It’s been an Hysteria type of week, to say the least. Lucky for me, I’m able to revert to my 7-year-old self with this award winning, childhood favorite collection of (hard and / or arena) rock pop songs. Not only is this iconic (and at the time VERY futuristic) album cover branded into my brain, it’s also a staple of what shit was hot back in summer of 1987. If you’re one of those living-under-a-rock types, then you’ve likely not heard this monumental and critically acclaimed album… and you certainly should. For the rest of us, I pose a question: When was the last time you rocked out in your P-Jams to Pour Some Sugar On Me? Well, it’s about damn time.
Summer of 2015 in Los Angeles, aka the Summer that would not end! As we “officially” move into Autumn, let’s, at least internally, put a proper end to the scorching heat and horrid traffic, and make way for cooling, soft breezes, roaring fireplaces, and plenty of Sounds of Silence and The Kinks are the Village Green Preservation Society (enter your favorite Autumn-themed music here). Beach Boys, you’ve “officially” outstayed your welcome. It’s now time for you to go home. Happy Autumn Day!
Oh, Bonnie Tyler… how you will forever be synonymous with the summer of 1996. I think it was the constant radio play of Nicki French’s 1993 cover of Total Eclipse of the Heart that ruined it for me, that or a friend’s sister had Faster Than the Speed of Night on cassette. Either way, I absolutely despised both versions… with a raging passion, but with anything that’s repeatedly shoved into your skull without your control, usually at full volume, you begin to find pleasure in the agony. I’ve grown to admire the original, now that I’m older and own the album, but I can’t shake the adventurous happenings of the warm, humid summer of 1996 every damn time I hear that song, or see this album cover. Also, hair.
We are the C.I.T.’s so pity us,
The kids are brats the food is hideous,
We’re gonna’ smoke and drink and fool around.
We’re the North Star C.l.T.’s.
If you’ve never been to summer camp, or don’t remember one of the greatest scenes in the 1979 Ivan Reitman film, Meatballs, then you, my friend, have never experienced summer.
Alright, that may be a bit harsh, but for someone who grew up with this film (my parents had dubbed it onto the same VHS as Stripes… they will forever be related, the ultimate 6-year-old double feature), this scene, and this song in particular, has driven in its stakes and popped a permanent tent into the dust-covered, brush-rattling, creek-rolling, open-air, tree-covered corners of my psyche. It’s always summer up there, and this is its theme.
I still get goosebumps when listening to this song, and every time it’s welcomed with a smile. I hope you enjoy.
Mellow Yellow, the 1967 album by the Glasgow born, Scottish revolutionary, Donovan Phillips Leitch (as apposed to Mello Yello, the refreshing citrus beverage enjoyed during the bike riding summers of yesteryear), carries with it an aura, a golden, warming glow of sandal-wearing, ankle-wading, mind-clearing, beach-yearning temperaments of folky goodness, perfect for soaking in the warm, skin-kissing rays from that mass of incandescent gas we call the sun.
Certain times throughout the annual revolution of our inhabitable rock, the specific craving for particular sounds eclipses that of everyday listening pleasure. In December, it’s the Monks, in May it’s Vacuum Scam, and for whatever unknown (however wholeheartedly welcomed) reason, March is the perfect time for Donovan.