Friends,

Thanks to everyone who came through our studio during Culture Crawl. We appreciate the energy and interest in our practices. It's always intense—a lot of people, a lot of time in one place over four days—but there are always delightful rewards. As artists, there's something unique about exploring the work in person, one on one, with a stranger outside the context of a show. And when people take work home, it creates something deeper: practically, it helps keep our practices viable; less tangibly, our work becomes part of their home, part of an ongoing conversation in that place. My relationship with the work of other artists in our own home tells me this is true on a daily basis. Again, thank you.

New business: It's December, which means it's time to soundtrack the season. As many know, I've been creating Holiday Snow Globe playlists for a minute—the 2025 edition marks the 16th(!) consecutive year. There have been years I've tried to get out, but it keeps pulling me back in.¹ I've finally learned not to doubt the process. New things will surface, old lost treasures resurface from whatever dusty corner of the universe they've been hidden. This doesn’t fail.

Liner Notes

While going through the over six hundred tracks that make up this edition, I'm reminded that the standard winter songbook most artists draw from is remarkably small. This only partially explains why there are so many versions of Silent Night here, though. I'm always discovering new takes and always find it difficult to resist adding them.

Much like the humble lyrical setting of the song, I think of Silent Night as a simple shelter for artists to pass through. A 200-plus-year-old artist residency. It has this beautifully elegant structure—small yet spacious—that seems to make it approachable no matter where an artist may be coming from musically. Good bones. Some artists quietly occupy it—finding and feeling the natural resonance of the space (think Sinead O'Connor, 1991 or Low, 1999). Others decorate (Can, 1976; Klaus Nomi, 1983; Dr. John, 1988). The Staple Singers (1970) find a balance somewhere in between, one hand towards the silence and another adding gentle flourishes. Silent Night provides the right amount of room for an artist to make their mark—then the song returns to its simple form, ready for the next guest.

Another thing that occurred to me is how resistant to burnout I am on Happy Xmas (War is Over) by John Lennon, Plastic Ono Band and the Harlem Community Choir (1972). I can't fathom the number of times I've heard this song in my life and in how many places. At home, yes, but pumped out at countless gas stations, malls, airports, IHOPs, public washrooms. IHOP washrooms? Given its ubiquity, I completely expect it to break for me at some point but—amazingly—I still get an immediate lift when I hear it. What is it? The simplest answer is it's the collision of hearing Lennon, Yoko Ono², the choir, kids singing, and all in a Spector wall of sound package. It's all dialled to eleven and I'm (still) here for it, apparently.

In this time of extended intelligence, machine learning, yada-yada, it's important to note this absurd project is labour. A labour of love, for sure, but highly manual and highly human. There are tools that could potentially help, but the real work is ultimately digging through digital crates, thinking tangentially, hopping from rabbit hole to rabbit hole, and a delicate balance of discernment and taste.³ This is true for this project but also true for the arts and artists more generally. More often than not, the thing we're responding to in creative works and bodies of curation is the wobbly, perfectly-imperfect pulse we sense beneath it.

The playlist is stationed on Apple Music and Qobuz this year.⁴ If you don’t have a sub on either, there’s probably an option for a free trial. Be sure to shuffle (shake) the list when playing, and—if you're on Apple Music—give AutoMix a try. When it works, it works well. When it doesn't, it's good for a laugh. Enjoy, and if you're feeling it, reach out. It's nice to hear from you out there in that deep dark winter space.

✌️💙❄️ D