Apple Jam: 16 Albums That Sound Like Fall

The Jam Jar's finest autumn selections.

‘Songs From The Shelf’ is a recurring spread featuring music pulled directly from The Jam Jar collection (aka the vinyls crowding my apartment) and compiled into themed mixes for your listening pleasure. Enjoy.

Autumn leaves are fallinʼ like the rain
And it falls on me once again

- Sylvie

Seasons, Pete Jolly (1970)

Like the change of seasons, this album embraces the demands of a new era.

Seasons is a living memento of musician Pete Jolly’s deviation from a career playing traditional jazz music to lay down a kind of music you’ve never heard.

With Herb Alpert producing, Jolly and his band of sharp-shooting session guys use synthesizers, accordion, strange time signatures, and pulsating bass and drums to create a collection of compositions simulating the first deep inhale of summer’s end and fall’s beginning, the harshness of winter into the welcome bloom of spring into the heat of summer and on and on and on — it’s every angle of a changing natural atmosphere.

Pretend that the following records on this list exist within this world of Pete Jolly’s Seasons.

Albert’s House, Chet Baker (1969)

If anyone can set a mood, it’s Chet Baker. At his best, the man’s music is practically the pure essence of smooth. But at his worst, it’s also…incredible.

In the late 1960s, Baker was well into a personal downfall when his teeth were bashed in during a heroin deal gone wrong. Albert’s House is the product of his shaky return — the first songs Chet recorded since his assault. Despite his inability to play his trumpet as well as he always had, Baker takes Steve Allen’s compositions and, with the groove of an electric organ, he illicits a sound that’s melancholic, futuristic, and desperate in its beauty.

This record is flawed in the best ways; it slows the room down.

Tied To A Star, J Mascis (2014)

If you like Dinosaur Jr — a heavy grunge staple that effortlessly evolved into the 21st century — this record by the band’s main man J Mascis might shock you.

Tied To A Star forgoes a sludgy in-the-pit headbang for an assortment of impassioned lullabies. The album’s intricate web of acoustic riffs and unexpected structural twists make for a raw, heartfelt listen.

The fourth song, “Wide Awake,” is the standout — gentle and vehement, intensely intimate, and ideal in the dark.

Sylvie, Sylvie (2022)

The first time I heard “Falls on me” — the album opener — I was transported to a fuzz-warm analog world, a simpler sonic place gently buzzing with feedback, a floating cloud of yellow-gray smoke, and a crisp breeze to break it all up.

Reintroducing his father’s unreleased 1975 barn recordings to the world, Ben Schwab infused these vintage songs with an authentic, addictive 70s sound.

Sometimes I play this record while bartending, and like The Beta Band in High Fidelity, at least one customer always asks what’s on. The bar is full, the lights are low, and for the first time in a while, people are happy to be indoors.

Fleetwood Mac, Fleetwood Mac (1975)

This record will plunge you into a welcome pool of melancholy.

“Warm Ways,” “Rhiannon,” “Over My Head,” “Crystal,” “Landslide” — these songs all bring a fall chill to Fleetwood Mac’s prolific and diverse discography. And as a cherry on top, the record’s closer, “I’m So Afraid,” is an epic, heart-thumping nod to the season’s spooky side.

Welcome To Hell, Joseph Shabason (2023)

A bewitching concept album, Welcome To Hell encapsulates composer and saxophonist Joseph Shabason’s wild rescore to Toy Machine’s 1996 skate video of the same name and defies all expectations.

My roommate Fredo and I caught a live recreation of this album at Brooklyn’s Public Records last year and it became one of the most impressive shows I’ve seen to date. Shabason, an unfettered band leader, assembled a circle of expert players at the center of the wood-encased room, and we watched on, dazzled by the odd time stamps, in awe of the ghost-like vocals and the seamless transitions between songs.

Welcome To Hell is an ode to the art of skateboarding, but for me, it’s also become a portal into fall, a time when my mind naturally accepts the urge to settle into a darker, stranger version of reality.

Mangy Love, Cass McCombs (2016)

For an hour straight, Cass McCombs defines the autumn groove. These are expertly crafted anthems for spontaneous discovery, on a day when you're out on your own, following your inner compass, wandering willy-nilly.

Chulahoma: The Songs Of Junior Kimbrough, The Black Keys (2006)

The Black Keys’ reimagining of a slice of juke joint blues legend Junior Kimbrough’s iconic grit-sensual catalog is a low-key hot whiskey-cider slightly overcrowded midday party in a stuffy, sweat-fueled second story apartment. Jackets on the bed, friends and foes circling the turntable, gulping from mugs, leaning too close, laughing too hard, and heavy-headed, folding in half at the drop of “Meet Me In The City.”

I’m In Your Mind Fuzz, King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard (2014)

Originally released on Halloween, this record summons a psychedelic seance.

Plunge into a pile of dying leaves and melt through the earth like a bloody stag in quicksand, bellowing and hyena-laughing while the worms and creepy-crawlers gnaw at your flesh, leaving you naked and howling, sinking deeper and deeper, past caskets disintegrating in rich soil and decaying bodies dressed in starched suits from way back, their owners stretching strained faces in the pitch dark, the creases of their animal smiles flickering in the otherworldly glow of the planet’s molten core. Then, for just a second, you rise again.

Cherry Tree, The National (2004)

To this day, I’ve never heard a violin solo as devastating or unexpected as the one on Cherry Tree’s closing track, “A Reasonable Man.” Unlike other indie-folk/rock records I purchased as a teenager, this EP by The National has maintained its allure and ingenuity over the years.

Presenting at times an overwhelmingly bleak atmosphere, this collection of songs is visceral, gorgeous, haunting and complex — a transfixing feat in the early stages of a band’s sonic evolution.

The occasional crackle on the vinyl only adds to the LP’s charm. Absolutely perfect for the influx of fall.

Valley Hi, Ian Matthews (1973)

Take a brisk stroll, play Ian Matthews, and gently ponder your place in the world.

Summer In Abaddon, Pinback (2004)

One of the first records I bought as a teenager. I can still feel the cold leather seats in my mom’s car, on the way to piano practice, my school-tired brain fixated on the sunroof, spacing out on falling leaves and the early darkness of the evening sky.

Pinback was having a real moment on Sirius XM radio, and their sound always calmed me on drives. I’m grateful for that version of life, when most of my freedom was internal and magically expanded by songs like “Fortress” and “Non Photo-Blue,” with the moody gray sky, and its imminent promise of winter bliss.

Moondance, Van Morrison (1970)

As a teenager, on my way home from work, I used to cut through the Powder Forest, a strange wooded office park in my suburban town. The trees would burn red and yellow, and in my dad’s hammy-down Saab, devoid of heat, I’d take turns too fast, blasting “Into The Mystic” until the doors rattled. Like a sparking electrical grid, chills would ricochet from my head down to my foot and the pedal pressed to the floor.

Later, in my first semester of college, the song “And It Stoned Me” became an anthem that bonded my new group of friends — a warm, bombastic tune that reminded us all of the comfort of our homes, scattered across the country.

Harvest Moon, Neil Young (1992)

Duh.

This Girl’s In Love With You, Aretha Franklin (1970)

This one’s for the cozy fireside festivities. Nothing soothes the soul quite like Aretha’s thundering voice. My favorite all-around Aretha record, This Girl’s In Love With You hits every vibe a person needs when cold weather descends. Like Aretha’s vocals, the musicianship on this record is unmatched, and the arrangements on every track swell in giant warm waves, filling any chilly space with an undeniable sense of bone-deep comfort.

All Things Must Pass, George Harrison (1970)

An album that quite literally embodies the inevitable beauty of death and change. Like foliage, we burn bright because we are consistently nearing our end. The first triple album ever released by a solo artist, All Things Must Pass showcases the innate genius of George Harrison; his spirit soars across the wax, over the fields and into the dirt.