Tracklist
Liner Notes
The return to longer form is the first thing the numbers tell you. The previous ten mixes averaged sixty-one minutes. Mix 46 stretches past a hundred, the longest session since Mix 35 in January 2024. The track count of eighty rivals the early marathons — Mix 01 had ninety, Mix 04 had eighty-seven. But where those early sessions were sprawling, exploratory, sometimes undisciplined in their ambition, this mix is edited. Eighty tracks in 103 minutes means each selection averages just over a minute. The DJ is moving with purpose, not lingering. The confidence to include more has returned, but the restraint to keep moving has been earned.
Erre's "Always the Same Eyes" appears at thirteen minutes, in an Andres Luque remix. This track has been present since Mix 01 — the first mix, September 2018. It returned in Mix 02, then Mix 13, then Mix 24. Now it closes the circle in Mix 46. Five appearances across the entire seven-year span. The same eyes, always. If any single track carries the weight of the archive's narrative, it is this one. Not the most played, not the most prominent, but the one that bookends the journey — appearing at the beginning and the end, with careful, spaced returns in between, as though the DJ keeps remembering something they can't quite put down.
Cassian's "SOS" follows immediately at fourteen minutes. Cassian has spanned nearly the full archive — Mix 02 through Mix 46 — an Australian electronic artist whose presence has been as quiet and persistent as the continent's influence on the DJ's taste. RUFUS DU SOL, the other great Australian constant, arrives at eighty-one minutes with "New York" in a Fahlberg remix. Their fourteenth mix appearance, present in every single era, the one artist who never left. If the archive is a river, RUFUS DU SOL is the riverbed — always there, shaping the current even when they're invisible beneath the surface.
Energy 52's "Cafe Del Mar" appears twice — at forty-three minutes and seventy minutes, in the Three 'n One Remix and the radio edit. The Balearic thread, the Ibiza dream, the sunset that has been setting across this archive since Mix 03. Two appearances in the final mix, as though the DJ wanted to make sure the listener understood: this feeling, this specific golden-hour feeling of watching the Mediterranean from a terrace with the right record playing, is foundational to everything.
Paperclip People's "Throw" in the Slam RTM remix arrives at seventy-one minutes. Seven mixes since Mix 08, Detroit techno's representative in an archive that has always leaned European and Australian in its sympathies. "Throw" has been the archive's persistent reminder that dance music began in American cities — Detroit, Chicago, New York — before it crossed the ocean. Its placement in the final mix, in the final third, feels like an acknowledgment of roots.
Robin S.'s "Show Me Love 2008" follows "Throw" at seventy-one minutes — the diva house queen, present since Mix 04, her voice now appearing in the final mix as naturally as breathing. And Solee's "Shanti" arrives at seventy-three minutes — the track with the longest unbroken span in the archive, Mix 01 through Mix 46, the deep house meditation that has been a constant across all six eras. "Shanti" means peace in Sanskrit. Its presence here, two-thirds through the final mix, is peace offered to the listener before the session's final act.
The genre palette tells its own story. Forty-eight percent Dance at the core, but the remaining half is a kaleidoscope: Electronic, House, Techno, Brazilian, Hard Rock, New Age, Trance, R&B/Soul, Blues, Pop. Eleven genres in a single mix. Stone Sour's "Song #3" at twenty-eight minutes — hard rock in a dance mix. Sade's "Kiss Of Life" in a Tobiahs remix at twenty minutes — the kind of soul music that makes you close your eyes. Daft Punk's "Rollin' & Scratchin'" at fifty-five minutes, one of the French duo's most abrasive early tracks, all distortion and attitude. The DJ has spent seven years building a palette wide enough to hold all of this in a single session, and the final mix is the proof that it works.
The closing stretch from ninety-six minutes onward has the quality of a coda. The energy drops, the selections grow more introspective. Edward Maya's "Stereo Love" returns at 101 minutes — a track that appeared in Mix 40, now reprised in the final act. Nando Fortunato's "Romance" at 101. Paul Lock's "Cold Romance" at 100, then again at 102. The word "romance" keeps appearing in the titles, as though the mix is trying to name its own feeling. Alex H.'s "Auf Wiedersehen" at 103 — German for "until we see again," not goodbye but a promise of return. And then Dan Foster's "Im in Love" closes everything. The last track in the last mix in a seven-year archive. A pop song. A declaration. After forty-six chapters, 103 minutes of the most ambitious session since the marathons, after all the quiet and the searching and the returning, the archive ends on the simplest possible statement.
Seven years. Forty-six mixes. September 2018 to July 2025. The story of someone who started by trying to include everything — ninety tracks across three hours and forty-five minutes of undifferentiated enthusiasm — and learned, slowly, through restraint and repetition, that less could mean more. Who discovered that the spaces between records matter as much as the records themselves. Who went quiet when something changed inside them, and stayed quiet long enough to learn what the quiet had to teach. And then, having earned that knowledge through years of honest practice, chose to say more again.
Mix 46 is not a return to the beginning. It is the beginning and everything that followed, compressed into a single session that somehow contains the whole journey. Bicep's "Glue" is here in spirit if not in name. RÜFÜS DU SOL are here, as they have been in every era. Solee's "Shanti" spans from the first mix to this one — the same meditation, the same peace, carried across seven years without interruption. The energy has climbed back. The duration has stretched. The tracks speak to each other across years and genres and continents, and the DJ who connects them has become something they weren't when they started: not just someone who plays records, but someone who tells a story through them.
And at the very end, after all of it — after the marathons and the pandemic and the refinement and the consolidation and the quiet turn and the new identity — the last word is love.