Crunk, trap, R&B, and drill, sent through a tech house, bassline, and jungle spin cycle. Same bounce, new BPM. Comes out hotter than it went in… Hydrate accordingly.

When I sat down to build this one, I tried starting with a concept I’d considered before, to give myself a head start. This was supposed to be a pop vocal house flips playlist. Think LP Giobbi flipping Taylor Swift’s “Cruel Summer.” FISHER’s rework of JLo’s “Waiting for Tonight.” Paramore and Kesha edits. Accessible, summery, fun.

“Give the people what they want,” I thought.

I pulled together a list of about 30 tracks. I was well on my way. But then I started listening through, and realized something was missing. A little flavor. A little bounce.

What I kept gravitating toward instead was the bass-heavy, hip-hop and R&B side of the flip universe. Crime Mob reimagined as Miami bass (shout out to Zack Fox). Megan Thee Stallion teaming up with Major Lazer. Dave and Central Cee’s “Sprinter” picking up a house tempo. The polite version of the playlist swiftly (pun maybe intended??) got abandoned for the version that moved me.

So that's how this set came together. Hip-hop and R&B rerouted through dance music. A merger between the two halves of my musical brain. Drill with a four-on-the-floor bassline. Trap slamming into tech house. R&B vocals over club-ready bass.

There's a thesis in here somewhere. Chicago house, Baltimore club, Miami bass, NOLA bounce, UK garage. Different genres pioneered by Black artists, forming the foundation of music styles that remain influential today. A shared musical lineage, just blasted in different rooms.

But honestly, I just love these sounds. Every time I find a sweaty tech house or bass track with some hip-hop DNA in it, I get pumped up.

What surfaced was the playlist that wanted to be made. Twenty-three tracks deep. An hour of relentless, thumping club music, closing out on a wobbly, synth-stabbed edit of Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison” as a cooldown.

That bounce. Get after it.

Open in Spotify for the full mix.

Next up: less bass, more feelings. (Probably)

-Will

90 minutes of poolside California from across my seven years there (2015-2022). Tropical house into nu-disco. Drink optional (but highly recommended).

I’d like to take you on a journey, more than to a specific time or place, but a state of mind: poolside summers in California.

Lynea and I moved to Walnut Creek in the summer of 2015. It was our first real experience of California, and we were delighted that the focal point of our new apartment complex was a pool, with loungers, propane grills, and a hot tub just steps away. We could get used to this.

It was a simpler time, when the only thing on the agenda for a whole Saturday was filling up a cooler with beer, firing up the grill, and straight lounging. Sometimes, we’d invite Lynea’s grad school friends down from Davis and make it a day party. The pool had serious gravity, and we were more than happy to orbit.

Being the twenty-teens, of course the soundtrack to these sun- and beer-soaked afternoons was tropical house. Marimbas and saxophones. Sunny hooks and soft drops. Every track expertly crafted to keep the vibes laid back and the mood elevated. Kygo at the height of his powers.

Looking back, I’m not going to pretend a lot of these records have aged into timelessness. But that was never the point. These songs were the perfect backdrop for real summers, real cookouts, and real memories. Pulling together this playlist, my mind was transported to a specific window in time and a rose-tinted slice of life. Time-machine music, warm and nostalgic.

Two years later, we moved out of Walnut Creek — partly to be closer to the UC Davis campus and partly to experience “grown-up” life in the urban crown jewel of California: Sacramento. Walnut Creek had been a nice primer. Pleasant, leafy, and suburban. But we wanted a city, with streets we could walk and a wider array of bars and restaurants to discover.

Even though Sacramento had so much more to offer, we often found it hard to leave our apartment complex. There was a brunch spot in our building, the name of which escapes me, where we ended up most weekends. Chicken and waffles for me, western scramble for Lynea. Bottomless mimosas all around. Sometimes we brought Chauncey, our pug, who tolerated outings and the attention (provided there weren’t other dogs posting up). And the best part: it was right next to our apartment pool.

As the pool stretch continued in Sacramento, the poolside music started to shift. Tropical house gave way to something weirder (and more funky). Disco bones. Deeper grooves. Vocals with a bit more soul.

It’s only in retrospect that I can see what was actually happening. The early California years were wide-eyed. I was new to the place, just rounding into the back half of my twenties, and I reached for music to match the mood: bright, immediate, designed to land on the first listen. Uncomplicated music for an uncomplicated lifestyle. By Sacramento, I’d stopped trying to figure out what California was and started paying attention to what I actually liked. The brunch spots we picked, the streets we walked, the records that stayed in rotation — an evolution in taste, subtle but real.

So that’s the story behind the music. If you came of age to these same summer tunes, I hope the sounds transport you right back to those lazy poolside afternoons. And if you didn’t, don’t think too hard about it. Just bask in the good vibes.

In my mind, I’m already back there.

Open in Spotify for the full mix.

Next up: not sure yet. The Heat Check vault is deep, and I trust that the right theme will surface based on what the moment calls for. In the meantime, a new longform essay will be out next week. Enjoy the weekend!

-Will

From the festival grounds to a DnB-soaked happy hour. An ode to two years in Australia and the music that soundtracked it all.

Sacramento, summer 2022. We were hanging out in the backyard with Kai splashing around in the kiddie pool, the portable JBL speaker doing its best in the heat, a couple beers deep into the afternoon. At some point, I started checking festival lineups in Adelaide, to see if any of the artists we'd been listening to would be playing while we were there. I pulled up Heaps Good, saw Peggy Gou and Pink Pantheress on the bill, and that was that. We had to go. I bought the tickets right there in the backyard.

The move to Adelaide had been months in the making. Lynea’s Fulbright had recently come through (a postdoc pivot back to her first love: reptiles), and we’d been mentally in Australia ever since. The music was already pulling that way. Lynea had discovered Mallrat while looking into the postdoc, and “Groceries” became a kitchen-soundtrack staple, the song that played while Kai gamely smeared his dinner all over himself. Pink Pantheress’ to hell with it mixtape had been on my radar for about the same amount of time. Peggy Gou came later, when I was prepping a DJ set for HaasBoats and digging for artists with more range than my old college rotation.

By October we were on a plane to Adelaide.

Heaps Good was held at the Adelaide Showground in January 2023. We arrived to clear skies and brutal 100-degree heat, fully exposed.

Pink Pantheress played mid-afternoon, in the peak of the heat, to a young and growing crowd. She’d just gotten off the plane and said the heat was getting to her, so the energy was a little muted. I think she’s managed to bounce back since (playing at some festival called Coachella now?) Even with the heat and the early main stage crowd, when “Boy’s a Liar” came on, you felt it land. The song wouldn’t go fully nuclear for another couple of months, but once Ice Spice and Pink teamed up for Part 2, it was game over.

Peggy Gou was headlining the DJ stage. Lynea peeled off to catch Chvrches, so I posted up by myself in the warehouse for the dance set. Around 8pm, the screens went dark. Then neon pink and green graphics flashed on the screen, and a cartoon Peggy was there to take us all on an intergalactic journey. When the real Peggy Gou came out and opened with the Soulwax Remix of “I Go,” I lost it.

The whole day had that quality. We discovered some new local Aussie acts along the way, but the biggest takeaway was the feeling underneath it all. To make this day happen, we’d found a babysitter, taken the train to a music festival, and now we were here. Actually here. In Australia. Heaps Good was the moment that fully landed.

By September, we’d moved to Brighton, a quiet beach suburb on Adelaide’s south side. The house was a five-minute walk to the water and the same to Jetty Road, the strip of cafés and shops that runs down to the Brighton Jetty itself. We’d take Kai there for ice cream at least once a week, do weekend brunches, or grab pastries and meat pies from the bakery. Date nights at the Brighton Food and Wine or the Seacliff Yacht Club. Many weekends, we’d venture further out, to McLaren Vale, the Adelaide Hills, or whatever nature reserve was closest. Aussie indie surf-rock (Ocean Alley, Spacey Jane) became the de facto soundtrack for beach days and leisurely drives.

Somewhere in there, I started getting the itch to DJ again (mainly from the safety of my living room). There’s something about Aussie work culture that surfaces hobbies in a way the US doesn’t. People ask what you like to do outside of work before they ask what your job is (if at all). After enough conversations like that, you start wanting to have better answers. By the time Lynea asked what I wanted for Christmas, I had the exact DJ controller picked out and a pair of headphones to go with it.

Laneway came around in February 2024. By then we’d been in Adelaide for a year or so, and the festival felt a bit different. Less of a we have to see this person energy, more of a let’s just see what happens hangout.

The afternoon belonged to a run of Indigenous Australian artists. Miss Kaninna had been heavy on Triple J with “Blak Britney,” equal parts swagger and substance. I’d first come across JK-47 through his Like A Version cover of 2Pac’s “Changes,” which is genuinely as powerful as the original. It keeps the chorus and flow, but localizes the verses around Aboriginal deaths in custody and First Nations sovereignty, ending on a note of communal healing. As a hip hop fan since childhood, I was thrilled to be hearing rap from voices I wouldn’t have come across back in the US.

The back half belonged to the DJs. Confidence Man brought the camp and the choreo. Nia Archives went absolutely berserk with jungle breaks and no breathers. Skin On Skin closed it out with hard-hitting drill-tech fusion, even bringing Archives back for her unhinged “Burn Dem Bridges” edit. That was the peak. We’d planned to catch Dominic Fike midway but couldn’t bring ourselves to leave. No regrets.

Lynea had started getting word back on professor positions, which meant the US was on the horizon. Laneway was probably the last festival of our Australia chapter.

The KPMG Adelaide office had a Social Club that funded happy hours and social gatherings throughout the year. The usual DJ couldn’t make February’s, and at the Christmas party, a friend who was coordinating mentioned it offhand. I told him I had decks coming for Christmas and would gladly “come to the rescue.” He said yes.

That gave me about five weeks. Once my controller arrived under the tree, I was deep down the rabbit hole: searching for new music, building playlists, and practicing at home. The gig was at our office, on the eighth-floor balcony overlooking downtown Adelaide. About fifty people, mixed ages, a wide range of tastes. I was nervous in a way I hadn’t been at HaasBoats. That one was voluntary and mostly for kicks. This was a work event (and paid) so I was feeling the pressure.

The opening went well. Groovy electronic, ambient builds, the kind of stuff that lets people arrive and get a drink without paying full attention. But once the floor needed actual dancing, I was scrambling. My instincts were American, but not everything crosses the ocean. Plus, the crowd wanted different eras. There’s a stretch in the middle of that set I’d describe as frantically searching for the lane and stressing out about it. Someone eventually took pity and suggested some ABBA. From there, things opened up. Pop punk, 80s ballads, sing-alongs. Finally, people were actually moving.

Late in the night, the DnB requests started. For Luude specifically, the Aussie DnB icon. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. I dropped the “Down Under” remix, and it went off. The DnB stretch ended up being the peak of the night, and I could finally let go and enjoy myself. What stuck with me afterward wasn’t the gig itself so much as what it opened up. Music stopped being a private thing I just played through my AirPods at the office. It became a passion I was willing to own.

We moved back to the US in July 2024. We settled in Greensboro, and the Australia chapter became a memory — something we’d already lived through. What I keep coming back to isn’t any single set or song. It’s that we got to do it at all. The friends we met, the festivals we caught, the music we found, and the parts of myself I started taking more seriously. These nineteen tracks are a reminder of those days down in Oz, and the best of what came back with me.

Give ‘em a listen. See what stays with you.

Open in Spotify for the full mix.

Next up: another stop in the time machine. Heading back to California, to the days of pool hangs, boozy brunches, and peak summer house.

-Will

When your inner monologue gets messy, sometimes you gotta dance it out. Bedroom indie that gives way to soulful warmth, all over club-ready basslines.

I started Heat Check as a way to inject some more joy into my writing (the “flame” part of Compass & Flame, if you will). It’s my way of connecting the music I love to my writing, and bringing people along for the ride. Often, that means stories about a certain place, or a specific period in my life, that come with a certain soundtrack. Other times, maybe I’ll want to share some words of wisdom I’ve picked up along this journey, amplified by the power of song.

Sometimes, however, I just want to jam. This is one of those times.

I’ve been deep in a specific corner of dance music for a little while now, where bedroom indie confessions and soulful hooks merge with garage breaks and heavy basslines. The result is something raw and vulnerable, but irresistibly danceable. Songs that have you feeling wistful and nostalgic one moment, and then jumping up and down the next.

This mix moves through two emotional registers as much as two vocal ones. The front half is bedroom indie with the bass cranked all the way up: messy inner monologue, terminally online, longing for a simpler time — but with enough groove to dance through it. Julia Wolf’s “I stalk myself on the internet just to see what you’ll find” flowing into Chrystal’s “Do you think about the days?” That’s the vibe of the front half in a nutshell.

Around the midpoint, the mix gets more soulful and the mood shifts toward hope. Same longing, but a different tone. More optimism. Maybe even a little funk (see: Mimosa 2000). It closes on a Deep House edit of Siedah Garrett’s dance-funk classic, to leave you in a warm glow. Think: stepping away from the computer screen and out into the dawn light.

So… Do you want it right now?

Open in Spotify for the full mix.

Next episode, we’re hopping on a plane and heading Down Under to explore some “ripper tunes” that left an impression from my time there (with maybe a story or two).

-Will

The soundtrack I made for certification weekend last year, in honor of the cohort that shared the experience and crossed the threshold together. Same songs, same order — now mixed!

A year ago, I was on a flight home from certification weekend in San Francisco, trying to figure out what to do with everything the weekend had stirred up. It was four days of laughter, tears, and the kind of honesty that catches you off guard.

Our PCC program had a tradition of cranking up the music after lunch and turning the training room into a brief, slightly ridiculous dance floor. And throughout the weekend, as each of us got our certification decision from the panel of faculty (all certified!), we walked out to a unique pump-up song chosen by our classmates (think Jennifer Hudson’s Spirit Tunnel). Music and joyful expression were already deeply woven into our shared experience.

So naturally, midway through my flight, I opened up Spotify and got to work on a playlist. A few days later, I dropped it into our cohort’s Slack. This is that mix.

Back then, I had no idea I’d actually make the leap into coaching. I hoped. I was holding onto the resolve from that final day. But I didn’t truly know. A year later, I’m proud of how far we’ve all come and grateful we crossed over together.

This one goes out to my PCC B cohort. Here’s to the crossing, and dancing like no one’s watching (even when you’re in a conference room, dead sober, in broad daylight).

Open in Spotify for the full mix.

Next up: a break from the personal stuff. Just some melodic indie house and soulful flips I can’t stop playing. Stay tuned!

-Will

A quick note: I usually keep these weekly Heat Check entries in their own lane, but this story felt like it belonged to the whole list. If you’re down for a weekly soundtrack and more of these reflections, you’ll need to manually opt-in to the Heat Check section in your preferences here. If not, just consider this a one-off guest appearance in your inbox.

Latin house, cumbia, and hip hop inspired by a wedding party in CDMX that brought the whole world together for a celebration of saying “yes.”

I knew when I saw the purple jacarandas in full bloom that this was going to be a good trip.

We’d arrived in Mexico City’s Coyoacán neighborhood to celebrate the wedding party that never was — scrapped five years ago because of COVID-19. Two of our favorite people were finally getting the celebration they deserved, and they’d invited us all down to CDMX for the occasion.

What I loved about Coyoacán was the sense of aliveness. The mix of old and new. A neighborhood that’s both homey and effortlessly cool. Where you can find coffee shops next to cantinas next to mezcalerías (shout out to Madre Cuixe’s).

We spent the days wandering through Viveros de Coyoacán, letting the kids burn some energy at Parque Frida Kahlo, and ducking into the bustling Mercado Coyohuacan for gringas al pastor. Just soaking in the sights, the sounds, and the flavors, all alongside some of my closest friends from college.

Since most of us had kids by now, we didn’t get to do this sort of thing as much as we wanted. That made the experience all the more special. We agreed we should be intentional about keeping this sort of thing up. About showing up for each other.

The wedding celebration on Saturday was the perfect way to solidify that sense of magic. Here we were to celebrate the marriage of a German and a Catalan, who had met in Switzerland and recently moved to Mexico. And when the pandemic dashed their plans to have their closest friends celebrate with them on their actual wedding day five years ago, they never said “that’s a shame” or “maybe someday.” Not for one second. They never let go of the dream of hosting an unforgettable wedding party to bring everyone together.

During the ceremony, one of the groom’s closest friends delivered a toast that really struck me. The core message was how much the couple embodied the power of saying “yes.” To life. To adventure. To the ones we love.

As we get older, and our responsibilities and commitments grow, the yes isn’t always as easy or natural as it once was. So sometimes, you have to create the yes. Sometimes, that means encouraging your husband to buy an Xbox so he can stay in touch with his bros who live 1,500 miles away (never thought I’d get emotional about a gaming console, but add that to the list). Other times, that means planning and hosting a wedding party five years later, just so you have an excuse to party together.

It struck me that everyone there that day in Coyoacán had fully embraced the yes. We’d all taken stock and, despite our busy lives, decided without hesitation that there’s no place we’d rather be. No matter the distance. Even with kids in tow.

And to be in that sun-soaked courtyard, amidst friends new and old from around the world, with little ones scampering around and stealing watermelon slices, was truly something I’ll never forget.

This playlist is inspired by that experience in Coyoacán. It's the sound of CDMX as a crossroads. A place where music from Mexico, Colombia, Puerto Rico, Ecuador, West Africa, France, Germany, and the UK — and people from just as many countries — all end up on the same dance floor. Latin house, cumbia, hip hop, and more. Some you might’ve already heard; some that will be totally new or in a language you don’t speak (yet).

Press play anyway. Embrace the yes.

Open in Spotify for the full mix.

Next up: From saying yes to crossing the threshold. A special Heat Check edition celebrating one year since my coaching certification. More soon.

-Will

This is Heat Check. Spotify mixes, a little storytelling, and some absolute bangers (in my mind, anyway). Should be a fun ride.

When I made the pivot into coaching, it became immediately clear that I’d need to get used to discomfort. Specifically, the kind that comes with convincing people I have something unique and valuable to offer as a coach (some might call this “sales”).

Whenever I’d get on a discovery call, I’d feel this immense pressure of being evaluated. A sense that there was a “perfect way” the call should go, and that if I didn’t miraculously land on it, then I was doing everything all wrong.

For me, the response to pressure has always been to think my way out of it. But the more I focused on delivering the perfect performance, the more I felt myself tense up.

I knew I needed to mix things up a bit.

As I explored the issue with my own coach, we talked about finding the times when I was at my best and fully myself. I mentioned listening to dance music and feeling “in the flow” when I’m moving to a filthy beat. A relaxed confidence I possessed on the dance floor (yeah, that’s right), where I felt alive, even playful.

She said I should try harnessing some more of that.

This mix is designed to evoke that feeling. Swaggy, kinetic songs to move to when you need to get out of your own head.

Welcome to Heat Check. It’s time to move.

Open in Spotify for the full mix.

Stay tuned for future Heat Check episodes. Off to Mexico City this week for some R&R. Episode 002 will have a little Coyoacán flavor.

-Will