🎚️ Crate Diggin’: Bang, Crash, Soul.

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 the crates with no labels and too many secrets.

And just when you think you’ve caught your breath?

Barbara Ann rolls in. Sam Dees starts testifying. And boom — Prince Phillip Mitchell slides you a tissue and a bourbon.

I added a few bonus cuts in this one too — not because the crate needed it, but because my fingers couldn’t stop twitching. Eloise Laws, Webster Lewis, Lamont bloody Dozier… because why shouldn’t you cry and boogie in the same hour?

This is for the real heads.

For the ones who still smell the sleeve. Who talk to their records. Who know the thrill of a £1 find that makes you pull over on the A2 just to shout “YES” out the window.

So light a candle. Pour something brown.

Let this one roll start to finish. No skips. No skips.

Let the crackle baptise you.

🛋️ Filed under: Grown-folk groove | Emotional archaeology | Dust never dies

🎧 Featuring: Thee Sacred Souls, Sam Dees, Tom Browne, Valerie Simpson, Donny Hathaway, and more

🛍️ Found spiritually in the back of the shop — next to the soul 45s and broken fan

🔊 Duration: 2 hours and some change

💿 Side effects may include: Neck movement, emotional clarity, and random outbursts of “WHOO LAWD.”

🔗 Link herehttps://youtu.be/AmN4v43uHjU

Back on the couch!

Back on the Couch!

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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 something we carry. It bookmarks our joy, our grief, our becoming.

The blog might’ve gone quiet, but the music never stopped. And neither did the pull to come back to this—sharing mixes that move me, that tell stories, that soothe, provoke, uplift. I’ve missed this connection: to the music, to the people who feel it the way I do, and to the version of myself who breathes a little deeper when the right track hits at the right time.

So here we are. Jo 90 on the dials again. The mixes will return—soulful, sensual, slightly unexpected. Audio therapy, served hot. And yes, I’m bringing some new flavors too, because even old souls evolve. 

Thanks for coming back to the couch with me. Stay tuned. Stay open.

Here’s the first mix of my return. Press play. Breathe deep. Recline. Perfect for in the park, cruising in your car, on the bus or train. Perhaps. In your back garden, or even a party. summer has landed here where I am.  

Summer party PT 1