix lives. Not on the racks — in the back. In ...
Read more