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The original line up of Traffic had it all: mysticism, funk, folk, world music, and a healthy dose of irony. For an acid head like me they were the perfect accompaniment for a trip through shifting patterns of synchronicity. Of course, Traffic was helmed by the one and only Steve Winwood, who as a teenager impressed the world, shouting the blues on “I’m a Man,” and “Keep on Running” with the Spencer Davis Group, and was now considered a full-blown genius. But they also needed Dave Mason for ballast, because after he left the rising balloon, Winwood navigated the group into extended jazz noodle-ville - (but, that’s another story!) Who knows what tomorrow may bring from the group’s eponymous second album is a deceptively simple groove and mantra that resonates across genres, time-zones, and philosophies, releasing a blast of joy-filled dopamine to one’s synaptic receptors, even as one contemplates the evanescence of life. And, that swinging organ counterpoint is smoking! As I felt the waves of dislocation begin