The song sits comfortably inside the Acid Jazz lineage — think the loose-limbed groove of Roy Ayers filtered through a European sensibility, closer to the Parisian end of the spectrum than the Ronnie Scott's end — but it wears its influences lightly rather than parading them. GFN's guitar work is the anchor throughout: clean, unhurried, favouring melodic phrasing over technical showboating. It's the sound of a player who has spent decades listening more than performing, which is rarer than it should be among guitarists given top billing on their own record.

The band around him deserves equal credit. David Caraccio's bass and keyboard work supplies the elastic, syncopated pulse that keeps the track from ever sitting still, while Nicolas Pittet's drums and Lucien Matthey's percussion trade off with a conversational ease — nothing showy, everything purposeful. Christian Chopard's keyboards fill the middle register with a Rhodes-adjacent warmth that recalls the Roy Ayers/Weather Report axis without ever tipping into pastiche. Vladimir Carbone's vocal, joined by Charlyn on backing harmonies, carries the melody rather than dominating it, which suits a song built around collective feel rather than individual spotlight.

Lyrically the piece stays true to its central conceit — that travel leaves its residue on the traveller as much as the destination does. "Because we don't only travel across the world," runs its closing sentiment, "the world travels through us." It's a neat inversion, and the arrangement backs it up: the song never lands anywhere geographically specific, never reaches for the obvious signifiers of "world music" (no forced ethnic percussion sample, no token instrument wheeled out for exotic colour). Instead the internationalism is structural — Soul, Funk and Acid Jazz folded together until the seams disappear.

The accompanying video, conceived by Giorgio Ballarin with visuals from Enrico Gregolin and Michele Galeazzi, takes the opposite approach and it's the right call for this material. Rather than staying in the rehearsal room, it follows the journey outward: sweeping oriental vistas, roads and landscapes unspooling like the "traces" of the title, footage built for a cinematic sense of distance and passage rather than a static performance clip. It's a more literal reading of the song's premise than a purist might expect, but it earns its imagery — the visuals never settle for postcard prettiness alone, instead using scale and movement to mirror the track's own unhurried, travelling groove. Watching it, the destination stops mattering; what lingers is the sense of forward motion itself, which is precisely the point the record is making.

A confident, unshowy return to groove-driven jazz-funk roots, elevated by genuinely empathetic ensemble playing and a video that trusts scale and motion to carry its sense of journey.