The thirtieth volume of a long-running series, built for a warm evening and a cold drink. Forty-seven tracks, no hurry.

Thirty volumes in
A series that reaches its thirtieth edition has stopped being a playlist and become an institution. What that longevity produces is a consistent ear — you know what you are getting — combined with a genuine obligation to keep finding new material, which is why a volume this deep into the run is still largely made up of artists most listeners will not know.
The brief here is specific: summer, evening, mid-tempo, and a strong bias toward the independent and international end of contemporary soul.
What to listen for
Syd's "Control" is the most recognisable name — The Internet's frontwoman, and one of the most distinctive vocal presences in modern R&B, working with almost no volume at all.
Terrace Martin with Arin Ray and Elena Pinderhughes on "Beige" is the musician's pick. Pinderhughes is a flautist of extraordinary quality who has worked with Herbie Hancock and Christian Scott, and her presence lifts the whole track.
Planet Giza appear twice — a Montreal trio making jazz-inflected hip-hop soul, and one of the best under-heard groups in North America.
Wesley Joseph's "Ghostin'" and 808INK's "Suede Jaw" represent the British experimental end, and both are considerably stranger than the playlist's chilled framing suggests.
DESTIN CONRAD's "DAY PARTY" and Jenevieve's "Love Quotes" are the smoothest things here, and LAYA's "Sailor Moon" the most immediate.
Potatohead People's "Quest for Love" is the instrumental-adjacent one — a Vancouver production duo signed to Bastard Jazz, working in the same lineage as Nujabes and Kaytranada.
Skip Marley and Popcaan's "Vibe" brings Jamaica in, and CKay's "you" and Tomi Agape's "London" handle the Afro-diaspora side.
Go deeper
Three to follow. Syd — Fin and Broken Hearts Club, and then The Internet's Ego Death. Wesley Joseph — a Walsall-born artist doing genuinely original work. Planet Giza — start with Ready When You Are.
Elena Pinderhughes deserves following independently; jazz flute has almost no contemporary star, and she is the closest thing to one.
And the observation that a thirty-volume series earns: consistency of taste beats novelty. A curator who shows up for a decade builds something no algorithm can, which is a coherent point of view you can learn to trust or argue with.
A final note on the summer framing. Cocktail-hour playlists usually mean something inoffensive, and this one is not that — there is genuinely difficult material here, from 808INK's abrasive edges to Wesley Joseph's fractured structures. The trick is that all of it sits at the same tempo and temperature, so the strangeness registers as texture rather than as disruption. That is a considerably harder thing to assemble than a set of pleasant records.
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