Paul Weston: Solo Mood

 

 

Friends, today I'm starting with a sentiment. A reflection if you will. I have some thoughts about music and discovery I'd like to share with you, in the hopes that it will encourage you to not take life so seriously, and to enjoy said ride. 

Last week, I read a post from a Substack user that appeared in my home feed. The rough edges rubbed me the wrong way, but also, the right way. I'm not into online drama; I simply want to share my thoughts so that I can tie this all together. Here's what it said, and what I replied with:

 

 

Zinger.

 All of this to say that whether you're a reader, a writer, a digger, a listener, whatever your flavor, it's all good. There will always be other people trying to give you rules for music, as if the music didn't come before the rules.  

 What if all the great reasons for loving music naturally instead of "working hard" to find it, is the whole point?

All these discovery rules got me thinking: 

What does it mean to love something before you understand it? 

89 CENTS

Today's blog will be a bit different than usual. I'm not diving into too much history, but more so, getting personal with you. 

In the spring of 2014, a little over a decade ago, I was driving my Grandma Ella (Mom's mom) around, as I often did. We would hit the town, go to lunch, stop for coffee, watch the ducks at the park, and shop in all kinds of stores. 

It seems that all the women in my family, including myself, love antiques. Antiquing has become a bit of a past time for us all. Some, like my Mom, love miniatures and and Victorian era pieces. While I also love those things, I'm looking for cool coats, jewelry, and records. Duh.

 We stopped one afternoon at a local thrift spot. It was a crowded place. Crowded with items of all kinds. Old felt church hats with a feather and a chain, golden picture frames with family photos of those who've been gone longer than I've been alive, smells a bit like grandmas evil basement, so, smells good. Like clean laundry and also, must. Unfortunately, it's long gone, and I can't remember the name. Part of getting older, or, maybe just losing my mind.

Grandmas walking around. We had our own rhythm in a store: start together, separate when needed, come back together somewhere before paying, leave together. She was about 5'0", and I'm 5'10", so, it was her job to find me, which wasn't hard. If I needed to find her, I'd just call her cell and listen for it ringing. When it was dying, her phone would say "low battery", in the most non-AI generated, pixelated tone. We still say it in my family and it cracks us up.

 I found this record there. I saw what you see above; a blue background, blue like the clearest possible day, must be around 3pm in the summer time... a single seagull is floating over head, with 2 words — Solo Mood. That was all I needed. Like picking the right cases in Deal or No Deal. You just know.

 89 cents it was. Written on a small, neon yellow, circular sticker with a red pen. I don't think I even read the back. Just picked it up right then and there and went YEP. Probably took grandma for frozen yogurt, and then went home and listened to it on my Crosley. I played the hell out of that record player. 

First impressions, a complete surprise.  Beautiful, slow, sleepy trumpets. The sound of crackling from the record meets my ears like sprinkled salt falling on a paper bag...the orchestra is pristine, but relaxed. I fell in love with it immediately. 

 I used to share my bedroom with my Grandma when she would come visit from Brooklyn. I was playing the record in my room when she walked in to lay down for a nap, and I remember her turning her head and going, "Oh, this is nice, I love this song!". The song was Autumn in New York.

Further in the future I'm curating my own playlists and I think, "I really love the first 2 songs on that record, I wanna add them to my Slow Drive Sunday Sounds playlist." So I did. Rockin' Chair, and Foggy Day by Paul Weston. 

I've been listening to those 2 songs in my playlist for years. It wasn't until last week (March 2026) where I thought to myself, "damn...this is so unbelievably good. Who is Paul Weston anyway and why is his orchestra so perfect?"

Lo and behold, this blog is born. 12 years in the making. 

Who was Paul Weston and his Orchestra? Why was that music familiar to my Grandma? 

 Paul Weston and His Orchestra

 1956. A leap year. Beautiful cars. The birth of the coolest kind of Diner. Also, the year this record was pressed. Paul Weston, however, was born in 1912. Just over 100 years before I found this record.

He was a composer and arranger who helped shape the sound of mid-century American music. His smooth, relaxed orchestral style became a foundation for what we now call easy listening. He worked with artists like Jo Stafford and Nat King Cole, and played a major role in early Capitol Records. His music feels effortless, and it helped define an entire era. 

On the back of the record, we've got a list of tunes and jazz standards. Most of these standards were written long before Solo Mood was released and became famous through multiple films over decades. 

SIDE A 

        Rockin' Chair    
        A Foggy Day    
        Body And Soul    
        Sweet Loraine    
        When It's Sleepy Time Down South    
        Lullaby In Rhythm 

SIDE B

   
        A Hundred Years From Today    
        Dancing On The Ceiling (He Dances On My Ceiling)    
        Autumn In New York    
        Honeysuckle Rose    
        You Are Too Beautiful    
        The One I Love (Belongs To Somebody Else) 

Music and Muscle Memory 

  Full transparency, I didn't know a single song on this list when I first heard it. I didn't know timeless tracks like Autumn in New York or Honeysuckle Rose yet. I didn't really know what a jazz standard was.

For those who may not know, a jazz standard is a song that has been widely performed and recorded by many artists over time, becoming a shared part of the jazz repertoire. They're songs that don't belong to just one artist; they've been played, re-imagined, and passed around so much that they've become part of the language of music.

And even then, this definition has expanded over time. Standards are still standards, but the list has grown significantly. They're definitive of periods of time, and have shaped cultural moments. The list stretches  far beyond American borders.

All that being said, I'd like to get real with you for a moment.

For years my sweet Grandma had dementia. Some days were better than others, but we're grateful she was mostly herself until the end. She meant a great deal to my family, and we miss her greatly.

Grandma loved John Denver, Elvis, and so much more. Before and during the dementia, she always lit up when she heard music she loved. That moment when she walked in the room and she heard Autumn in New York, she remembered something. 

She was recognizing a time. She was hearing what once was, and yet, still was... because in the moment, she was there again. She was recalling something that had already existed long before I found it sitting in a thrift store. 

It's no secret that music has that kind of power. The power to remind, and re-live remarkable joys — positively overwhelm the soul and spirit of a human body.  

In 2073, I'll be 80. Hopefully my brain will be sharp. Maybe we'll have the power to project our memories onto walls through our eyes by then. Maybe I'll hear Autumn in New York, and I'll think back to 60 years in the past when I saw my Grandma light up, and how she thought about her life 60 years before that...120 years of joy. Maybe a young-ling in my family will see me recalling my joy, and they'll remember it for another 60. That is, after all, the essence of music discovery. 

What does it mean to love something before you understand it? 

When music meets you where you are, and it continues to transform, deepen, like a love connection. It is in fact, a love connection in its own right. Don't ever let anyone tell you how that's supposed to show up for you. Maybe Mr. Sir from Substack is working too hard to find music. 

This quote is pinned to the side of my website, I'll leave it here for you: 

Why work hard when you can work Joyfully? —Sadghuru 

Go accidentally fall in love again with something you already loved. Share a song you love to someone you love. Tell them why you love it. Listen to something you haven't heard since you were a teen. You never know what you might come to understand about yourself and the world around you. 

Keep your heart open, my friend. Aka, Stay Tuned xo —BD 

Thanks for reading. If you dug this post, SUBSCRIBE ON SUBSTACK to recieve blogs direct to your email! Feel free to tip the scribbler and leave a comment. I'd love to hear from you. Venmo: https://venmo.com/u/berlyd

Listen to SOLO MOOD: https://youtu.be/CIFGeCRLpXI?si=bdn400YAn09B7W_G