On Sundays, I am typically indifferent about how I begin my week. Sometimes it’s as simple as doing a face mask and other types of at-home pampering. Sometimes it’s a hike. Sometimes it’s nothing at all and I’m just resting in my solitude.
Recently that changed.
Last year I was introduced to Wet City, a bar located in Midtown Baltimore known for its DJs and intimate atmosphere. I usually go there with some of my friends to grab a bite, have great drinks, and listen to a good DJ set. While frequenting Wet City, I was introduced to John Canale, better known as Basement Selector. As someone who lives musically somewhere between the 1970s and 2000s, I was immediately drawn in when I heard him playing music by artists such as Stevie Wonder and Billy Ocean. So when my friend sent me a flyer for Canale’s Evening Ritual featuring the cover of Michael Jackson’s “Off the Wall” studio album, I paid attention.
When my friend and I arrived, there was a line going down the block, but I wouldn’t expect anything less for Michael Jackson. We sat at the bar, and as I set my camera up and we ordered food, Canale stepped to the mic to explain the format: we would listen to the album in full, and uninterrupted. The conversation would follow.
The Evening Ritual isn’t a party, it’s a therapeutic and deep listening session — but it’s almost impossible to stay still when Michael is playing. I was walking around with my camera and grabbing action shots of everyone. The crowd was a mixture of people in my age range, in their mid-30s, and people that were older. There were couples dancing and people lightly singing. I was among the singers, and it felt like a sudden revival of my spirit.
Music has always been therapy for me, in joy and grief. Experiencing it collectively has shifted how I begin my week, introducing a new ritual into my life.
The Evening Ritual was founded by 50-year-old Philadelphia suburb native Canale. His love for music started in his adolescent years, and his parents’ parties were the catalyst for his future in DJing. When he moved to Baltimore in 2014 he was working in the apparel industry, and would work for Under Armor for 10 years. During the COVID-19 pandemic, Canale returned to the craft of DJing and started to pursue it professionally. He would host Twitch streams and eventually landed at Wet City. He describes his concept as an effort to “bridge the gap” between different musical cultures such as Japanese kissa, which are Japanese jazz cafes dedicated to communal listening to high-quality recorded jazz music, and America’s version of this same thing. John mentions being inspired by the Baltimore Kissa Society, where he attended jazz listening sessions. He also mentions that jazz was a motivating factor for starting The Evening Ritual.
Canale chose Stevie Wonder’s “Innervisions” studio album to start the series. It’s an album that helped shape his musical sensibilities. What started out as an experiment evolved into a consistent active listening self-care routine for many. The Evening Ritual isn’t just an experience where music is listened to and you go home. Each session is carefully prepared. Canale researches the selected album extensively, revisiting documentaries, interviews, and historical context to be able to guide the discussion when listening concludes. The goal is active listening, which is becoming an increasingly rare practice in an era dominated by algorithms and shuffle playlists. Canale says that active listening is something that is therapeutic for him as well, and he wanted to bring that same feeling to The Evening Ritual.
Since its launch, The Evening Ritual has expanded beyond jazz into the world of funk and neo-soul, and Canale plans to explore other genres. Sessions have been hosted at Wet City (which hosts The Evening Ritual twice a month and serves as home base), Mera Kitchen Collective, and Good Neighbor. Canale hopes to bring The Evening Ritual to more local venues.
It is not the only active listening party in town either. The Essential Tremors podcast, hosted by former City Paper editor Lee Gardner and Matthew Byars, have been hosting listening parties under the name “Selector Series” for the past few years now on the hi-fi at Federal Hill’s Idle Hour, including a “high-fidelity, shared-vinyl listening experience” of Alice Coltrane’s “World Galaxy” earlier this month. Often the hosts will ask a special guest to lead the listening and discussion.
Collective listening keeps the same people coming back, building community around music and the act of listening to it.
Such collective listening keeps the same people coming back, building community around music and the act of listening to it. I recently attended an Evening Ritual to actively listen to Gil Scott-Heron’s 1971 album “Pieces of a Man.” The format is consistent: listen first and talk later. The conversation is usually led by Canale, and questions and recollection of certain memories bounce around the room. Everyone has an opportunity to contribute to the conversation.
Canale says that the most rewarding part of this experience is the postlistening discussion. Hearing attendees unpack lyrics, production choices, and the emotional connection they have to the particular album. The conversation shows that people weren’t just present, but they were also engaged.
For me, it was comforting and reassuring to know that the feeling I get when I listen to “Off the Wall” isn’t a feeling that is specific to me.
In a city like Baltimore where the music lineage runs deep, The Evening Ritual offers a vibe that is deceptively simple. It can appear that we are just in a room enjoying an album together, but this emotional cleansing extends further than that.
The success of the sessions has fueled Canale to propel forward into collaboration with other DJs and musicians such as DJ Heavenly C, Crave the Vibe Curator, and Bashi Rose. He says that he would like to “collaborate with other Baltimore-based artists, musicians, or DJs passionate about recorded music,” dropping the name of jazz musician Brandon Woody as someone he would love to work with.
Listening to songs that I usually hear in my headphones playing loud on the speakers made me wish that I was an adult in 1979 so that I could have the courage to get up and dance like my elders did the moment they heard the intro to “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough.” And when I left that night I felt refreshed and fulfilled. I went home excited to edit photos from the night and eager to start my work week.
Now when Sunday arrives, I know that sometimes I don’t have to stick to my normal routine. I can walk into a venue where distraction is set aside and attention is shared.
The ritual appears simple, but the impact lingers long after the track fades out.