@Aiden Tuning

Songs to help you relax and unwind. Updated every Sunday.

Discover new music from artists we think you'll like. Refreshed every Friday.

The tracks you can’t get enough of lately, all in one place. Updated as you listen.

The songs you can’t do without. The more you use Apple Music, the more essential they become. Refreshed every Tuesday.

Whether it’s a weekday morning or Saturday night, get going with this personalized set of upbeat music. Refreshed every Monday.

The moon’s up, the hour’s late, the world’s asleep. Look, it’s been a long day—no need to belabor the point. Here’s a mix of low-key instrumental hip-hop for unwinding and falling asleep. Our editors update selections regularly, so if you find something you like—in other words, if there’s something you only kinda sorta remember as you drift off—add it to your library. But do yourself a favor: Wait until morning.

It’s not just that he’s an enigma or that he follows his own clock. It’s not even his style (which seems invincible), or the fact that he’s one of the few pop artists publicly navigating the frontiers of queer identity. It’s that Frank Ocean is one of those songwriters who manages to touch new and distant places in his audience’s imagination, a cartographer of intimacy and confession so intrepid and sensitive that listening to him can feel like eavesdropping on something private, maybe even inexpressible. Yet here he is, expressing it. Even in his early days as the quiet one in the LA hip-hop collective Odd Future, Ocean seemed possessed by a stoicism and emotional intelligence that was uncommon, luminous—the kind of guy who sees more than he says and doesn’t waste a word when he opens his mouth. <br> Ocean was raised mostly in New Orleans, and moved to Los Angeles in the mid-2000s; by 2009, he’d landed a contract with Def Jam, but couldn’t square the relationship with his ambitions and ended up releasing his first mixtape, 2011’s <i>Nostalgia, Ultra</i>, on his own. He was soulful, funny, understated, and poetic, the kind of writer who made fragments of the real world—a girl doing porn to cover tuition (“Novacane”), a dip in the ocean (“Swim Good”)—crackle with mystical significance. <br> From Kanye, Jay-Z, and Beyoncé on down, he gained a cult of followers. In 2012, he released <i>Channel ORANGE</i>, which veered from Stevie Wonder-style soul to string-led gospel and psychedelia, framing R&B as a kind of rarified art music. The writing got sharper, too—at once more pitiless (“Crack Rock”), more expressive (“Bad Religion”), and more surreal (“Pyramids”), weaving storytelling and social commentary with an offhand brilliance that has become Ocean’s trademark sleight of hand. After a four-year period during which news of his next move flitted around in the internet ether like myth, Ocean released two projects in a week, in August 2016: the visual album <i>Endless</i> and the more conventionally framed <i>Blonde</i>. If <i>Channel ORANGE</i> had sounded like Ocean opening up, <i>Blonde</i> marked a contraction, exploring meditations and internal monologue with a sound that often felt more like ambient music than R&B. In the few years following <i>Blonde</i>, Ocean shared a string of singles through his Apple Music show, <i>blonded RADIO</i>, each one its own miniature event. Whether turning inward or outward, Ocean continues to explore.