The Album Club: July 2026 Notes
Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders & The Promises of Slowing Down
It was fascinating watching us try to find the words for how the music made us feel when the album didn’t have any words of its own. Our first instrumental record, Promises introduced a beautiful challenge — better yet, a beautiful opportunity — to test our senses and attempt to articulate what it was like listening to this 2021 offering from Floating Points, Pharoah Sanders, and the London Symphony Orchestra.
When Jaden Shah first told me Promises is the album he wanted to discuss, I had never heard of it, nor was I familiar with its architects. While I began learning more about Floating Points and Sanders over the past few months, it’s really in recent weeks where I’ve started to understand how much this record means to people.
There were a few conversations where I either mentioned this album in passing or had someone come up to me, and there was always a visible excitement on their face as they talked about the music or their love for Sanders. Listening to this 9-part composition and diving deeper into Sanders’ career, I now see how Promises is the type of record that gets under your skin and embeds itself in the crawl spaces of your heart and mind.
Like many of the folks at last night’s Album Club, I had no idea what to expect coming into this record. But I believe that openness—a willingness to sit before the music, as Ira described literally doing in front of their speakers—is the necessary posture to meet this record and be met by it in return. Sometimes, it’s the belief that you could witness a miracle that lays the groundwork for one to actually happen.
Now, what’s likely more true is that miracles are always happening. Our very existence a miracle of its own. It’s when we slow down and meet each other in the uncertainty that we start to see these miracles all around us. Almost like staring at a star long enough to notice that there are millions of stars surrounding it. That’s how it feels to listen to Promises.
One continuous piece of music, Promises slowly unfolds over 46 minutes. While returning to the same seven-note phrase throughout much of the record, it searches different corridors, sometimes leading to deep swells, galactic shimmers, and even bouts of silence.
Made near the end of Sanders’ life, Promises doesn’t find him in a rush. Rather, the jazz legend allows himself to embark on an intergenerational, genre-spanning journey with Floating Points’ Sam Shepherd, an electronic musician who is 46 years his junior. Mutual admiration guides them to a place of stillness where nothing needs said. The void is a universe.
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Even if you’re unable to join The Album Club in person, let’s continue the conversation in the comments. Feel free to answer any or all of the questions that Jaden outlined for last night’s Promises discussion:
What did you feel when listening to this album? How did it “score” your life? If you’ve listened to the record multiple times, how has your experience evolved?
How would you describe this album sonically to someone who has never heard it? When we talk about music, what is the purpose of that language? What is the function of genre—past, present, and future?
What does it mean for music to be “spiritual”? Is it really the music that we’re talking about?
In what ways do you think intentions and expectations shape our experiences?