FELIPE TOMAZ

How I choose the music that plays before a psychoanalysis session.

No matter which song is playing, it’s not there to calm anyone down. In a very subtle way, the music playing in the waiting room is also part of the experience. But it’s not there to compete for the attention of whoever walks in.

This isn’t a relaxation playlist. I curate it, then let everything play on shuffle. Baden Powell’s guitar comes before Connan Mockasin’s instrumental psychedelia. Debussy’s classical impressionism crosses paths with Kokoroko’s afrobeat, and that’s okay. There isn’t a genre. What I select is the way the sound occupies the room.

They all have something in common: none of them asks for your attention… They all make room for distraction, for thought, for silence. You can stare at the ceiling and wait without rushing. Doesn’t sound like much, right? These days, it’s almost a luxury.

The session doesn’t begin in the waiting room, but in a world of notifications, screens and algorithms, this selection makes room for something to happen. Just to exist.

There are some unlikely encounters: Fela Kuti, then Berimbau after Gymnopédie No. 1. It’s been eight years collecting music that’s wildly different from one another, but somehow trying to capture the same thing: zero urgency, breathing room, improvisation, imperfection…

It doesn’t seem to make sense. It only seems that way because they weren’t chosen by genre, but by the feeling they leave behind. Once someone asked me, “What playlist is this that’s always playing in the waiting room?” At the time, I wrote the answer down in my notebook:

“Music that knows how to wait.“