We’re living in the era of “vibes.” But before that word was everywhere — before elections had “vibe shifts” and before a first date could be breezily ended because the vibes were just off — there was the instrument that started it all: the vibraphone.

If you aren’t quite sure what that sounds like — well, there’s only one way to describe it. It’s vibey.

Invented in the 1920s as an electrified variation of the marimba, the vibraphone is made out of tuned metal bars, which the player strikes with mallets; a tubular resonator that carries the sound; and a set of electronically controlled fans affecting how much vibrato goes on the notes (that is, how much they warble). Out of this complex contraption wafts a sound that is mellow and ethereal, but starkly rhythmic. After all, the vibraphone is a percussion instrument: Most vibraphonists who double on something else play the drums.

The vibraphone has been a feature of jazz bandstands since about 1930, when a young Lionel Hampton — one of the first improvisers to master it — impressed Louis Armstrong by playing along with the trumpeter’s solos note for note. At Armstrong’s encouragement, he switched from being a full-time drummer to a vibraphonist. As its popularity grew, jazz musicians gave the instrument a nickname: “the vibes,” a term that came to signify not just the instrument’s metal bars and their vibrations but also the hazy, moody feeling that its sound produced.

It is little wonder that, amid the revolutionary grooves of the 1960s, that term made the leap from jazz (and from Black American vernacular) to the general population. In the process, it gave us a slightly more musical way of describing everyday life.

In the nearly 100 years since Hampton’s innovation, the vibraphone has traveled through the many shifts and stages of jazz and Black American music. These days, it’s being played by a broad range of musicians — from straight-ahead swingers to avant-gardists — a number of whom are quoted below. Read on for an array of vibes-heavy tracks, selected by musicians and writers.

Milt Jackson Quartet, “Dejection Blues”

“Soul Route” is one of the first Milt Jackson albums that I was exposed to when I first started playing vibes. Sonically, this LP is my favorite recorded presentation of the vibraphone; it’s a very contemporary-sounding recording, for having been made in 1984.

Jackson is recognized as one of, if not absolutely, the greatest to ever play the instrument, and he is highly responsible for bringing the language of bebop to the vibes. Although there’s another riff blues that Bags is best known for, this track is another example of his mastery of the blues language, as he navigates the changes with simplicity and exceptional lyricism. The character of the entire quartet is drenched in the church, and they lace that gospel sound together with bebop and the blues ever so seamlessly. All are branches of a tree with the same roots.

The top-tier musicianship and communication among the band makes this one of my favorite comfort listens. It always takes me back to my roots and reminds me of home. — Joel Ross, vibraphonist

Johnny Lytle, “Lela”

If you look up Johnny Lytle (1932-1995) on Google, you’ll find he’s listed primarily as a drummer. And the Springfield, Ohio, native did initially make his mark as drummer with Ray Charles near the start of the latter’s recording career. So, when he moved to the vibraphone, Lytle carried with him the rugged, bottom-heavy dynamics of rhythm & blues. He’s remembered today as an unsung exemplar of organ jazz-funk, a welcome guest at backyard barbecues and happy hours. “The Village Caller,” from the eponymous Riverside album, is the one tune with his name on it that anybody now brings up.

But I’m favoring this track from “Happy Ground,” a 1961 album that my father played constantly during the heady New Frontier years and beyond. It signifies what so many listeners dug most about his tough, elemental approach, managing at once to be as straight to the point as a Sonny Liston haymaker, but as light on its feet as a ballroom fox-trotter. You want to be reductionist and call it Tom Collins jazz; I won’t stop you. That, to me, is its overriding virtue. — Gene Seymour, culture writer

Cal Tjader, “Afro-Blue”

Written by Cuban percussionist Mongo Santamaria, “Afro-Blue” was quickly recorded in 1959 by both Santamaria and the Cal Tjader Sextet (featuring the tune’s composer in the band). Lyrics were retrofitted by the vocalist, activist and playwright Oscar Brown Jr. later that year. Almost immediately, the cut became a standard, and it was ultimately recorded hundreds of times.

Tjader, a vibraphonist, returned to the composition on his album “Soul Sauce,” an essential collection of Latin jazz cookers, first released on Verve Records in 1965. Cal’s intimate understanding of the material results in the magical, levitating quality of his playing: Though his mallets never stray from the groove, they unquestionably inspire a certain suspension of disbelief. This recording is a window into a world of racing hearts: a reverb-drenched sound evocative of a romance played out in a sweaty dance hall in Spanish Harlem, punctuated by the scent of Evening in Paris perfume, a fallen spaghetti strap and a slightly torn pair of stockings. — Ayana Contreras, critic and radio programmer

Sun Ra & Walt Dickerson, “Astro”

“Astro,” composed by Walt Dickerson, is the opening track of “Visions,” his 1978 SteepleChase album with Sun Ra. It is one of my favorite duo collaborations, on any instruments. Walt Dickerson has been and continues to be a great inspiration to me. He is an important musical figure that expanded the sonic possibilities of the vibraphone. His approach is free from preconceptions, and he fully serves the needs of the music. Dickerson’s balance of being informed by the past and the present simultaneously creates a profound sense of stability amid exploration. I especially admire his nuances of texture and tone.

“Astro” spotlights his playful spirit and incredible instinct — a beautiful dance between two exploratory sides of his musical personality and soul. Both improvisers display a true sense of presence throughout the whole performance, masterfully answering and completing each other’s musical sentences. It is a lesson in patience, following one’s instinct and letting the music guide the journey. — Patricia Brennan, vibraphonist

Stefon Harris & Blackout, “For You”

When Stefon Harris formed his Blackout ensemble, it gave him an ideal vehicle to channel his formidable skills as a vibraphonist and composer deeper into R&B aesthetics. Harris’ second Blackout album, “Urbanus” (2009), featured “For You,” a ballad whose soaring melody, written by Sameer Gupta, brims with sensuality and elegance. Graced with enchanting harmonies and amorous lyrics, “For You” was the point where all the beauty of Harris’ orchestral arrangements (in this case, co-written with Casey Benjamin, who also wrote this track’s lyrics), his accord with the band, and his soulful, melodic phrasing on the vibraphone and marimba coalesce into the sexy apex of that album.

Even though Benjamin’s vocoder-powered lead singing takes much of the spotlight, listeners also can’t ignore the enchantment of the chamber arrangement for woodwinds and violin or the undulating magnetism of the bass- and drum-propelled groove. Nor can they disregard Harris’ interactive accompaniment, intertwining with Marc Cary’s dreamy piano accompaniment and Benjamin’s cyborg laments. And when Harris’ marimba emerges from the lulling undercurrent for a solo, his phrasing sashays like a debonair crooner seducing someone onto the dance floor. This is the kind of music that inspires luxurious romantic films. — John Murph, writer and DJ

Lionel Hampton, “Stardust”

Lionel Hampton is one of the first masters and pioneers of the vibraphone. One of my favorite things about this recording is how deeply rooted his playing is in the drum language. You can feel it in the articulation: Especially as the solo (starting at 9:49) develops, he starts playing more double-strokes (two hits on one note with one hand), a move more often used by drummers. In addition to that, he’s effortlessly switching between rhythmic feels throughout the solo: eighth notes to triplets, and finally to sixteenth notes. By using a lot of grace notes, he links himself to the bebop language of horn players and piano players of that time. And I’ve always admired the way he develops a narrative throughout this whole solo, and the overall pacing of his ideas. He’s really telling a story and not rushing through it. The use of space really gives a poetic quality to his rhythmic approach. — Simon Moullier, vibraphonist