Orgone make life-affirming music; their irresistible funkiness and ability to transcend genre will force anyone out of their seat and onto the dance floor. Even the band’s name — a cosmic amalgamation of the words orgasm and hormone — is a reference to a spirit of creativity and universal life force that they hope will have an “inhibition-canceling effect.” But this is no hippie shit. This tightly assembled group of eight (and occasionally more) musicians have spent decades playing together and have an ear for production. Orgone have released seven albums since 2001 that are heavily influenced by ’60s- and ’70s-era studio bands, bass- and horn-laden funk and disco boogie. With two more records on the way, Orgone aren’t in ascendancy but in perpetual motion. “Where we are now as a band is a convergence of these particular individuals [and] the best and strongest that Orgone have ever sounded,” says Sergio Rios, Orgone’s bandleader

Thousands of miles north, past dozens of political borders, two women in Canada are broadcasting the sounds of revolution from the Caribbean, Central, and South America. On their three-year-old podcast Suena a Revolución, Krusheska Quirós and Paola Quirós (no relation) give home to incendiary sounds and create community by highlighting diasporic Latinx artists who are committed to social change. “The capacity that music has to spread the same message to so many people is so important,” Paola says over the phone. “A person of privilege can listen that song, a person who is struggling can listen to that song, and the message gets to them.” Although neither would easily label themselves as activists, Suena is truly radical given its commitment to covering a diversity of voices and cultures. Broadcast almost entirely in Spanish and featuring independent musicians from Chile to Guatemala and even South Africa, each episode of Suena features songs by

Twenty years ago in a cafe turned raucous cocoon of an event space, two musicians and their friends cultivated the ultimate breeding ground for multigenre experimentation. From the seeds of the acid jazz, underground hip-hop and funky breaks germinating all over Los Angeles bloomed a unique party with a distinctly eclectic sound. “The Root Down was dedicated to showcasing the roots of hip-hop in a way that was previously unknown,” says Root Down co-founder Carlos Guaico, aka DJ Loslito. “We bridged the gap of great turntableism and seamless mixes while keeping the dance floor up.” Spawning from a party called the Breaks — in which emcees were backed by band the Breakestra while DJs spun funky breaks — the Root Down is one of those only-in-L.A. events that has gained legendary status over the years. It’s been host to Cut Chemist, The Black Eyed Peas, Antibalas, Peanut Butter Wolf and

After more than 100 records, a Grammy nomination and multiple documentaries, Daptone Records is as unassuming as ever. The brown, two-story building housing the label’s studio and HQ has few hints of the soulful sounds created in its interior, save for the faint remnants of a vigil for the late Charles Bradley on the front stoop. Inside, boxes of a soon-to-ship Sharon Jones and The Dap-Kings record — the band’s final studio album – line the first floor hallway on the way to the recording studio. Upstairs, six people are taking calls, hopping in and out for lunch at the market down the street, and settling back in after a quick tour in California. The House of Soul hasn’t missed a beat. The indie label that rocketed soul and funk music back into popular consciousness with expert analog production, a family of incredibly tight musicians, and incendiary live shows is about to enter a

Carlos Vera, a.k.a DJ Turmix, has always been interested in mashups. From his early days spinning breakbeats, house and acid jazz in Spanish clubs, to sharing the stage with Latin soul and boogaloo legends in New York, sonic combination has been his jam. Born outside of Barcelona in the mid ‘70s, Vera had four siblings with distinct musical taste and he sampled liberally from each. Funk soundtracks, breakbeats, pop music and flamenco were all popular with various members of his family. At 13 he started working at a local radio station, learned how to spin records and began collecting. Over the years, he would accumulate massive amounts of club tunes to spin at raves and bars, each genre leading down another rabbit hole of musical intrigue. More than a decade into Vera’s career as a professional DJ, he developed an affinity for the sounds of late ’60s New York City

Unlike most of Playboy’s readers in the 1970s, one select group was definitely reading it for the articles: the magazine’s blind subscribers. And though the photo content was lost in translation, the edition they received had curves in all the right places — because it was written in Braille. Before the blind and visually impaired had screen readers to dictate the contents of their smartphones, many would run their hands over the bumpy patterns of a Braille text to read the latest news or profile on a cultural icon. Playboy, which had the budget and provocative editorial instincts to showcase big names in journalism, was a major source of contemporary information in the 1970s. The original version featured articles on everything from civil rights campaigns to presidential candidates — alongside centerfolds, of course — when the Library of Congress began funding production of a Braille edition. Yet more than a decade into its production and enjoyment, one