Between The Wars is a gentle time capsule, drifting through a turbulent century.
From the first decades of the 1900s into the 70s – across eras marked by wars, recovery, cultural shifts and new beginnings – this playlist brings together songs that once belonged to very different worlds.

Every track is played on a felt piano.
No big arrangements, no drama – just melody, resonance and space.
The muted, wool‑covered hammers create a soft, intimate tone, as if the piano were playing right next to you in a quiet room. Well‑known pieces from different decades turn into fragile, personal reflections: familiar, but somehow completely new.

The idea behind “Between The Wars”:
1.) Music that was born in noisy, unsettled times is translated into a calm, minimal language.
2.) Between wars, crises and cultural revolutions, a private listening space opens up – outside of headlines and history books.
3.) Iconic songs become whispered stories, reduced to the slow breathing of a single instrument.

This playlist is made for slowing down:
– late nights and soft lights
– focused work and reading
– or those moments when you want to step outside of time for a while.

Between The Wars doesn’t shout its history; it lets it resonate quietly through felt and strings – one piano, one century, endless small pauses in between.

Take your time and relax.

Between The Wars – Neoclassical Bar & Background Piano

This is 420 Sunlight. ALL TRACKS ✨” feels like a cozy little sound oasis on the web – perfect for anyone who loves Lo Fi & Lounge and is just looking for a place to take a breather for a moment. The playlist is set up as a collection of all tracks by 420 Sunlight and comes across like a musical living room: you can let it play while studying, working, relaxing, or simply spacing out and letting your thoughts wander.

This is 420 Sunlight. ALL TRACKS ✨” is like a little lo-fi lounge that’s always open: friendly, warm, and inviting. It’s perfect as a background for studying, working, or just relaxing, with a cozy vibe that fits especially well on winter days or quiet evenings.

No drama, no stress – just hit play and let it run.

If you’re looking for a musical space where you can breathe, think, dream, or simply just exist, this playlist is made exactly for that.

Lo Fi your Live ✨🫶👉

This is 420 Sunlight. ALL TRACKS ✨

We’ve Only Just Begun” entered the world in 1970, at the edge of a new decade that was still shaking off the turbulence of the 1960s. Written by Roger Nichols and Paul Williams and made famous by The Carpenters, it became a gentle hymn to beginnings: weddings, shared apartments, the first days of a life built together. On the surface it is pure optimism – “we’ve only just begun” – but underneath, you can hear a quieter truth: every beginning carries the weight of all the unknowns that follow.

The song originally grew out of a small, almost incidental moment: a commercial about a couple starting their future. From there it turned into one of the defining soft‑pop ballads of its time, a soundtrack for countless promises and first steps.

In this felt‑piano version, all the words are gone. No white lace, no big chorus, no radio gloss – just the bare melody, slowed down and brought as close as possible. Without the lyrics, the optimism feels more fragile, almost like someone sitting alone at night, thinking back to the first pages of their own story. The familiar chords are still there, but they breathe more slowly; every pause feels like a small question mark between past and future.

Recorded for Between The Wars, this “We’ve Only Just Begun” is less a celebration and more a quiet reflection on how beginnings really feel: hopeful, uncertain, and always a little bit delicate.

We’ve Only Just Begun“ erschien 1970 – am Beginn eines neuen Jahrzehnts, das noch nach den Erschütterungen der 1960er‑Jahre nachhallte. Geschrieben von Roger Nichols und Paul Williams und berühmt geworden durch The Carpenters, wurde der Song zu einer sanften Hymne auf das Anfangen: Hochzeiten, erste gemeinsame Wohnungen, die ersten Schritte in ein geteiltes Leben. An der Oberfläche klingt er wie reine Zuversicht – „we’ve only just begun“ – doch darunter schwingt eine stille Wahrheit mit: Jeder Anfang trägt das Gewicht all dessen in sich, was noch ungewiss ist.

Entstanden ist das Lied ursprünglich aus einem fast beiläufigen Moment: einem Werbespot über ein junges Paar, das seine Zukunft beginnt. Von dort aus wurde es zu einer der prägenden Soft‑Pop‑Balladen seiner Zeit – zum Soundtrack unzähliger Versprechen und ersten Kapitel.

In dieser Filzklavier‑Version sind die Worte verschwunden. Kein weißer Schleier, kein großer Refrain, kein Radioglanz – nur die nackte Melodie, verlangsamt und so nah wie möglich herangeholt. Ohne den Text wirkt die Zuversicht zerbrechlicher, fast so, als säße jemand nachts allein da und würde auf die ersten Seiten seiner eigenen Geschichte zurückblicken. Die vertrauten Akkorde sind noch da, aber sie atmen langsamer; jede Pause fühlt sich an wie ein kleines Fragezeichen zwischen Vergangenheit und Zukunft.

We've Only Just Begun  1970

“Stella by Starlight” is one of the great modern jazz standards—harmonically rich, slightly mysterious, and endlessly re‑interpreted. The melody was originally composed by Victor Young in 1944 as an instrumental theme for the ghost‑story film The Uninvited. In 1946, Ned Washington added English lyrics and the song received its now‑famous title. From the 1950s onward it became a core tune in the jazz canon, recorded by artists such as Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Bill Evans, Ella Fitzgerald, and many others.

This recording appears in my Piano playlist, where classic songs and film themes are reimagined as intimate solo‑piano pieces. Instead of small jazz combos or big bands, everything is distilled into one instrument—melody, harmony, and space—making it suitable both for deep listening and for quiet background use.

In my version of “Stella by Starlight,” I focus on the song’s mix of lyricism and harmonic complexity: a love song that always seems to carry a hint of mystery.

1.) Melody & phrasing
The melody of “Stella by Starlight” is less straightforward than many standards: it moves through unexpected intervals and directions, which gives it a slightly elusive, “otherworldly” feeling. I phrase it like a late‑night ballad—supple rubato, long legato lines, and gentle dynamic swells that follow the harmonic tension underneath.
Important cadences and climactic notes are allowed a bit more time and weight, while some of the quicker passing notes are treated almost as murmured thoughts. The aim is to let the tune sing clearly, even while it travels through its unusual contour.

2.) Harmony & piano texture
Harmonically, “Stella by Starlight” is famous among musicians for its sophisticated, non‑obvious chord progression. In this arrangement I remain faithful to the classic changes, enriching them with modern jazz colors: extended chords (9ths, 11ths, 13ths), altered dominants, and inner voice movements that gently shift the mood without disturbing the basic structure.
The left hand alternates between rooted, supportive voicings and more open, floating textures, sometimes using broken chords or light walking patterns that hint at a bass player. The right hand carries the melody but occasionally veers into short improvised fills—small, lyrical responses between phrases—before returning to the main line. The overall piano sound aims for warmth and clarity, with enough resonance to feel “jazz‑club” intimate rather than concert‑hall grand.

3.) Mood & use
This interpretation leans into the tune’s nocturnal character: introspective, romantic, but with an undertone of unresolved questions—perfect for late evenings, reading, or quiet reflection. It works as atmospheric background music, yet also rewards focused listening if you follow how the melody weaves through the complex harmony. Within the playlist, it represents the classic mid‑20th‑century jazz tradition translated into a stripped‑down, solo‑piano language.

Stella By Starlight

Moonlight Serenade,” recorded by Glenn Miller in 1939, is one of those pieces in which an entire era seems to breathe. It emerges at the very end of the interwar period, just as the world is about to step over the threshold into another conflict. On the surface it is a dance tune, a slow swing number meant for crowded ballrooms and polished floors. Underneath, it carries something much more fragile: a longing for calm, safety, and romance at a time when none of those could be taken for granted.

Miller’s arrangement is instantly recognizable: the clarinet floating above the saxophones, brass muted and restrained, a gentle, steady pulse from the rhythm section. The melody doesn’t shout; it glides. It moves in long, arching lines, as if tracing the path of someone slowly crossing a dance floor in half‑darkness. Even without words, the music suggests a very particular scene: night has fallen, the air is warm, and two people are dancing close enough that the rest of the room begins to blur. The “serenade” is not a display of virtuosity, but an atmosphere – a spell cast in four‑bar phrases.

By 1939, the Great Depression was not yet a distant memory, and in Europe the first shadows of war were already lengthening. In that context, “Moonlight Serenade” became more than a hit; it became a kind of shared dream. Its gentle swing offered the illusion that, for the length of a song, time could slow down and the world could be reduced to the simple geometry of two people moving together. As the years went on and soldiers carried this music with them in their heads and on the radio, it acquired an even deeper resonance: a soundtrack not just for dances, but for departures, waiting, and homecomings that might or might not happen.

Placed within the frame of Between The Wars, “Moonlight Serenade” stands right at the edge of that period, like the last, soft light before a storm. It is the sound of the late 1930s trying to convince itself that there is still room for sentiment, gentleness, and ordinary happiness. Unlike the more playful early‑swing numbers or the optimistic songs of the 1920s, this piece has a trace of melancholy built into it; the harmony leans into suspensions and delayed resolutions, as if the music itself is reluctant to let go of the moment it has created.

In a felt‑piano interpretation, the famous big‑band sheen disappears. There are no saxophones, no muted trumpets, no brushed cymbals – only the bare outline of the tune and the quiet heartbeat of its chords. Slowed down and played softly, the familiar melody becomes something more intimate, almost like a nocturne. The swing feel turns into a gentle sway; instead of imagining a crowded dance hall, you might picture a single person at a window late at night, replaying an old memory of dancing to this song when the world was younger.

Without lyrics or brass, the emotional center of “Moonlight Serenade” shifts. It is no longer primarily about the romantic fantasy suggested by the original song text, but about memory itself: how a piece of music can hold a whole scene inside it, long after the people and the place have changed or vanished. Each return of the main phrase feels like walking once more through the same remembered evening, noticing new details each time – the pattern of light on the floor, the sound of footsteps, the knowledge, in retrospect, of how precarious that peaceful moment really was.

Heard this way, “Moonlight Serenade” becomes less an emblem of swing‑era glamour and more a quiet meditation on a world at the brink. The felt piano doesn’t try to recreate the big band; instead, it distills the song down to its essence: a tender, slightly wistful melody that looks up at the night sky and, for a few minutes, believes in the possibility of stillness.

Moonlight Serenade Glenn Miller 1939

Misty” began life in 1954 as a wordless piano miniature by Erroll Garner – a slow, harmonically rich ballad that seemed to float more than walk. Sitting at the very edge of the post‑war era, it belongs to a world that was trying to learn how to be romantic again after years defined by headlines and loss. Where earlier standards often kept a trace of wit or swing, “Misty” is unabashedly tender: its entire shape is built around the feeling of being overwhelmed, disoriented, gently undone by love.

Garner’s original recording is almost like a private conversation with the piano. The melody doesn’t rush anywhere; it drifts, pausing, circling back, slipping into unexpected harmonies. The tune rises as if reaching for clarity, then dissolves into soft, descending lines that never quite settle. When Johnny Burke added lyrics a few years later (“Look at me, I’m as helpless as a kitten up a tree…”), he simply put words to what the music was already saying: that particular mix of wonder and vulnerability, of being happily lost and a little afraid of how deep this could go.

Over time, “Misty” became one of the defining ballads of the mid‑20th‑century songbook. Singers like Johnny Mathis and Sarah Vaughan turned it into a showcase for long, sustained lines and orchestras that wrapped the melody in strings and soft brass. Yet no matter how lush the arrangement, the core feeling stayed the same: a strange, weightless state where the world blurs at the edges and only one person remains in focus. It is not the bittersweet resignation of the interwar songs, nor the jaunty brightness of pre‑war dance numbers, but something more introspective – a late‑night realisation that you are no longer entirely in control of your own heart.

In a felt‑piano setting, that intimacy is brought sharply to the foreground. Stripped of the big arrangements and famous vocal lines, “Misty” becomes once again what it was at the beginning: a pianist alone with a fragile, wandering melody. The softened attack of the keys makes the harmonies seem to breathe; chords emerge and fade like passing thoughts. Without the lyrics, the iconic opening phrase is no longer “Look at me” but simply a hesitant, rising question in sound – a few notes that don’t quite know where they are going, only that they must follow this path.

Heard this way, the song feels less like a polished showpiece and more like someone carefully tracing the outline of their own uncertainty. Each modulation, each unexpected chord, is like a small emotional shift: hope, doubt, surrender, a brief moment of clarity before the haze closes in again. Placed alongside earlier pieces in Between The Wars, “Misty” acts almost like an echo from the future – a reminder of how the language of popular music evolved from waltzes and swing tunes into these weightless, hovering ballads that seem to take place entirely inside a single, complicated feeling.

Misty 1954

Just One of Those Things” arrived in 1935 in Cole Porter’s Broadway musical Jubilee, right in the middle of the years between the two world wars. Onstage it was a bright, quick song – something you could dance to, filled with Porter's trademark mix of elegance, wordplay and emotional sting. The lyric looks back on a love affair and decides, with a shrug and a half-smile, that it was never meant to last: “it was great fun, but it was just one of those things.” No accusations, no drama – just the bittersweet understanding that some connections are beautiful precisely because they are temporary.

In the nightclubs and ballrooms of the 1930s, the song became part of the soundtrack to a world trying to forget its worries for a few hours. The Great Depression was still in the air, political tensions were rising, but people were dressing up, going out, and dancing to songs like this one – clever, sophisticated, slightly sad underneath the sparkle.

In this felt‑piano version, the glitter and swing fall away. The tempo slows, the harmonies soften, and the melody sounds less like witty small talk and more like a private afterthought. Without the orchestra and the speed, you can hear the loneliness between the lines: someone sitting at the end of an evening, replaying what happened and quietly accepting that it’s over. Recorded for Between The Wars, Just One of Those Things turns from a stylish Broadway tune into a fragile, late‑night reflection on how casually we sometimes lose the moments that once felt like everything

Just One of Those Things“ tauchte 1935 in Cole Porters Broadway‑Musical Jubilee auf – mitten in den Jahren zwischen den beiden Weltkriegen. Auf der Bühne war es ein helles, schnelles Stück, tanzbar, durchzogen von Porters typischer Mischung aus Eleganz, Wortwitz und emotionalem Stachel. Der Text blickt auf eine vergangene Affäre zurück und zieht mit einem Achselzucken und einem halben Lächeln Bilanz: „Es war ein großer Spaß, aber eben nur so eines von diesen Dingern.“ Keine Vorwürfe, kein Drama – nur das bittersüße Eingeständnis, dass manche Begegnungen gerade deshalb schön sind, weil sie nie für die Ewigkeit gedacht waren.

In den Nachtclubs und Ballsälen der 1930er‑Jahre wurde der Song Teil des Soundtracks einer Welt, die für ein paar Stunden ihre Sorgen vergessen wollte. Die Große Depression war noch spürbar, die politischen Spannungen nahmen zu, aber die Menschen zogen sich schick an, gingen aus und tanzten zu Liedern wie diesem – geistreich, sophisticated, mit einer leisen Traurigkeit unter all dem Glanz.

In dieser Filzklavier‑Version verschwindet das Funkeln des Swing. Das Tempo wird langsamer, die Harmonien weicher, und die Melodie klingt weniger wie geistreicher Smalltalk und mehr wie ein stiller Gedanke im Nachhinein. Ohne Orchester und Eile hört man die Einsamkeit zwischen den Zeilen: jemand sitzt am Ende eines Abends da, spult die gemeinsamen Momente noch einmal zurück und akzeptiert leise, dass es vorbei ist. Aufgenommen für Between The Wars verwandelt sich „Just One of Those Things“ von einem stilvollen Broadway‑Song in eine zerbrechliche Spätabend‑Reflexion darüber, wie beiläufig wir manchmal das verlieren, was sich einmal nach allem angefühlt hat.

Just One Of Those Things 1935

But Not For Me (1930)” is my quiet, intimate piano reflection on unrequited love – set in the atmosphere of the years between the wars. Inspired by a song from 1930, this arrangement brings the melancholic elegance of that era into the present: a reduced, neoclassical felt piano that prefers to whisper rather than speak.

Somewhere between smoke, bar lights, and empty chairs, the piece tells the story of people who believe in love – just not in the idea that it is meant for them. Gentle voicings, lots of space, and subtle dynamics leave room to breathe, remember, and dream.

As part of the “Between The Wars” playlist, this track combines a historical feel with a modern sound aesthetic: music for late hours, for bar ambience, for reading, reflecting, or simply being still.

But Not For Me

Bésame Mucho carries this playlist to Mexico in the early 1940s.
Written by pianist and composer Consuelo Velázquez – reportedly before she had even received her first kiss – the song became one of the most recorded melodies of the 20th century.

Its opening line is disarmingly direct:
“Bésame, bésame mucho, como si fuera esta noche la última vez …”
– “Kiss me, kiss me a lot, as if tonight were our last time.”
Between tenderness and quiet panic, the song imagines a love so intense because it might end at any moment. While the world was at war, couples everywhere were dancing slowly to this bolero, using it as a brief escape from uncertainty.

In this felt‑piano version, all the drama and historic weight fall away. There is no voice, no nightclub, no crowd – only the melody, slowed down and brought close. The familiar phrases turn into something almost private: less like a performance, more like someone replaying a memory in their head, late at night.

Recorded for Between The Wars, Bésame Mucho becomes a quiet fragment from a turbulent decade. One song, one instrument, and the soft suggestion that every moment of closeness is already half a farewell.

Besame Mucho  1941

“As Time Goes By,” written by Herman Hupfeld in 1931, is one of the most enduring ballads of the 20th century, forever linked with the film Casablanca (1942). Originally composed for the Broadway musical Everybody’s Welcome, it only became world‑famous when sung on screen by Dooley Wilson as Sam, accompanying the memories of Rick and Ilsa. Since then, it has come to symbolize nostalgic reflection on love, time, and the unchanging essentials of human emotion.

The melody is gentle, conversational, and deceptively simple. It moves mostly in small, stepwise motions, with just a few carefully chosen leaps that highlight key emotional words—“kiss,” “sigh,” “things.” This gives the tune an almost spoken quality, as if someone is talking quietly across a table rather than delivering a grand aria. The contour rises modestly, then settles back down, mirroring the song’s calm assurance that, despite everything, some truths remain.

Harmonically, “As Time Goes By” is firmly rooted in the classic American songbook language. It typically sits in a comfortable major key, with smooth ii–V–I progressions and a few tasteful secondary dominants. The changes move at a relaxed pace, allowing each chord to be savored and each melodic note to feel grounded. There is no harmonic shock or surprise; instead, the harmony supports the lyric’s message of constancy and reassurance. The sense of inevitability in the cadence mirrors the idea that “the fundamental things apply.”

Hupfeld’s lyric is remarkable for its blend of simplicity and philosophical depth. It begins with everyday romantic images—a kiss, a sigh, a lover’s wooing—before widening out to broader reflections on the nature of the world: “The world will always welcome lovers, as time goes by.” The famous opening line, “You must remember this,” immediately places us in the realm of memory and shared experience. The song does not deny war, politics, or change; it simply insists that underneath them all, love and human connection remain the essential constants.

Culturally, the piece has become shorthand for nostalgia itself. In Casablanca, it functions as a trigger for recollection and regret, and that association has colored almost every performance since. Singers tend to approach it with restraint and warmth, letting the lyric speak plainly rather than over‑dramatizing it. Over the decades, “As Time Goes By” has been recorded in jazz, pop, and orchestral arrangements, consistently retaining its core character: calm, reflective, slightly bittersweet.

On solo or felt piano, the song can become even more intimate. The left hand can suggest a quiet, steady pulse—like a clock ticking in the background—while the right hand “speaks” the melody in a soft, vocal style. Gentle rubato suits it well: slightly lingering on phrases such as “a kiss is still a kiss” or “the fundamental things apply” helps underline the lyric’s wisdom. On a muted, felted instrument, the harmonies blur into a warm haze, evoking the sense of distant, half‑remembered scenes. In this setting, “As Time Goes By” feels less like a cinematic theme and more like a private conversation with the past, a reminder that, however much the world changes, the deepest truths of the heart remain the same.

As Times Goes By  1931

After You goes back to Broadway in 1932.
Originally written by Cole Porter as „After You, Who?“ for the musical Gay Divorce, it began life as an elegant love song on a bright, noisy stage – first sung by Fred Astaire in a world of tuxedos, footlights and fast dialogue.

The song’s idea is disarmingly simple: after you, who else could there possibly be? In Porter’s hands, that question becomes both sophisticated and fragile – a quiet admission of how completely one person can fill your inner landscape.

In this version, the theatre and the lyrics disappear. Only the melody remains. Played on a felt piano, After You turns into an almost private confession: slower, softer, closer than it could ever be under stage lights. Harmonies that once floated over an orchestra now feel like someone thinking out loud in a dark, quiet room.

1932 sits between two world wars, between economic crisis and modern glamour. Back then, songs like this were a way to escape for a few minutes. Here, that escape is reduced to a single instrument – no chorus line, no dialogue, no big gesture.

After You is part of Between The Wars: iconic pieces from a turbulent century, translated into the hushed language of felt and strings. One piano, one song, a few minutes outside of time.

Ursprünglich 1932 von Cole Porter für das Broadway‑Musical Gay Divorce geschrieben, verwandelt sich After You hier von einer Bühnennummer in ein stilles, persönliches Klavierstück. Auf dem Filzklavier gespielt, bleibt nur die reine Melodie – zart, fragil und nah, als würde das Klavier direkt neben dir im Raum atmen. Teil der Playlist Between The Wars: Musik aus lauten, unruhigen Zeiten, übersetzt in eine ruhige, minimale Sprache.

After You  1932

Fountain of Love

Happy Moments

Missing You

Norwegian Sky

Lighthouse Lime

Dearest Fjella

“Beautiful Love” is a classic jazz standard with a slightly dark, romantic edge. Published in 1931, the music was written by Victor Young, Wayne King, and Egbert Van Alstyne, with lyrics by Haven Gillespie. Originally introduced as an American popular song, it quickly crossed into the jazz world and has since been recorded by countless artists—both vocal and instrumental. Over the decades, it has appeared in several films and has become a favorite tune at jam sessions because of its memorable melody and rich minor‑key harmony.

This recording is part of my Piano playlist, where well‑known standards and themes are arranged for intimate solo piano. Stripped of lyrics and band accompaniment, “Beautiful Love” becomes a kind of nocturnal confession—melancholic but still warmly lyrical.

1.) Melody & phrasing
“Beautiful Love” is typically played as a 32‑bar standard in a minor key (often A minor), with an AABA form. The melody combines clear, singable lines with a touch of drama: short rising gestures, sighing falls, and a few expressive leaps that give the tune its emotional intensity.
In my interpretation, I treat the melody as if it were being sung late at night—slow, legato, and shaped with flexible rubato. Key notes at the top of phrases gain a bit more time and dynamic weight, while the ends of lines gently fade, as if disappearing into the background. Even without the words, the phrasing hints at the original lyric’s mixture of hope, longing, and vulnerability.

2.) Harmony & piano texture
Harmonically, “Beautiful Love” is beloved by jazz musicians for its flowing, slightly cinematic chord progression. The tune moves through classic minor ii–V sequences, modulations, and lush cadences that invite reharmonization.
In this solo‑piano arrangement, I stay close to the standard changes but color them with extended chords (9ths, 11ths, 13ths) and some subtle inner‑voice movement. The left hand alternates between steady, grounded voicings and broken‑chord patterns that suggest a quiet rhythm section. The right hand carries the tune in a singing register, occasionally adding short, lyrical fills between phrases—small hints of improvisation that never overshadow the main melody. The overall sound is warm and intimate, like being close to a piano in a small room rather than in a large hall.

3.) Mood & use
This version of “Beautiful Love” leans into the tune’s bittersweet character: romantic, but with a touch of mystery and sadness. It works well as background music for reading, a quiet evening, or late‑night reflection, yet it also rewards focused listening if you follow the harmonic turns and dynamic nuances. Within the playlist, it represents the classic jazz‑standard tradition—music born in the 1930s, translated into a contemporary, minimalist solo‑piano language.

Beautiful Love

Gönn Dir🧚‍♀️

Cheesium

Yesterdays Sky

Drifting into the holidays with a warm cup of something hot and this track on repeat.
Cozy Christmas is a laid‑back LoFi collab between 420 Sunlight and Slowflight, built around a soft, gentle piano melody that feels like snowfall outside and fairy lights inside.

Dusty drums, mellow chords, subtle vinyl crackle – everything comes together to create that late‑night Christmas vibe: calm, nostalgic, and a little bit dreamy. Perfect for studying, relaxing on the couch, or just staring out the window while the world slows down for a moment.

Throw this on, dim the lights, and let the piano carry you through a slow, peaceful Christmas night.

Cozy Christmas

Let yourself sink into the gentle embrace of mellow piano chords and silky rhythms. "Cozy and Warm" captures that perfect moment when sunlight spills through your window, wrapping everything in a golden, peaceful glow. This track blends classic LoFi aesthetics with HiFi clarity, inviting you to unwind, dream, and breathe easy.

Perfect for quiet mornings, creative afternoons, or winding down after a long day—immerse yourself in a soundscape where style meets comfort.

Stay cozy. Stay warm. Stay inspired.
#420Sunlight #LoFiHiFi #CozyAndWarm

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Cozy and warm

Strawberry Cheesecake

Wired to the moon

Wednesday Changes

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Autumn Bliss

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Soothing Sunday

Christmas Chords" by 420 Sunlight is a laid-back LoFi journey through winter nights and quiet city streets.
This track is a gentle nod to the harmonies of "Last Christmas" by George Michael — built on a similar chord foundation, but drifting off into completely different musical thoughts.

No cover, no remix, no samples – just an original LoFi instrumental that takes the familiar feeling of a Christmas classic and reimagines it as a calm, reflective beat. Soft drums, warm keys and nostalgic textures create a cozy atmosphere for late-night studying, relaxing on the couch, or watching the snow fall outside your window.

Put on some headphones, slow down for a moment, and let these Christmas chords light up your winter with a soft, mellow glow. 🌫✨

Christmas chords

Sometimes all it takes is a gentle groove and a few quiet piano notes to make the day feel a little lighter. "Smoothie Mo" grew out of relaxed afternoons, when sunlight drifts through the window and life outside slows down.
The piano melody seemed to settle naturally into the beat, joined by a guitar that adds its own subtle touches. For me, this track feels like a walk through a city at sunset: calm, but full of little details you only notice when you listen closely.
Maybe you’ll find a moment to breathe in this song, too.
Manchmal braucht es nur einen sanften Groove und ein paar leise Klaviertöne, um den Tag ein bisschen leichter zu machen. "Smoothie Mo" ist genau daraus entstanden – aus entspannten Nachmittagen, an denen das Licht durchs Fenster fällt und das Leben draußen langsam wird.
Die Melodie am Klavier hat sich fast wie von selbst in den Beat gelegt, begleitet von einer Gitarre, die immer wieder kleine Akzente setzt. Für mich ist das Stück wie ein Spaziergang durch eine Stadt im Sonnenuntergang: ruhig, aber voller kleiner Details, die man erst beim zweiten Hinhören bemerkt.
Vielleicht findest du in diesem Song ja auch einen Moment zum Durchatmen.

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Smoothie Mo

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Blissful days

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Blue zone

“Conifdence” is a laid-back lo-fi track from my project 420 Sunlight – warm, calm, and with exactly the kind of vibe you need to clear your head and reconnect with your inner confidence.

Soft drums, smooth melodies, and a slightly dreamy sound are meant to remind you that confidence often grows in the quiet moments – late at night, with headphones on, somewhere between mental chaos and inner peace.

Whether you’re studying, chilling, reading, or just drifting away – “Conifdence” stays in the background without getting in the way, while still holding the mood.

If you enjoy the track, feel free to leave a like, drop a comment with your favorite moment, and follow me so you don’t miss any new releases from 420 Sunlight. 🌙

Thanks for listening.

Confidence

Maybe” by 420 Sunlight feels like a quiet question you only ask yourself when no one else is around.
A slow, chilled groove sets the pace, while a playful piano melody searches its way forward – sometimes shy, sometimes hopeful. In response, a soft electric guitar answers with gentle, floating phrases, like a second voice picking up the words that never quite make it out loud.

Beneath them, an arpeggiated acoustic guitar keeps a steady, subtle pulse, giving the track an intimate warmth – almost like a calm heartbeat in the background. A faint, cozy crackle runs through the whole piece, as if it were playing on an old speaker in a dimly lit room, very close, very personal.

“Maybe” lives exactly in that in‑between space: between yes and no, courage and hesitation, holding on and letting go. It’s the soundtrack for wondering what could be, without needing an answer right away. Gentle, slightly melancholic, but full of soft possibilities.
A track for late evenings, headphone sessions, and all those inner conversations no one else ever hears.

Maybe“ von 420 Sunlight klingt wie ein leiser Gedanke, der sich nicht ganz traut, ausgesprochen zu werden.
Ein langsamer, chilliger Groove bildet den Boden, auf dem eine verspielte Klaviermelodie ihren eigenen Weg sucht – mal zögerlich, mal hoffnungsvoll. Im Dialog dazu antwortet eine E‑Gitarre mit weichen, schwebenden Tönen, fast wie eine zweite Stimme, die die unausgesprochenen Worte übernimmt.

Darunter legt sich eine arpeggierte Akustikgitarre, die stetig, aber unaufdringlich pulsiert und dem Track eine intime Wärme gibt – wie ein ruhiger Herzschlag im Hintergrund. Ein leises Knistern begleitet alles, als würde die Musik in einem kleinen, halbdunklen Zimmer auf einer alten Anlage laufen, ganz nah, ganz persönlich.

„Maybe“ lebt genau in diesem Zwischenraum: zwischen Ja und Nein, zwischen Mut und Vorsicht, zwischen Loslassen und Festhalten. Es ist der Soundtrack zu all den Momenten, in denen man sich fragt, was wäre, wenn – ohne eine schnelle Antwort zu erwarten. Melancholisch, aber tröstlich. Nachdenklich, aber voller leiser Möglichkeiten.

Ein Track für späte Abende, Kopfhörer-Momente und alle inneren Gespräche, die niemand sonst hört.

Maybe

Daydream” by 420 Sunlight feels like zoning out on a beach chair while the world keeps spinning somewhere far away.
Soft seaside ambience – waves, air, distant motion – sets the scene in the background, while a gentle guitar drifts in, as if someone were quietly playing on the sand at Ipanema.

A bright, playful synth motif carries the good vibes, giving the track its easygoing, sun-soaked energy. The piano slides in with smooth, lightly jazzy lines that weave around the groove, adding a laid‑back, sophisticated touch without ever getting in the way. Subtle lo‑fi drums and warm textures leave plenty of space to breathe, think, and drift off – classic 420 Sunlight: light, organic and quietly uplifting.

“Daydream” is made for those moments when you want your mind to be somewhere else for a while – by the ocean, in the sun, deep in thought, or just floating above the day.

Daydream“ von 420 Sunlight ist wie ein kurzer Ausflug an den Strand, ohne das Zimmer zu verlassen.
Leise Strandgeräusche liegen im Hintergrund – Wellen, Wind, ein Hauch von Ferne – und zeichnen die Kulisse, während eine sanfte Gitarre erklingt, als würde sie irgendwo am Strand von Ipanema gespielt.

Darüber legt sich ein fröhliches Synth-Motiv, das die gute Laune übernimmt und den Track wie einen warmen Sonnenstrahl durchzieht. Das Klavier antwortet mit leicht jazzigen, smoothen Linien, die sich entspannt in den Groove einweben und dem Tagtraum eine weiche, verspielte Note geben. Dezent gehaltene Lofi-Drums und feine Texturen lassen genug Raum, um in Gedanken wegzudriften – typisch 420 Sunlight: warm, luftig und doch fokussiert.

Ein Track für all die Momente, in denen du innerlich am Meer sitzen willst: zum Träumen, Arbeiten, Reisen oder einfach, um kurz aus dem Alltag auszusteigen.

Daydream

“Rain on Christmas Eve” is what happens when cozy lofi, late‑night jazz, and holiday nostalgia decide to share a hot chocolate.

This collab between 420 Sunlight and Slowflight skips the cheesy jingle bells and goes straight for the real December mood: soft rain on the window, warm lights, maybe a half‑finished gift wrap job waiting on the table. Gentle swing‑inspired drums, warm vinyl crackle, and subtle bass lines create a laid‑back groove, while jazzy chords and delicate piano licks drift in and out like little memories.

The piano is the quiet star here: relaxed, slightly melancholic, but full of warmth—sliding over extended chords, small blue notes, and tiny improvisations that feel like someone noodling on a piano while everyone else is already in bed. The rain outside might be cold, but the harmony stays deep and cozy.

This track is perfect for:

1.) Late‑night Christmas vibes – low lights, tree glowing, everyone gone home, you and your thoughts.
2.) Studying or working through the holidays – festive, but not distracting; jazzy, but not showy.
3.) Wrapping presents or sipping something warm – the kind of beat that makes even cutting tape feel cinematic.

If you like your Christmas music chilled, slightly jazzy, and without the sugar overdose, “Rain on Christmas Eve” gives you the holiday spirit in lofi form: calm, cozy, and just a little bit bittersweet—like the best winter evenings.

420 Sunlight x Slowflight - Rain On Christmas Eve

Sleepy Lou is your midnight slow-motion escape—LoFi vibes so soft they could make the moon hit pause. An acoustic guitar whispers through the night, while subtle orbital textures drift in and out like tiny satellites of sound, setting the scene for a calm, weightless atmosphere.

Built on a slow 6/8 sway, the track gently rocks you forward, wrapped in a sensitive piano mood that doesn’t demand attention—just quietly keeps you company. Add in warm Rhodes tones and a smooth, velvety palette, and you’ve got a ballad that feels like night air: cool, quiet, and comforting.

Perfect for late-night headphones, soft thoughts, and unhurried moments.
Press play, dim the lights—Sleepy Lou’s got the night shift.

Get it and support ✨🫶

Sleepy Lou

Golden Flowline

“The Christmas Waltz” is one of those holiday tunes that somehow manages to feel classic without being cheesy. The song was written in 1954 by Jule Styne (music) and Sammy Cahn (lyrics)—a Tin Pan Alley dream team—and it quickly found its way into the seasonal canon (with Frank Sinatra helping to put it on the map). Over the years it slipped from “Christmas favorite” into “jazz musician’s December survival kit,” which is exactly why you’ll spot it sitting comfortably in the Real Book.

My name is Kai Beller—pianist, arranger, professional enjoyer of warm voicings—and this is my fresh take on that familiar waltz. I wanted to keep the tune’s old-school elegance, but give it a modern, late-night club feel: a little LoFi glow, a little film-grain nostalgia, and harmonies that lean just far enough into the jazz to make the carolers raise an eyebrow.

Think: three beats per bar, like a gentle swirl of eggnog—smooth, slightly dangerous, and best enjoyed slowly. No Santa. No glitter explosion. Just a cozy winter vibe, a piano that’s trying its best to behave, and an arrangement that says: Yes, it’s Christmas… but we’re still cool.

Press play, dim the lights, and let the snow do the rest.

420 Sunlight

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