You know how sometimes you put on an album and—click—it instantly sweeps you into a childhood memory? A dusty summer road stretching into a hazy horizon, with endless fields of swaying grasses and golden wheat hiding behind every turn. That’s exactly what happened when I played Rural TV Classical by Thomas Hewitt Jones.

This album feels like a feature film: frame by frame, scene by scene. Thomas Hewitt Jones paints a vivid landscape, where each of the 15 tracks is a carefully placed fragment of space. As you listen, you can almost feel the wind brushing across the fields, invisible dragonflies darting through the grass, and a cow lowing softly in the distance. It’s a rustic vignette, lighthearted yet grounding, setting you on a wavelength of calm. And best of all, it reconnects you to something simple and familiar—something you might otherwise lose sight of in the chaos of city life.

photo by @thomashewittjonesmusic

The defining feature of Rural TV Classical is the sense that nature and humanity are bound together here with a connection stronger than a pair of iPhone earbuds. As a critic, I’m always on the lookout for that bridge in music—the one linking the composer’s emotions to the listener’s. In this case, it feels like an old wooden footbridge over a quiet river—weathered, but full of character. On one side, there’s us, caught up in our busy lives, and on the other, the timeless wisdom of nature.

In the city, it’s easy to lose touch with reality. You glance out the window, see the traffic, the asphalt, the concrete, and forget that there’s another rhythm to life entirely. This album moves at that slower, gentler pace. It makes you want to creak open an old wooden door and collect eggs from the hens in a barn. It might sound a bit absurd, but Rural TV Classical nudges you toward the hyper-simple: to watch a sunset, sit in silence, and breathe until the light fades completely.

The album opens with Aerial View, and from the first notes, it’s like stepping barefoot onto an overgrown path in the early morning. The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, but its orange fingers are already stretching across the horizon. A slight chill lingers from the night, and ahead—fields, fields, and more fields. The strings begin their gentle conversation, like birds at dawn, and you realise this is only the beginning. The track feels like nature letting out a long, contented yawn as it wakes.

Next comes Countryside Vista, which brings a full dose of cinematic grandeur. The percussion taps lightly, the strings swell, and suddenly you’re looking at an entire tableau of life coming to life. You can almost see the scene: people stepping out into their yards, someone feeding chickens, another herding a cow, and someone else already brewing the morning tea.

photo by @thomashewittjonesmusic

Then there’s Crops, which stirs the imagination even further—it’s as if the entire village has come alive and everyone’s off to do their bit. The melody buzzes with energy, capturing the hustle and bustle of farm life. You can feel the movement—people grabbing their tools, heading to the fields, the vegetable patches, or hopping onto their tractors. And somehow, even if you’re sitting in a city apartment or, like me, stuck at a desk in an office, the rhythm pulls you in, making you part of their world for a little while.

New Day on the Farm tells the story of a family navigating a day full of chores and responsibilities, yet never losing sight of what truly matters: mutual support and a bond that outweighs any fatigue. In Children on the Farm, the composer transports the listener into a world of childhood wonder, while Feeding the Chickens exudes serenity, offering a sense of calm and unhurried simplicity. Moving on to Sally’s Market Stall, the mood shifts with lively energy—capturing the bustling scene of a village market brimming with activity and forward momentum.

Thomas Hewitt Jones has a cinematic power to his music that I deeply appreciate: he crafts a complete world and draws you in before you even notice. If someone made a film inspired by this album, I’d be the first in line at the cinema, popcorn in hand, glued to the screen. But for now, it’s all about imagination. And in a way, that’s even better: everyone gets their own film, their own fields, their own winds, and their own train pulling into the distance.

Can this album be called the pinnacle of modern orchestral music? Hard to say—everyone’s tastes are different. But one thing I can say for certain: it takes you by the hand and gently leads you back to that simple sense of life’s beauty we often lose in the race of daily problems. Sometimes you press play, and it hits you—forget all the worries, there’s quiet joy to be found. It’s that almost sacred feeling when the world feels vast, but instead of intimidating, it embraces you. And to me, that’s one of the most honest goals music can achieve—to awaken us, dazed by the grind of everyday life, and remind us that everything around us can still be as magical as it was on a dusty childhood road, if we just squint a little and let our minds breathe.

So, if you’re yearning to escape the city chaos and breathe in the scent of wildflowers (even virtually), go ahead and play Rural TV Classical. I can’t promise it’ll give you wings or turn you into a country philosopher, but it will certainly make your soul smile. From there, who knows? Maybe that dusty road outside the city is calling you for a real-life walk, too.

*This review was made possible by SubmitHub