“Mister Magic” by Grover Washington Jr.

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It’s one of my favorite jazz-fusion records of the 1970s to mark its 50th anniversary.

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I was in the subway on my way to work when Grover Washington Jr. provided a much-needed spiritual uplift. I live on Canada’s east coast, which is, shall we say, not a place you travel to for the temperate climate in January. I’m standing in a crush of people during morning rush hour, all of us separated by the thickness of our various parkas, staring down at our phones, trying hard not to think about how cold it is outside. I forget what I was reading when “Mister Magic” began creeping through my headphones (the song is a slow build), but I remember stopping and turning up the volume. His soulful saxophone playing and the slinky mid-70s groove all transported me to another place in my mind. Somewhere warmer. More inviting. More exciting.

Born in 1943 in Buffalo, New York, Washington rose to fame as one of the pioneers of what most refer to now as smooth jazz. Like George Benson, another major driver of that movement’s explosion in popularity, he’s better known these days for songs that crossed over and gained pop radio airplay, such as his collabs with Bill Withers and Patti LaBelle. But, if you dig beyond his hits, you’ll see just how influential his 70s output was on R&B, hip-hop, neo-soul, funk, and electronic music. Starting in 1973, he rattled off a string of undeniable classics in five years, including Soul Box, Feels So Good, A Secret Place, Reed Seed, and, my personal favorite, the LP that shares this song’s namesake.

After watching the recent yacht rock documentary, I can’t help but feel “Mister Magic” also sits nicely in that laid-back aesthetic. People can disagree over what constitutes that sonic profile, but labels aside, there’s something to be said for the kind of chill, sunny vibes that the 70s were uniquely positioned to capture in its music. Try as recent artists might, it’s almost impossible to replicate the sensation of a mid-70s smooth jazz completely. That struggle is amplified if you listen to an icier, overly polished digital transfer of a record like this Washington cut. I’m a CD and lossless file kind of guy, don’t get me wrong, but you lose part of what makes the 70s sound so appealing if you’re not hearing it on analog.

Earth, Wind & Fire. Al Green. Marvin Gaye. Benson. Washington. Take your pick. They don’t make songs like this one anymore. Maybe that’s why we crave the nostalgia-driven dopamine hits more and more often now as music consumers. When you need your fix, you’ve got to go to the right source.