Time Of The Season (extended Mix) Apr 2026

Leo leaned against the exposed brick, a half-empty ginger beer in his hand. He wasn’t a dancer, but the did something to the physics of the room. It gave the song room to breathe, to stretch its golden limbs. Beside him, Maya was already caught in the swell. She didn't dance with her feet; she danced with her shoulders, her eyes closed, her hair a halo of dark curls catching the flickering amber light of the oil lamps.

The song hit the three-minute mark—where the radio edit usually surrendered—but tonight, the DJ let the tape run. The organ solo began to spiral. It wasn't just a melody; it was a conversation. Rod Argent’s fingers danced across the keys, building a cathedral of sound that climbed toward the damp ceiling. Time of The Season (Extended Mix)

The organ chirped and growled, getting weirder, more psychedelic. The "breath" sounds in the track—that rhythmic hiss —seemed to sync up with the collective lungs of the basement. For those extra minutes, the war outside, the draft cards, and the frantic pace of the city didn't exist. There was only the blue smoke, the Hammond B3 organ, and the way Maya’s thumb traced circles on his wrist. Leo leaned against the exposed brick, a half-empty

The needle dropped, and the world didn’t just start spinning; it exhaled. Beside him, Maya was already caught in the swell