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· Conor Welsch
September is a month of edges. The cicadas are still singing, but the evenings cool just enough to make you notice the change. There is a scent of woodsmoke in the air, a faint melancholy that lingers in the long shadows. It is not quite summer anymore and not yet autumn. It is a season in transition, much like the way a record fades from Side A into Side B.
Here are ten albums that sound like September, records that capture the in-between, the warmth that lingers and the cool that waits.
Few albums carry the wistful sunlight of early fall the way Bryter Layter does. Drake’s guitar feels like a walk through damp grass just after sunrise, while the strings move like clouds shifting overhead. It is music for the quiet hours, when summer memories start to feel like photographs.
Not as polished as Rumours, and that is why it fits September perfectly. Tusk is frayed at the edges, experimental and restless. A band trying to step forward into something new while still haunted by what came before. Drop the needle and you can almost smell the leaves starting to turn.
If September had a texture, it would sound like Bill Evans’ piano, gentle, precise, and filled with space between the notes. This live set feels intimate, like sitting in a dim room with a glass of something warming while rain whispers against the window.
This is the album for when the light starts to tilt earlier in the evening. Brooding, elegant, and steady, Boxer is September in the city. Streetlights flick on, a jacket slung over your shoulder, the quiet ache of endings wrapped in the comfort of routine.
Mitchell’s Hejira belongs to the open road, the long drive between seasons. Her voice is cool and clear, while Jaco Pastorius’ bass curls around her melodies like smoke. It is a record that embodies both movement and pause, perfect for those September days when the horizon feels closer.
There is a September strangeness inside Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. The warmth of folk collides with electronic static, just as late summer heat collides with the first chill in the air. It is unsettled but beautiful, a soundtrack for transitional days.
The title says it all. This record feels like the first night you notice the moon rising brighter and rounder than before. Young’s voice is cracked but tender, the kind of comfort that only comes with seasons changing.
This album shimmers like sunlight through thinning leaves. Ethereal and dreamlike, it feels suspended between warmth and coolness, perfect for early autumn afternoons when the air is bright but fleeting.
Written in the cold of isolation, this record carries the ache of endings, but it still glows with warmth. It feels like something closing while hinting at what comes next.
Electric, hushed, and expansive, this is music for twilight. The sounds unfold slowly, like the season itself shifting underfoot. Listening to In a Silent Way in September feels like sitting on the porch at dusk, watching the light disappear without realizing when it finally left.