Jim's 2025 Playlist
A Few Notes Before You Press Play
Here’s Jim’s 2025 Playlist on Spotify
This playlist wasn’t built all at once. It accumulated — the way good years do — slowly, accidentally, and with just enough intention to feel personal without feeling precocious. Some of these songs arrived through headphones on long hikes or blasting through the trees on a powder day. Others were rediscovered in the glow of a live stage. A few came rushing back because someone who made them is no longer here. And at least one came wrapped in a moment I’ll never be able to separate from the music: standing shoulder to shoulder with my daughter while visiting her during her semester abroad in Madrid, watching a cool American band.
That’s what this playlist really is: connection.
It connects eras that streaming services like to keep neatly separated. The Grateful Dead sit comfortably next to Goose. Pink Floyd doesn’t feel old when followed by Wolf Alice. Led Zeppelin’s acoustic mysticism still resonates in a world that also makes room for Chappell Roan, Kacey Musgraves, and The Last Dinner Party. Nothing here is meant to compete. It’s meant to converse.
Live music shaped this list more than algorithms ever could. Seeing Dead & Company at the Las Vegas Sphere with dear friends reminded me that some bands don’t age — they expand. Goose at the Rise Festival reaffirmed that the jam-band lineage isn’t a museum exhibit; it’s a living language. The Cape Cod Melody Tent delivered both tradition and tribute, from Marshall Tucker’s road-worn sincerity to the timeless pull of Zeppelin’s catalog with Get the Led Out, the best Zep tribute band ever.
There’s also loss woven into these tracks. 2025 took voices that shaped the way we hear music: Ozzy Osbourne, Terry Reid, Sly Stone, Brian Wilson, Rick Davies. Their presence here isn’t nostalgic — it’s necessary. Their songs still work. Still warn. Still comfort. Still provoke.
This playlist moves the way a real listening life moves — forward, backward, sideways. It doesn’t stay in one mood or one decade for long. It wanders. It doubles back. It lets a ten-minute Pink Floyd piece coexist with a three-minute pop punch. It beckons the listener to make the leap.
If there’s a through-line, it’s this: music doesn’t just soundtrack our lives — it stitches them together. Across years. Across generations. Across places as far apart as Las Vegas, Cape Cod, and Madrid.
So this isn’t a “best of” list. It’s not a ranking. It’s a snapshot of a year when music felt especially alive — when concerts mattered, new artists earned their place, and old songs found new meaning. Press play wherever you like. The order matters less than the journey.
Live Music as Gravity: The Shows That Anchored the Year
Live music still does something no streaming algorithm can replicate: it rearranges your internal hierarchy. Songs you thought you understood suddenly expand. Bands you liked become bands you believe in.
Dead & Company at the Sphere
Seeing Dead & Company at the Sphere wasn’t just a concert — it was an environment where the visuals were almost as important a player as the music. Here’s my post on the show earlier in the year The Grateful Dead have always trafficked in immersion, but the Sphere added a literal dimension to what had long been conceptual. Songs like “Franklin’s Tower,” “Playing in the Band,” “Help On the Way / Slipknot!,” “Scarlet Begonias,” “Terrapin Station, Pt. 1,” “Touch of Grey,” and even the snarling grin of “Hell in a Bucket” feel different after that experience. These aren’t museum pieces. They’re elastic. Each performance stretches them in new directions, reminding you that the Dead’s greatest innovation wasn’t jamming — it was permission. Permission to wander, to fail, to find transcendence by accident.
This playlist reflects that ethos. Dead tracks are not sprinkled in for legacy credibility; they form a backbone. They’re the connective tissue between eras, genres, and moods.
Goose and John Mayer at the Rise Festival
If the Sphere was cosmic, the Rise Festival was communal. Goose’s presence on this playlist is no accident — “Dripfield,” “Everything Must Go,” “Your Direction,” “Silver Rising,” and “Tumble” signal a band that understands momentum without sacrificing melody. Goose represents something rare: a modern jam band that doesn’t lean on irony or retro cosplay. Their songs breathe. They build. They know when to lift off. John Mayer’s influence — direct or indirect — lingers too. He’s part of the lineage connecting Dead & Company to contemporary musicianship, proving that technical fluency and emotional accessibility don’t have to be opposites.
Cape Cod Melody Tent: Tradition, Tribute, and Time Travel
The Cape Cod Melody Tent delivered two very different experiences, both gratifying and nostalgic.
Marshall Tucker Band, with “Can’t You See,” brought Southern rock back to its spiritual core — storytelling, groove, and lived-in wisdom. There’s a reason that song still lands. It’s not flashy. It’s human.
Get the Led Out reminded me why Led Zeppelin still dominate real estate in my listening life. “Battle of Evermore” and “That’s the Way” aren’t just songs; they’re mythologies. Zeppelin’s acoustic side, especially, has aged like scripture — timeless, textured, and strangely modern.
New Blood: 2024 Releases That Defined 2025 Listening
Great playlists aren’t built on loyalty alone — they require curiosity.
Kacey Musgraves — “Deeper Well”
Musgraves’ restraint is her superpower. “Deeper Well” is introspective without indulgence, a song that values quiet revelation over dramatic climax.
Billie Strings — “Gild the Lily”
Bluegrass futurism. Billy Strings doesn’t modernize tradition; he accelerates it.
Nickel Creek — “The Lighthouse’s Tale,” “21st of May”
Nickel Creek’s return feels earned. These songs carry the weight of adulthood without losing the spark that made them singular.
Chappell Roan — “The Giver”
Pop with teeth, heart, and theatrical confidence. A standout voice of the moment.
The Last Dinner Party — “The Scythe”
Baroque, dramatic, and unapologetically feminist — a power group of British ladies with a refreshing refusal to shrink.
Older Songs That Refuse to Age
Some music doesn’t get old — it gets deeper.
Pink Floyd’s Infinite Canvas
“Grantchester Meadows,” “See Emily Play,” “Echoes,” “Learning to Fly,” and “Shine On You Crazy Diamond (Parts 1–5)” trace Floyd’s evolution from psychedelic curiosity to existential architects.
This isn’t nostalgia; it’s scholarship. Floyd still teaches listeners how to listen.
Soul, Funk, and Cultural Reckoning
The Isley Brothers’ “Fight the Power,” Sly & the Family Stone’s “Everyday People,” and The Specials’ “B.L.M.” speak across decades with unsettling relevance. Protest music doesn’t expire — it reactivates.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre: Controlled Chaos
With a name like The Brian Jonestown Massacre, the music had better deliver. “Anemone,” “Nevertheless,” “Open Heart Surgery,” “When Jokers Attack,”…” form a mini-catalog of Anton Newcombe’s fractured genius. These songs drift, shimmer, and destabilize.
2025 Losses: The Voices That Fell Silent
Some absences are louder than sound.
Ozzy Osbourne
From “War Pigs” to cultural omnipresence, Ozzy redefined heaviness. His voice was never about precision — it was about inevitability.
Terry Reid
A fun fact was that Jimmy Page asked Terry Reid to join Led Zep before Robert Plant, and he said no. Songs like “Dean” and “Things to Try” remind us that greatness doesn’t always come with fame. Reid was a singer’s singer — revered by those who knew.
Sly Stone
Sly didn’t just change music — he changed who was allowed to make it together. “Everyday People” remains a blueprint.
Brian Wilson
“Good Vibrations” is my favorite Beach Boys song and it was said to have inspired the Beatles’ seminal Sgt. Pepper album. Brian Wilson’s shadow covers everything. Harmony. Vulnerability. Ambition without armor.
Rick Davies (Supertramp)
“Bloody Well Right” carries the sharp wit and melodic precision that defined Supertramp’s distinct voice. I remember blasting this song in 1975 on my best friend Richie Vac’s parents console stereo. And the “Crime of the Century” album cover was genius.
Returnees from 2024
Family friend, Maggie Rose continues to up her game in so many ways. Her new single “Poison Well” included another favorite of mine, Grace Potter, as a collaborator. Thes two vocal divas bring drive and passion to a powerful life theme. And did I mention, it has been nominated for a Grammy?
Jack White — “Archbishop Harold Holmes”
Jack White remains a restless force. This track crackles with urgency, reminding listeners that rock doesn’t need to be reinvented — it just needs conviction.
Wolf Alice — “Bloom Baby Bloom,” “White Horses,” “The Last Man on Earth”
This band made my 2024 playlist and they did again in 2025. Wolf Alice occupies the rare middle ground between power and vulnerability. These tracks prove that indie rock can still feel enormous without shouting.
Fontaines DC — “Death Kink” by Irish Rockers Fontaines D.C. coils post-punk tension into a lean, relentless groove, pairing blunt lyricism with a sense of barely contained menace. The band’s knack for marrying poetic fatalism to physical urgency is on full display, making the song feel both cerebral and confrontational.
The Emotional
This playlist moves — intentionally — between:
Communion (Grateful Dead, Goose)
Reflection (Kacey Musgraves, Bon Iver, Maggie Rose)
Defiance (Jack White, Radiohead)
Memory (Pink Floyd, Zeppelin)
Renewal (Chappell Roan, Wolf Alice)
It doesn’t pretend that eras end cleanly or that genres behave. It understands that listening is a lifelong conversation.
Why Playlists Matter
In 2025, music still matters — not as background noise, but as a companion. This playlist documents a year when live shows reasserted their power, when new artists earned space beside legends, and when loss sharpened appreciation.
It’s not a definitive list. It’s a personal one.
And that’s exactly the point.