Jimi Jules Names the 5 Albums He Can’t Live Without

When Spin asks a working DJ to list the albums they can’t live without, the answers usually tilt toward club catharsis. Jimi Jules went a different way. His selections, published this week, map a quieter and more personal territory — records that steady him when the touring schedule frays the edges.

His first pick is Norma Tanega’s “Illusion.” No deep dive or formal analysis, just a wish: to be home listening to it with someone. That’s the tone he sets early. He frames the records less as objects of fandom and more as anchors. One album, he says, acts like a quiet breeze when things get hectic on the road. It doesn’t demand his attention. It just pulls him back to center.

Three of the five choices are tied directly to time and place. He mentions the bassist Martina Berther, whom he studied alongside at jazz school in Lucerne, and speaks plainly about the pride of watching her carve out a voice distinct enough to land on Björk’s radar. Another record serves a protective function: it softens the edges of fast mornings and early flights for his whole family. He describes the vulnerability in it as unguarded and deeply human.

Jules doesn’t lean on track names or credits. He talks about production and structure the way a craftsman might. One album, he remarks, carries the suspended weight of a Pink Floyd record — confident, untethered from a specific place, drifting. He says he wishes he’d made it himself.

The final pick loops back to his own roots in dub minimalism. He drops a list of names — Moritz von Oswald, Rhythm & Sound, Ricardo Villalobos, Fluxion — and explains that he runs the four-track EP on repeat until it functions as a full album. That’s the thread through most of his selections. Time gets bent. Space clears. The music works because it doesn’t shout for attention. For someone living between flights and time zones, that’s currency.