The Green Hour No. 2: A Playlist for Dusk and Daydreams
On music, background noise, and shaping the end of the day.
First, stop.
Put down your phone or look away from your laptop.
Take a breath.
Close your eyes, if you'd like.
What do you hear?
As I write this on a July evening, I hear the fan working overtime, trying to push out the last of the heat lingering in the corners of my apartment. Outside, a pair of kids bike past, their voices high and fast. From somewhere nearby, the clinking of dishes in a sink. If I really listen, I can hear the melody that plays at the train station a few blocks away, followed by the rushing breath of the shinkansen as it speeds through town; the sounds of a day at its end.
What do you hear when nothing is demanding your attention?
Not the buzz of your phone or the voices coming from the TV, but the quieter layer beneath: the hum of a fan, a single cricket, a neighbor's footsteps.
These aren't sounds we seek out, but they form the quiet soundtrack of our evening—a kind of background orchestra that keeps time as we wind down.
This month in Thicket, we've been exploring the Green Hour, or the hour of dusk. We began with reflections on how this time invites contemplation. Then, we explored 19th-century Parisian cafés, where artists sipped absinthe and sought creative transformation.
But the Green Hour isn't only about sunsets and happy hours.
It's also about sound.
The drone of insects. Rush hour cars passing on the road. The soft clatter of dinnertime preparations through an open window. These subtle, often-overlooked sounds signal the shift from day to night. They mark a change in atmosphere. And they permit our minds to shift, too.
While the impact of sounds may seem insignificant, there is a scientific basis behind why and how it happens.
A 2012 study published in the Journal of Consumer Research found that moderate ambient noise—around 50–70 decibels, the level of quiet conversation or someone practicing piano in the next room—can boost creativity and abstract thinking. It provides just enough stimulation to nudge the brain into imaginative thought without overwhelming it. Do you sometimes feel like you can be way more productive working at a coffee shop than in your quiet office or home? This may be why.
In Thicket Presents: The Green Hour, I wrote about how, in the evenings, my thoughts start to sift and settle—not from anxiety, but as a kind of natural rhythm. What happened today? What stood out? How did I feel? I reflect on the day I had and start to wonder about the days I want to have. I make plans for how to build them.
This quiet sorting doesn't last long, but it's a vital part of my day. How can I move into tomorrow with intention without first understanding today? I've done this for years, although perhaps not with the same self-awareness that I have now.
Turns out, I'm not alone. One study estimated that we spend nearly half of our waking hours in some form of mental wandering. And as Time Magazine once put it, "Daydreaming can be the mind's incubator." Don't you love that?
Contrary to popular belief and societal expectations, to let the mind drift is not a failure of focus—it's a space of possibility. I admit that I have a hard time remembering this sometimes, but I think it's worth trying. The older I get, the more gentle I become with myself. Daydreaming is a part of my natural rhythm. It's a headspace in which I find some peace, so why fight it?
And music can deepen that space.
While I often embrace the ambient soundscape of my semi-rural Japanese town, I also layer music on top of it. Not loud, attention-grabbing music, but something that blends in, complementing my mood. It's the first thing I do when I arrive home from work. Walk in the door, check that the A/C is on, open Spotify.
Certain kinds of music resemble the natural soundscapes described in the 2012 study. They don't pull focus, but they guide the mind gently toward reflection.
Songs for Thicketing: The Green Hour
To accompany this post, I've created a playlist called 'Songs for Thicketing: The Green Hour,' filled with pieces that echo the roving rhythms of daydreams and the sense of slowing down. Here are a few featured selections:
Classical
Reflets dans l'eau by Claude Debussy — rippling, quiet, and contemplative. I have been a proud member of the "I listen to everything" club for years, and classical music always has a place in my rotation. I choose Debussy here not only for the meandering, soft melody, but also because he was a 19th-century French composer. A perfect fit for my last post! I don't have a housemate who plays the piano, but I'd sure love to hear this wafting from the other room in a grand French villa someday. A girl can dream.
Contemporary Ambient
Sparkle by RADWIMPS — golden light refracted through memory. This song always tightens my chest with a sense of longing for something I can't quite put my finger on. It is hopeful and nostalgic, evoking a sense of something murmured to oneself over and over again in a quiet plea. Perhaps it is because I love the anime this song comes from, so I know that the golden hour holds significant symbolism in the movie. To me, this song is the sound of a sunset, full of hope for tomorrow.
Folk & Acoustic
The Sailor's Bonnet by The Gloaming — a wandering, roving instrumental. Some days, we are thankful that dusk has arrived and the long slog is almost over. This song is for those days. For the moments when you come home, are too tired to even change out of your work clothes before you fall into bed, letting your full weight relax into rest. After some time, though, rejuvenation always arrives, and with it a renewed sense of possibility. Whether they meant to or not, The Gloaming captures this perfectly.
Indie/Alternative
Sold Me a Dream - Terry Tracksuit Edit by Sam Evian — a smooth, genre-blurring track that floats somewhere between jazz lounge and indie dream-pop. With its hazy rhythms, retro tones, and hints of 80s Japanese city pop, it feels like golden hour on vinyl. It's nostalgic, a little strange, and utterly vibey.
Oldies & Retro
Twilight Time by The Platters — less about the lyrics than the warm afterglow it leaves behind. Smooth, steady, and softly romantic, it captures the feeling of gratitude and hope that accompanies a day turning into a long-awaited night. The perfect soundtrack for slipping into the evening. Ideal for a drive home or cooking in the kitchen. Singing along is not required but is highly recommended.
Want more green hour music? I've got you! Listen to the full playlist on Spotify.
A small practice to end on.
Pick one song. Any song.
One from the playlist above or from your library. Turn down the volume just slightly, just enough to let it drift into the background.
Now listen.
Don't try to focus on anything in particular. Just notice where your thoughts go.
Do they drift back to something from your day? Forward to a wish or idea?
Let the music become part of the quiet. Allow yourself to daydream.
If you'd like, please let me know in the comments what you listened to or what came to mind. I'll share mine there as well.
Next week, we'll explore the literary side of the Green Hour. Until then: happy listening, and happy daydreaming.
I loved this post! From the writing to the music selections, I definitely felt the soft, romantic, very vibey glow of the Green Hour. <3