A Song in the Key of My Life

I love music.

Since I can remember – or more exactly, since the day my dad brought home Songs in the Key of Life and played the opening lines of Love’s in Need of Love Today – I’ve been disappearing into sound. Whether playing the piano, through headphones or cranked-up car speakers, music has always had a way of washing over me. The world fades. I can almost see it.

Before Spotify’s algorithmic magic began, discovering new music meant something else entirely: record shops, magazines, gigs, and word of mouth.

So for years, I subscribed to Uncut magazine.

Each issue came with a free CD – usually on a theme, curated by the bands they featured that month. Sometimes it hit. Sometimes not. But I always gave it a go.

In 2009 – the same year we started our agency – I received a compilation from a small label called Bella Union, run by Simon Raymonde of Cocteau Twins fame. It was full of American neue-folk bands I’d never heard of, and who the label were hoping to introduce to UK ears.

I wasn’t expecting much. But I gave it a spin.

It was more than a revelation. It was a sonic revolution.

That single CD introduced me to Fleet Foxes, Beach House, Midlake, Andrew Bird, Peter Broderick, and John Grant.

And it became a gateway – to other emerging artists like Sufjan Stevens, Father John Misty, and the genre-bending genius of Bon Iver.

Fleet Foxes would go on to deliver Bella Union’s first platinum record in the UK, and many of the label’s artists followed their lead and travelled across the pond on tour.

I tried to see them all. And at those gigs, I began to notice something else: the posters. Not your average merch. These were art. Minimalist. Striking. Saul Bass with a modern twist. They didn’t just promote the bands – they were the bands – and they captured their sound and essence in one beautifully hand-pressed print.

Cooler than a T-shirt. So, I started buying them. And asking about the artist.

His name? Jason Munn.

His studio’s in Oakland, California – just across the bay from the legendary Fillmore West. But his inspiration doesn’t come from the swirling psychedelia of ’60s gig posters.

It comes from books. Mid-century book design, to be precise – those bold, abstract covers from publishers like New Directions or Dial.

“I like the way they try to sum up a lot of stuff – a whole novel – in a small space,” Munn says about his approach to poster design. “My style is very non-rock ‘n’ roll. The bands I gravitate toward have their own way of thinking about music, and I try to get that across.”

His designs are pared back, minimalist, intentional. He works with limited colours – part aesthetic, part practical – and creates pieces that feel meditative, almost serene. A kind of visual counterpoint to the digital noise that surrounds us.

These aren’t mass-produced posters plastered on lampposts. They’re printed in small runs, exhibited in galleries, and collected by design fans worldwide.

Munn’s work is now in museum collections and showcased by Richard Goodall Gallery, a UK dealer that focuses almost exclusively on music posters.

“Posters are taking on a bigger role than they had before the digital revolution,” said Darrin Alfred, now at the Denver Art Museum. “In a virtual world, people like me are looking for something tangible.”

Me too.

Something to hold. To live with. Something made with care and meaning.

Because art, like music, is a journey of discovery. A never-ending one.

And while the music often gets the spotlight, the poster – the artwork that surrounds it – is just as meaningful. It doesn’t try to compete. It just complements. Augments and lingers, adding texture to the experience.

Spotify (I tend to prefer Tidal these days) might help the process of discovery a little easier today. But the resurgence of vinyl proves how deeply we still crave the real – something we can see, touch, keep.

There’s always been a deep connection between art and music. Since the first human scratched shapes into cave walls. And the music poster? That’s where the two come together – in perfect harmony.

I’m lucky to own four of Jason Munn’s posters. They hang in our hallway.

And every day, as I pass them on my way to work, I don’t just see them.

I can hear them.

Because they’re part of my soundtrack. My playlist.

A song in the key of my life.