Five Song Friday: The King of All Summers
This Week: Secret Math, Swagger Content and Holy Ghost Grooves
Summer has officially begun, but who cares?
Not me, because I’m an adult human being and June, July and August are just like the other nine months of the year except hotter and somehow more expensive.
Summer is no big deal. As a grown-up, it is no longer a 90-day euphoria all about lightning bugs and ice cream cones. It’s uncomfortable and humid and sweaty.
Danger is everywhere. Wasps and mosquitoes. Skin cancer. People who wear flip-flops in restaurants.
Honestly, it can be a lot.
I miss the summers of my youth, when everything was awesome and every day was full of possibility and adventure.
For me, the King of All Summers had to be 1983.
I was 12. My life sat in that sweet pocket of existence between innocence and teenage angst.
These days, we call them tweens. But back then, we were just goofy, gangly dorks who couldn’t work, drive or vote.
We were old enough to get into trouble, but young enough to escape serious consequences. We had peach fuzz on our chins and our moms still bought most of our clothes.
All of us poor suckers were stuck in the limbo valley that exists between grown folks and wee people.
Adults ignored us. Teenagers shunned us. And girls mostly did that “Eww” face anytime we dared make eye contact.
It sounds sad, but since nobody paid us any mind, we ran wild and free and it was amazing. Lost boys in suburbia with flexible curfews and cheap bicycles.
In the summertime, our universe extended five miles in every direction.
If we could bike it, we’d go. We traveled long distances with little to zero dollars and loitered in places where our rude noises and laughter had the potential to get us kicked out.
We didn’t really have fun until a manager asked us to leave. The more flustered and angry they were, the better.
Do I regret making life hard for those poor folks who were just doing their jobs? No.
I honestly miss my adolescent penchant for mild anarchy. My goal wasn’t to burn down the world and dismantle society. I was more a “Whoopee Cushion on the elevator” kind of guy.
We read aloud from “Truly Tasteless Jokes” inside a bookstore. Danced provocatively with mannequins in store windows. And did everything that you’d imagine pre-teen boys would do in the adult novelty section of Spencer Gifts.
We were living our best lives.
All that mattered was music, movies, tv shows, comedy, comic books, (the pre-pubescent idea of) girls, and video games.
In 1983, my friends and I consumed pop-culture like feral carnivores who needed raw media meat to survive. We were hunters and gatherers.
If we had the power to watch whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted, we’d be pushing that button all day long. We’d have gorged ourselves on the good stuff until we were cross-eyed and numb.
But back then, entertainment wasn’t magically delivered to an electronic doohickey in our pockets.
We had to go find it. We had to do our own hickey.
We had to seek out physical media in physical locations.
Movies? We had to see it in the theater. If you wanted to watch it again? Hide in the bathroom between shows or pay for another $2.50 ticket.
TV shows? You’d better be in your living room on time. Miss a first-run episode and you’re shit-out-of-luck until summer reruns.
Instead of streaming, we had radio. Radio was like Spotify, but with car dealership commercials and DJs who talked over the songs. This was super annoying if you were trying to “download” your favorite song by holding a portable tape recorder up to the speaker.
We didn’t have a million channels or billions of films and TV episodes from all over the world at our fingertips, so we made the most of what we had. We always went back for seconds and thirds.
We cleaned the bones and sucked that marrow.
We’d watch and rewatch movies. We memorized and reenacted. Movie dialogue became our language.
Comics were studied like scripture. Superpowers debated as matters of fact.
As free as we were to roam and explore, we adored the comfort of our geeky bubbles. We loved the stuff without irony or detachment. We embraced pop culture with both arms, squeezed TIGHT and held that hug until it got awkward (with none of that macho back-patting nonsense).
I know it sounds like a bunch of schmaltzy BS, but man oh man, that summer was a no-joke paradise.
Some of you may be thinking, “My dude, you need to live in the moment. The past is the past and you should relish the present as it unfurls in real time.”
I get it. I’m with you. To be clear, I am NOT spending these summer days with my nose pressed against the rearview mirror.
I’m here right now.
I’m just sad that summers go so fast.
Three months used to feel like forever.
Right now I’m writing this from a state park in Delaware on our first road trip of the summer.
We’re on the way to deliver our daughter to summer camp.
And from what I know, one of these camp summers will likely go down as her best of all-time.
Her King of All Summers will be much different than mine.
Mine is probably different than yours.
But nobody’s summers are better.
Unless you consider that in the summer of 1983, I got to see National Lampoon’s Vacation, WarGames and Strange Brew on the big screen.
In which case, my summer was definitely better.
Sincerely,
DJ CrankyPete
Five Song Friday 069
“2x2” - Kiki Riggs
Who says popular funky music is mindless fluff designed to appeal to our base animal impulses? I’m sure it’s somebody who just doesn’t get it. They certainly don’t get the fact that songs like this one can actually TEACH math! That’s right, hidden just below the dope beats and sick rhymes of this catchy number is a bonafide math lesson! I’m not saying it’s a hard lesson. I’m not saying it’s going to help inspire a new generation to go full Will Hunting. I’m merely reminding those who argue that modern music lacks educational value that they should please shut up.
“You Can’t Be Told” - Valerie June
She asked me once but I forgot. The second time, she made a point to look me right in the eyes when the words left her mouth. She made me say, “Yes, I understand.” What happened next? Of course, I forgot. Everything fell apart. She stayed mad for weeks. Even took a vow of silence. Communication came through notes slipped under doors. One night I finally broke down and asked her to tell me how I could make it right. She just sent over a scribbled piece of paper that read, “You Can’t Be Told.” And…. scene!
“HEARTSTICKY!” - Cemetery Drive
I have to be honest. This song’s high swagger content makes me nervous. This is the kind of song that kicks in when a pack of playas walks into a place and everyone stops to watch them saunter from the front door to the dance floor. The men are like “Damn!” And the women are like “DAMN!” And even the DJ is like, “Word?” This song has got game and it’s got juice and it makes me feel like I’m watching those guys from a booth in the corner by myself drinking something frozen through a silly straw.
“Down Man” - Brainbox
The original members of Brainbox were not meant to be together forever. The Dutch band formed in 1968 but lost some key members by the end of 1969. It wasn’t super sad, because that kind of thing happened to Netherlands bands all the time back in those days. It was a different time. The members who split went on to form Focus, a band probably best known for its 1971 yodeling jam, “Hocus Pocus.” Why is this important? It’s not. Not even a little bit.
“I’ve Got Power in My Mind” - Preacherman Isidore Womack
I didn’t spend much time in church growing up. Maybe if the music sounded more like this, I would have gone more often. The Lutherans weren’t very funky. The hymns were pretty bland and the best I could do was move my lips and pretend to sing along. The Holy Spirit never leapt into my bones. The rhythm of the saints never took me on a musical odyssey of enlightenment. I never saw God during a drum solo. I thought I saw Jesus mowing the church lawn once, but that was just Gary. Sweet beard Gary!
“Let's seize the day / All hold hands, chase the pricks away” - IDLES, “Mr. Motivator”