SUMMER SONGS

Michael Jackson: We Got a Good Thing Goin'
From Stripped Mixes (Universal, 2009)

I wanted to pick something to end the Summer Songs series with and really, few other songs have haunted me as much as this one this summer (for obvious reasons). This is from Michael's Stripped Mixes, an album that came out just a few weeks after his death (coincidence?). It's engineered to strip down any number of classic songs, so that you're really left with a minimalist musical accompaniment - just enough for a glint - and letting Michael's soaring vocals do the rest. It's beautiful, it's sad, and that, my friends, is how summer often ends.

See you all back in 2010.

September 2009
O.W.

MORE ON THE END OF SUMMER

My man David Ma bringing some choice end of summer tracks..

(end of) summer songs � NERDTORIOUS.com

MICHAEL BARNES: IT'S ALMOST OVER

(Editor's Note: Michael and I have been on parallel paths for the better part of a decade or so. I first met him when we were both DJs at KALX in Berkeley and both of us shared the same musical tastes in jazz and soul. I later found out Michael was enrolled in the Sociology PhD program at Berkeley during the same time I was going through the Ethnic Studies PhD program there (and my BA is from Cal, in sociology). Then, we both moved to L.A. around the same time and Michael's become an adjunct in my department at CSULB. I think L.A.'s tremendously fortunate to have him, especially as one of the best new DJs at KCRW, new audioblogger (Melting Pot), and most recently, half the dynamic duo running the Sunday night party at La Cita, Gris-Gris. When I asked Michael to contribute a piece for this year's Summer Songs series, he asked to do something at the end of the season and since it's now the Labor Day Weekend, I decided to run it now. Enjoy. --O.W.)

Summertime is by far my favorite time of the year. I was born in the late summer and most of my youth was spent playing baseball throughout the South in summer leagues. Ever since I started taking school seriously enough to become an academic, summertime’s importance as a respite and release has only been magnified. Honestly I don’t know where I’d even begin in terms of a complete summer soundtrack, it’s much easier for me to think of just a single day in August, so here’s a soundtrack for various points in my perfect late summer’s day.

Early morning…three minutes before your alarm goes off.

Love: The Good Humor Man He Sees Everything Like This
From Forever Changes (Elektra, 1967)

Whenever summertime rolls around this is a song that instantly finds itself on my playlists, particularly because of Arthur’s line “Summertime is here and look there’s flowers every…where…”

According to legend, Mr. Lee composed this song on a bright summer’s day, with his mind focused on “happy thoughts,” while strumming his guitar on the lawn of Dorsey High School here in Los Angeles. Musically and lyrically it certainly has a whimsical quality to it, very much like a dream. Except for that final blast of strings at the very end, which to my post-hip-hop ears, almost sound like they are manipulated by a DJ. That moment reminds of me of what happens to you when you’re asleep dreaming something dreamy and your alarm clock interrupts all that loveliness and brings you back to the real world in jarring fashion, thus it starts our summer day here.

Late Afternoon

Rolling Stones – Waiting on a Friend
From Tattoo You (Virgin, 1981)

This song and the video for it always made me think of good times spent during the summer with friends. I’ve been blessed throughout my life with having a number of people who I’d call good friends, even though these days we’re not nearly as close as we were or should be, we rarely lose track of each other and once we start talking it’s just like there’s no distance at all. That kind of friendship is exactly what Mick is singing about here.

Revisiting this track for this list the thing that struck me the most was the beat. As a kid, I just dug the sentiment behind the song, but now, I am enthralled with the beat. It’s got a vaguely island based rhythm, but it’s not really a reggae beat. Similar to the beat on “Heaven,” which is on the same record, it’s very simple in terms of its elements, yet it’s so funky and full of good vibes that I find it incredibly alluring.

Instead of just posting the song, I wanted to post the video for this one cause really it’s the video that puts this song on this list, with it’s laid back, no frills quality. The video is mostly just Mick hanging out in front of a New York apartment building (inexplicably, I might add, with Peter Tosh!) as Keith takes his sweet time to stroll up before all the boys meet at their local bar. (I’m pretty sure that this video was also the catalyst for my love of a good dive bar). While I guess any season is right for meeting up with the boys at your local spot, for some reason summertime just seems tailor made for these kind of moments.

Early Evening / Dinner time

People Under The Stairs: Anotha’ BBQ
From Fun DMC (Gold Dust, 2008)

Summer wouldn’t be summer without a least one barbeque and this track by Los Angeles’ shining example of Black and Brown unity, People Under The Stairs featuring MC’s Double K and Thes-One, captures all the frivolity and foolishness that’s wrapped into a summer barbeque with family and friends. From the beat with those hand claps and the late 70s mid-tempo disco guitar, to the party chatter in the background, to the infectious chorus “You bring the beef (+ the links, wings and ladies) and I’ll bring the brew, aw shit another barbeque.” On a record full of classic storytellin’, this one takes the cake for me. Just remember if you come to a barbeque at my house, don’t bring beer that you wouldn’t drink yourself!

Dancing downtown just ahead of midnight

Tim Maia: Nao Quero Dinhero
From S/T (Polydor, 1971)

I’m a big fan of soul and funk music from Brazil and my favorite artist is rightly recognized as the father of the Brazilian soul movement, Tim Maia. I’d stack his first 5 or 6 records against anybody’s, and the record from 1971 might be his best one. This track, which loosely translates to “I Don’t Want Money” was one of his biggest hits in Brazil, but it remains pretty obscure in the US. It’s got all the elements that made Maia a star and makes his records so prized today, a super tight upbeat funky rhythm, heavy strings, odd percussive sounds on the accents, and in my humble opinion, Maia’s strongest vocal performance. Plus it has one of the sweetest choruses of all time, where Maia and his back-up singers repeatedly tell you they don’t want no money, all they want is “amor sincero,” a sincere, true love. Besides being a perfect song to sweat and dance to, it’s also on this list because it fits me and my wife and our love (our anniversary is fittingly in August) just perfectly…

Late-late night

Otis Redding – My Lover’s Prayer
From The Soul Album (Atlantic, 1966)

I’d originally thought of choosing a different Otis Redding song, “Cigarettes & Coffee,” to be the late-night closer of this summer day, but since I don’t smoke and my wife no longer drinks coffee, it doesn’t make nearly as much sense as picking “My Lover’s Prayer.” Whenever I DJ and close out a night, I like to wind it all down with ¾ time slow soul songs and Otis was a master at these, with this one being one of his best along with the expert accompaniment from the Stax players, the Memphis horns and Booker T & the MGs. But what makes this song a classic is the begging, pleading, desperate and tremendously soulful vocals of Otis…

What you gonna do tonight,
When you need some lovin’ arms to hold you tight,
Tell me what you gonna do tonight,
When you need my heavy voice to tell you goodnight,
Honey but, you can’t let there be no problem,
You’ve got to come on home and help me solve ‘em,
Then I won’t be missing you,
And honey, my lover’s prayer would be all over.

Additionally, I actually have an apt late-night summer memory connected to this song. While living in Atlanta in the 1990s, some of my buddies and I stumbled into a local Waffle House at 2 or 3 in the morning. At the time there must have been at least 15 or 20 people in this particular Waffle House, virtually everyone, including the cooks, were completely hammered and talking very very loudly. I went to the jukebox in need of some Southern soul and chose this song. Within 5 seconds of Otis’ opening line, “This is my Lover’s Prayer, I hope it will reach out to you my love…” there was nothing but sweet contemplative silence. When that happened, I remember having the following exchange with my friend Chris Barnes (no relation):

MB: You hear that?

CB: What?

MB: How quiet it got…Otis just chilled everybody the fuck on out…

That power is exactly what makes this the perfect wind-down song to a perfect summer day.

Cheers,

Michael

JEFF WEISS: SUMMER SMOKE

(Editor's note: Jeff Weiss is one the most prolific young writers still going the print route, writing for the LA Times and LA Weekly besides running the excellent Passion of Weiss blog where he and friends riff irreverently on hip-hop and pop music at large. For his summer songs post, Jeff takes a hit off the nostalgia pipe and blows smoke rings in ode to his Jamaican weed adventure. --O.W.)

Jeff Weiss: Summer Smoke--From Cali to the Caribbean



Superficially, Southern California has little in common with Jamaica. But somehow, we understand each other—like fried chicken and waffles, Italians and Spaniards, Gucci Mane and polysyllabic, pasty white liberal arts students. I suspect it has something to do with the benefit (or burden) of constant sunlight, the omnivorous heat turning even the most lively souls languid, one endlessly slow and unspoiled season.



Reggae is the purest summer music—the story (perhaps apocryphal) says that parturition occurred during one oppressive Kingston July, when ska seemed far too speedy. Even if the tale isn’t true, the facts line up—Los Angeles struts at a 4/4 pace, a dreamer’s shuffle consistent with the smoked-out votives proffered by those with Natty Dreads. The rhythm stays in your imagination, particularly for those with narcotic aspirations.



Rita Marley-“One Draw”

From Who Knows It Feels It (Shanachie, 1981)



The city of “Indo Smoke,” “Hits from the Bong,” and “The Chronic,” can’t help but bob its head to this beat. Cypress Hill, straight out of South Gate, lifted the hook for "I Want to Get High" from Rita Marley’s “One Draw.” If potheads share a common bond, Jamaica and California, weed capitals of the world, may as well be Siamese siblings—along with Amsterdam, their quirky adopted brother.



Peter Tosh-“Legalize It” (dubby version)

From The Ultimate Peter Tosh Experience (Shanachie, 2009)



Peter Tosh told us to “legalize it” 25 years before we did. Don’t let the High Times beatification fool you, Peter Tosh was a bad motherfucker, who wore his scars proudly and sported the nickname, “Stepping Razor.” Murdered in his home at just 42, Tosh never got the pan-global martyr treatment like his fellow former Wailer, but was massively influential. He is also widely believed to have coined the term “Hell A” to reference the City of Angels—like I said, Kingston and Cali are copacetic..



Eek a Mouse—“Ganja Smuggling”

From Wa-Do-Dem (Greensleeves, 1981)



About a month ago, a fortuitous combination of circumstance and frequent flier mileage, landed me a trip to Sint Maarten, a 40 X 40 square mile, a half-Dutch, half-French strip stranded somewhere in the West Indies. Since federal law continues to consider ganja smuggling a crime, some stoners prescribe skeins of schemes to duck the Department of Homeland Security: hide it in your shampoo bottle, stuff it in a jar of peanut butter, alchemize it into suntan lotion and rub it on your skin. Basically, anything short of pulling a Stoudamire—i.e. walking through a metal detector clutching an ounce and a half wrapped in tin foil. Eek a moron.



I don’t believe in ganja smuggling for two reasons: the first being that I don’t really enjoy courts, lawyers or possible prison time, the second is that it kills any sense of adventure. There’s something to be said about traveling to a foreign land and being forced to rely on your wits to score pot (that something to be said, is that I probably

smoke too much).



When my dreary U.S. Air flight dropped down over the lesser Antilles, my initial impulse was to make like Mittoo.



Jackie Mittoo-“Hang Em High”

From Keep On Dancing (Coxsone, 1967)



It was the 4th of July, Dutch colonial style, and there was only one option for nightlife, a sleazy and cheesy club called "Bliss," a misnomer on par with this man being named Tiny Lister. A flier hawked a "DJ Mr. Vince" and a "DJ Mr. Kue," the latter of whom was advertised as one of the hottest DJ’s in upstate New York. Apparently, all you need to do to kill it in Utica is seamlessly transition between FloRida and Akon.



Two watered down and overpriced whiskeys, four pairs of Apple Bottomed jeans later, a man stepped out of the shadows and introduced himself as Slick. He whispered "Weed, coke, and ex," not slick.



Nodding, I followed him to a spot in the corner, where he whipped out two grams stashed inside individual mini-ziploc bags. It was dark, but I didn’t need Junior Murvin to tell me what it was.



Junior Murvin-“Bad Weed”

From Police and Thieves (Island, 1976)



"You don’t have anything better than that?"



"Nah boyee, this is from Jamaica.”



Compared to the fluffy, marshmallow nugs currently ubiquitous in marijuana dispensaries across the Golden State, this was stale three-day old bread beginning to mold. But desperate times call for desperate measures when you’re in the tropics and there is penicillin to fall back on.



I purchased both sacks. As we shook hands, Slick offered a money-back guarantee.



“If you don’t like this, come back in heyeah and axe, where Slick be at. I gawtcha brutha," he said, with a dreadlock-thick Jamaican accent that I look absurd attempting to write out phonetically. Then he wished me a Happy Independence Day, we exchanged daps and pounds and a bunch of chintzy lime and lemon fireworks fizzled into the sky. The most logical option was suggested by Black Uhuru.



Black Uhuru-“Big Spliff”

From The Dub Factor (Island, 1986)



So I rolled a log of the sere brown cess, that made up for in efficacy what it lacked in aesthetics. “Tropic Thunder” came on the hotel television, the air conditioning was turned way up, and Linval Thomson’s prophecies had been revealed.



Linval Thomson—“I Love Marijuana”

Available on Don't Cut Off Your Dreadlocks.



Or if you prefer a different nomenclature, I was happy that I’d found,



Bob Marley--"Kaya”

From Kaya (Island, 1978)



Or even.



Black Uhuru, “Sinsemilla.”

From Sinsemilla (Island, 1980)



Since this isn’t a travel blog and I don’t own a single pair of Bermuda shorts, I’ll spare the plot details. St. Maartin is a tiny island, ravaged by world recession, ignored by foreign capital, and sinking into a sad sort of tropical entropy. There is a gaudy casino-clotted tourist district or two, but otherwise it’s filled with crumbling banana and guava buildings, abandoned storefronts, unemployed teenagers loitering on motorcycles, and island women hawking license plates and handmade Caribe dolls.



Sometimes, Calypso beach bands blare Wilson Pickett's “Mustang Sally,” during two-for-one well drink specials at the Sunset Bar, and the sun sets purple and maroon and it is some kind of wonderful. The place has a stubborn beauty that no amount of poverty can eradicate, and everywhere, Jamaican culture holds sway—from color schemes, to hairstyles, to patois, to pop culture. I originally had myopic notions of attempting to imitate Calypso ’70 and come home with a crate stocked with obscure Antillean albums, but only found a single music store, adorned in a Jamaican flag, filled with thick tufts of smoke, wool rasta caps and a rack full of Lee Perry, Bob Marley, and King Tubby CD’s priced at $17 a pop.



When I asked if they had anything native to St. Maarten’s, a stoned clerk pointed me in the direction of The Isis Band with Falasha and offered a money-back guarantee. Upon later examination, the band was revealed to be from Aruba, but I suppose it was close enough.



The Isis Band with Falasha—“Faya Faya”

From The Isis Band myspace page



For the next 48 hours, I listened to nothing but the Isis Band, while circling the island in search of a pulse I only found in fits in starts. By the end of the week, it was doubtful as to whether I really understood Sint Maartin, let alone Jamaica--but at the very least, I discovered that we smoke significantly better weed.

THERE GOES YOUR SUMMER

Meaghan Smith: Here Comes Your Man
From 500 Days of Summer Soundtrack (Sire, 2009)

This is a quick addendum to the last post but I just heard this for the first time today (and I haven't even seen the movie yet). A little voice is telling me I probably should find it just a touch cloying and overly XM-Radio-The-Coffee-House-Channel-ish but I tell that voice to shut the f--- up and I'm happier for it.

Keep in mind too, I think the original is the best damn thing the Pixies ever recorded and 20+ years, I still love the original. And somehow, Smith manages to tweak the emotional vibe of the song into something altogether more bittersweet and quirky and the type of pop ditty (I mean that in a good day) that I would have put on a mixtape back when I was in love with, well, anyone in my 20s.

What I'm saying is that this song makes me feel young and old at the same time. And it also seems to fit - perfectly - with the end-of-summer theme.

EDITOR'S CHOICE

Please start by reading this first.

Part of why I solicit people for their summer songs posts is because I have a hard time reinventing the wheel for my own sense of what summer means via music. This year, the one song I knew I wanted to write about was "We're Almost There" by Michael Jackson and in many ways, that song brought me back full circle to my very first summer songs post.

I had a chance to revisit that theme for a post written for NPR's Summer Songs Series:

As much as I like classic summer anthems — bright, splashy, exuberant — they rarely capture what I think of as the essence of the season. Summer wants to be immortal and endless, and that beautiful delusion has birthed countless pop songs. But for me, summer is always a tangle of conflicted emotions: hope and disappointment, desire and frustration. It's the season of promises that, at their core, are impossible to realize.

Summer is more about what we want it to be than what it actually is — what I once described as "drops of reality dissolved into a vat of fantasy." Idealism may make a potent brew, but we know the season inevitably ends. That's why my favorite summer songs are almost always tinged with fragility and marked by melancholy. This is music that admits the painful truth about summer: Even the best times won't last, as long days fade with autumn's encroaching dusk.

And here were the four songs I picked to illuminate those ideas:

Michael Jackson: We're Almost There
From Forever Michael (Motown, 1975)

Like millions, I've spent the summer of 2009 revisiting the Michael Jackson catalog. The song that continues to haunt me is "We're Almost There," from 1975's overlooked Forever, Michael. I keep getting stuck on the idea of being "almost there." The song aches with the yearning to complete, as Jackson sings, "just one more step," but it's that "almost" that lingers. "Almost" teases and tantalizes, but it's as much a threat as it is a promise. Almost means maybe we won't make it. Almost means maybe "one more step" is, as Aretha Franklin once sang, "a step too far away." That's summer in a nutshell: an ambition within reach, but also one step from being lost.

William Devaughn: Be Thankful for What You Got
From Be Thankful For What You Got (Roxbury, 1974)

Has there ever been a smoother, more sublime summer jam than this? William Devaughn's ability to paint with such vivid lyrical imagery -- "Diamond in the back / Sunroof top / Diggin' in the seam with a gangster lean" -- is perfectly matched by the slick insouciance of the song's bass lines and conga slaps. This is no high-noon groove, though; it's a low-rider sunset, a time for quiet contemplation during the slow cruise home. Be thankful for what you got, Devaughn keeps instructing. Take nothing for granted. But even in the fading light, Devaughn's ultimate message is one of hope: "You may not have / a car at all / but remember / brothers and sisters / you can still stand tall."

Ice Cube: It Was a Good Day
From The Predator (Priority, 1993)

If Devaughn opens solemnly but closes on an up note, Ice Cube goes the other way on this 1993 hit. He ostensibly celebrates a halcyon day of basketball games, lucky dice and a late-night motel romp. But it's the turnaround at the end of each verse that tells the true story: "nobody I knew got killed in South Central L.A." & "I didn't even to have to use my AK." Those sobering afterthoughts carry an unease echoed in the somber mood of the music itself. The sample source is The Isley Brothers' "Foosteps in the Dark," which has all the feel of a classic seduction jam: the slow tempo, the syrupy strings. But there's a sadness that flows through; those "footsteps," after all, are of a sneaking lover. "It Was a Good Day" wisely taps into that implicit discomfort. (For a contrast, listen to the far sunnier remix, which uses a different sample.)

I should add: "It Was A Good Day" was inescapable in 1993, and even now, 16 years later, it still resonates with the summer.

The Heath Brothers: Smilin' Billy Suite Part 2
From Marchin' On (Strata East, 1975)

If I had to score summer's end, this early Heath Brothers song from 1975 would be an easy choice. It positively drips in melancholy, especially through Stanley Cowell's use of an African mbira (thumb piano) to play the memorable "Smilin' Billy" motif. I imagine the song patiently playing out as September days drift quietly towards the fall equinox. There's one last, rousing gasp of life that unexpectedly sparks at the end, but with one dramatic thump, it’s all over. Summer's gone

ADAM DUNBAR: ECLECTIC RELAXATION

(Editor's Note: Adam Dunbar runs one of my favorite new blogs - Musica Del Alma - dedicated to the crossroads between Latin, funk and soul. Top-notch stuff and filled with the kind of tropical sabor that I thought would be perfectly matched to the summer season. --O.W.)

First off, hats off to O-Dub for doing a great guest post on my Latin blog, Musica del Alma.

For many out there summer can mean travel to exotic locales for adventure or relaxation. I have made it a point in the past to take long excursions whenever possible to places like South America and Indonesia in search of excitement and exploration. This summer, however, is my first as a contracted employee in the "real world", after recently graduating from college. With no prospect of travel on the horizon for quite a while (yeah, life is rough), I have instead focused my time this summer on exploring new styles of music and "digging deep" for hot records in the Bay Area. So for me, the summer song is a lifestyle and what I am constantly in search of hearing, whatever the season.


Richard Ryder and the Eighth Wonder: "PHASE III"
From the PHASE III 7" EP (Y'Blood Records, 1972)

The Phase III track represents the perfect song that I want to start off my exceptional summer day: one that can be played first thing in the morning and PLAYED LOUD. The moment those drums kick in over that majestic piano, you know this is going to be something special.

"I ain't singing no more sad songs
Gonna have to sing the whole day long"

So dope...

Exit 9: "Fly"
From the Straight Up LP (BRC Records, 1975)

Recorded by a teenage band from Canada, "Fly"'s youthful exuberance is both infectious and inspiring. If things weren't already hype, the Caribbean stylings of the second half of the song really heat things up!


Ray and his Court: "De Eso Nada Monada"
From the S/T LP (Sound Triangle, 1975)

¡Ay, que Tropical! A great song from a great record. I get the urge to fly south every time I drop the needle onto the grooves. ¡Vamos a bailar, mi gente!


Jorge Ben: "Criola"
From the S/T LP (Philips, 1969)

Heading further south brings us to Brasil and Jorge Ben Jor, the king of Tropicalia. The guitar of "Criola" really reminds me of the intro to Marlena Shaw's "California Soul", another classic summer song, and is a similarity which further establishes the track as quintessential to my ears.


The Chakachas: "Hot Hands"
From the Eso Es El Amor LP (RKM, 1977)

An old favorite of mine that does the job every time, whether horizontal in a hammock or feelin' the stress at work. They key is to relax. Love the way the song builds up and breaks down with ease as the drummer adds his style.


Poor Righteous Teachers: "Word Iz Life"
From the Word Iz Life 12" (Profile, 1996)

Word iz life, people! No Hip Hop songs gets me more hyped. Period.

Get out there and connect!

-Adam D.

ANDREW MASON: BK BBQ

(Editor's Note: Andrew Mason, aka DJ Monk-One,is one of the hardest working DJs/journalists/label dudes you'll ever meet. I probably first got to know him through his extensive writing for Wax Poetics and it wasn't until later that I realize, "duh, he and Monk-One are the same guy," and his music-making as scarily prolific as his writing. He helps run NYC Trust which is home to, among other things, the excellent Greenwood Rhythm Coalition and Midnight Lab Band. (There's going to be a big NYC Trust Remixed album this Sep. so keep an eye out for that and meanwhile, make sure you peep E's E's "Scratch Skank single.) That, of course, is when he's not busy putting out his own compilations or hitting off the Underground Railroad with soul and funk mixes. For his summer songs post, Andrew takes us to Brooklyn for some plush, funky BBQ tunes. If these whet your appetite, you can get another heaping helping this Friday at the Lincoln Center. --O.W.)

---

If one activity sums up summer, it’s a barbecue. In Brooklyn, that means a secret passage from baking streets to the humble jungle confined in the corridor unseen between blocks. Step from the sidewalk through a cramped apartment out into a matchbook backyard where your host has wiggled a grill into the corner and bottles jostle in a cooler. Speakers are wedged in windows and neighbors peer from third-floor perches.

Since appropriate musical accompaniment is essential for a summer soiree, here’s a few tested suggestions.

Pieces Of A Dream: Warm Weather
From S/T (Elektra, 1981)

Waking up on the day of your backyard fiesta, you’ll need something to set the mood. This superb cut from the Philly-based Grover Washington, Jr. protégés is laid back and lyrically uplifting. As vocalist Barbara Walker notes, “I like the warm weather, it’s like a natural high.”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FKuH7gQ8840

Jessica Cleaves: I Really Envy The Sunshine
From Plush Funk (P-Vine, 1992)

Any discussion of Summer Songs has to include a “sunshine” selection, and though I enthusiastically recommend Nancy Wilson’s song of that name, mine comes courtesy of Jessica Cleaves. One quarter of the vocal group Friends of Distinction, Cleaves also sang on two of the early Earth Wind & Fire LPs before teaming up with the Parliament Funkadelic crew in the mid-‘70s. This track comes from a 1980 session that didn’t see daylight until it appeared on a 1993 P-Funk rarities comp. The languid bump would perfectly accompany a chilled beverage and the readying of a grill. Do you have one of those chimney charcoal starters?

Choc Quib Town: Somos Pacificos
From Somos Pacificos (Rue Bleue, 2007)

Now that the marinated morsels are sizzling and guests are easing in, this cut from Choc Quib Town goes down lovely. One part laid back marimba riff and one part popping drums, add Gloria “Goyo” Perea’s Lauryn-esque rap and you’ve got an irresistible concoction. CQT represents Colombia’s Pacific coast culture hard—like the man says, “Colombia es más que coca, marijuana y café.”

De La Soul: Thru Ya City
From Art Official Intelligence (Tommy Boy, 2000)

The chorus is a lift from the Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Summer In The City,” but what puts this firmly in the warm weather category is Jay Dee’s amicable beat, all chubby synth bass and fizzy keys, elements I suspect would come off cornball in the hands of 98% of the other chefs out there. Probably cooked up around the same time as Common’s Water For Chocolate, the drums sound ?uestlove-ish and are loose in the unquantized style Dilla perfected. Without giving away the exact ingredients, I’ll add that the sample source for this is an electro-tropical dream that could’ve made the menu just as easily.

Tabu Ley: Maze
From Rochereau Vol. 6 (Star Musique, 1982). Also on This is Africa Vol. 2 Part 2

Something about the twining chimes of soukous guitar calls out “summer.” Maybe it’s the resemblance to the Dominican Bachata omnipresent in the Brooklyn bodegas where I grab dewy Presidentes, maybe it’s an exoticized image of steamy Zaire, but regardless, there is something that makes the sweet sound perfectly apt. Tabu Ley was already a superstar when he had a big hit with this track (pronounced “mah-zay”) in 1980, and has since achieved status nothing short of legendary. This easy swinger just bubbles along, getting funky right around the 3-minute mark when band switches up the groove. When “Rochereau” (Ley’s nickname) breaks out the winning English-language chorus “I love you, baby touch me” a few minutes later it’s pure perfection, no translation required.

Willie Colon: Ah-Ah/O-No
From El Juicio (Fania, 1971)

Not far musically from Willie Colon’s earlier, more blatantly African “Ghana’e” (a neglected back-in-the-day Bambaataa banger, BTW), this lead-off cut from the magnificent El Jucio album is a simple boy-tries-to-get-girl tale that vocalist Hector Lavoe elevates to art with his cool, clear delivery and clever come-ons. The last minute or so is given up to an irresistible itinerary of all the locales he’ll take his gal: “we’ll dance Cumbia in Colombia,” and so on.

P-Funk All-Stars: Hydraulic Pump Pt. III
From 12" (Virgin, 1983)

If I ever had doubts about this one as a bonafide summer slammer (as the cover of PE’s “Brothers Gonna Work It Out” single proclaimed itself back in June of ‘89), they were obliterated one sultry afternoon a few years ago at a barbecue in Los Angeles. You might say the essence of DJing is matching songs to scenarios, and when the puzzle pieces fit perfectly it’s a truly transcendent experience for listener and selector alike. When I recall the reaction as I ran this track, there’s no doubt this was one of those times. “Jump up in the air and stay there,” the chorus commands, advice the backyard bunch in LA did their best to follow. The version that got ‘em levitating was part three on the 12-inch, a segment that sagely strips the track to the octave-leaping bass line that gave the song its name and a sassy brass riff from the Horny Horns.

Wendy Rene: Bar-B-Q
From 7" (Stax, 1964). Also on Smokin' Soul Picnic.

Now that things are well underway, let me introduce Wendy Rene who’s going to break it down for you. Hang on, first let’s get Booker T & the MG’s to lay down a snapping groove. Alright, how about some handclaps… OK Wendy, tell ‘em: “I smell something in the air/You know it smells like a barbecue/If I had some I wouldn’t care, because I like a barbecue/You like a barbecue/We like a barbecue.” Who could argue with that?

Derrick Harriott: All Day Music
From Reggae Disco Rockers (Wildflower, 1975)

Around here the backyards are right up against each other, and if you’re getting too loud, too late, your neighbors will have a few choice words for you. So in the interest of stress free living it’s best to bring things back down a little as we move into evening. War’s “All Day Music” is already a self-evident summer anthem, and taking it for a spin on the Jamaican music machine that was Derrick Harriott’s musical chariot only intensifies that vibe.

Bill Withers: Can We Pretend?
From +'Justments (Sussex 1974)

When the sun has set and the embers are glowing in the grill, it’s time to kick back with the closest of friends. “Can We Pretend,” found on Bill Withers’ oft-overlooked +Justments album, is a premier league Quiet Storm classic. It was also the final song when the Greenhouse, my nine-year old Brooklyn weekly, concluded earlier this summer: a hopeful goodnight and a promise to do it all again soon.

SASHA FRERE-JONES ON SUMMER SONGS

A podcast with Sasha Frere-Jones: Online Only: The New Yorker

GAYE THERESA JOHNSON: SUNRISE TO SUNSET

(Editor's Note: I met Gaye through the Experience Music Project; her and Jeff Chang were giving a phenomenal talk about music in New Orleans, post-Katrina, and I discovered that her work closely aligned with many of my own interests, namely looking at cross-ethnic relations through musical activity. She has a forthcoming book called, The Future Has a Past: Politics, Music and Memory in Afro-Chicano Los Angeles which I'm eagerly awaiting. For her post, Gaye flips through six songs that capture a variety of summer rhythms from East Harlem to Southwest Louisiana with stops between at Monterey, Strong Island and more. --O.W.)

Ray Barretto: El Hijo de Obatala
From Indestructible (Fania, 1976)

The best part of this song comes after the band announces, "Damas y caballeros, ahora con ustedes, las manos duros de Ray Barretto. Y como TOCA!" The ensuing dialogue between the Edy Martinez on piano and Barretto on congas is one of the most beautiful conversations I've ever heard.

The Jacksons: Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)
From The Jacksons Live (Sony 1981)

This song makes my husband Chuck want to rollerskate, and jump up in the air when the Jacksons sing, "Let's dance, let's shout (SHOUT!)" What always strikes me about this song is the intensity of energy next to the effortlessness of MJ's vocals. The tempo on the live recording is faster than the studio version; it makes you wish you were listening live and dancing with strangers on a hot summer night. Beautiful.

Charles Lloyd: Forest Flower (Sunrise and Sunset)
From Forest Flower (Atlantic, 1966)

This is a most powerful combination of the talents of Keith Jarrett (piano), Jack DeJohnette (drums), and Charles Lloyd. The high notes on the piano at the end are almost too much to take. Hard to get better than this on a summer evening.

Public Enemy: By The Time I Get to Arizona
From Apocalypse '91: The Enemy Strikes Black (Def Jam, 1991)

The temperature of "Two Sisters of Mystery" sample (Mandrill) changes in this context to an intimate, steely heat. Every time I hear Chuck D say "AriZONA" I see him throw a punch in my mind's eye, and hear the lyrical punch in my ears. Reminds you to get your summer protest on. "Go Go Go Go Go..." Evan Mecham must have heard this deliberate, inevitable fury and updated his NRA membership.

Brand Nubian: Wake Up (Reprise in the Sunshine)
From One for All (Elektra, 1990)

This song is a two-fer, because you really can't get through a summer without listening to Roy Ayers. This is a "word of wisdom to the groove from the wise" whose lyrical ease makes you want to sit back and enjoy the heat. Everybody loves the sunshine.

Keith Frank: What's His Name
From What's His Name (Maison De Soul, 1994)

There are few songs that make me want to two-step, waltz, or jig. But everything Keith Frank does in this song makes me want to break with my vegetarian, one-step sensibilities; eat gumbo, and take on the Louisiana heat for a live performance. There are no tricks in this song, just an easy, fun song that inspires love for what Zydeco is for the human spirit.

ERIC LUECKING: SOUNDS IN THE SUN

(Editor's note: For the last year or so, Eric Luecking has become Soul Sides' most prolific contributor. It was only right that he get to drop some thoughts on the summer season. --O.W.)

What defines a summer song? Is it a regal horn arrangement? Is it a love song? Is it an ode to life? In short, it can be all these things. In the Midwest, we love barbecues, pool parties, cruising the strip, hooking up, and house parties just as much as anyone. While many of my choices are more recent selections, they fit the recipe perfectly for what makes a great summer music soundtrack.

Chicago: Street Player
From Chicago 13 (Chicago, 1979)

One of the premiere '70s bands (who also extended their run into '80s radio mainstays as well), they explored multiple sounds and textures. On “Street Player,” panned by some critics as having too much disco influence, the horns are ablaze. While it has a disco bass riff, it also has an incredible latin drum breakdown before going into a guitar solo. Personally I love the track as it makes me want to conga through downtown or ride on a parade float with a brass band marching behind with confetti shooting into the air.

People Under The Stairs: Blowin Wax
From Question In The Form Of An Answers (Om, 2000)

Few groups ooze a summer sound like the west coast's People Under The Stairs. Every album you know you're going to get a soundtrack to your barbecue. “Blowin Wax” has a Pete Rock feel to it with its snappy drums and funky sax on the chorus. All you need to do is stop by your local butcher's to pick up the ribs, and PUTS will take care of the rest. Don't have guests to your barbecue? That's okay, just blast this song on high and the neighbors will show up. Getting your annoying and so-tanned-her-skin-looks-like-leather septagenarian gossip queen to leave the barbecue once you got the party poppin' will take something more than what this post can encompass. Sorry. (Maybe you can tell her the neighbors next door are playing bingo.)

Naughty By Nature: Clap Yo Hands
From Poverty's Paradise (Tommy Boy, 1995)

The true summer hip hop kings, however, are NBN. In the '90s and early '00s, they came up with the anthems that defined your summer “Clap Yo Hands” was overshadowed by its other album counterparts in “Craziest” and “Feel Me Flow,” but easily holds its own. (Note: The b-side “Hang Out & Hustle is really nice, too.) Kay Gee laced a nice beat underneath (that bass can snap your neck) the seriously underrated Treach and Vinnie who both spit with serious flow. A Rakim sample in the hook never hurts either. The main thing that really propelled their summer anthem success was simple, but catchy hooks, something 50 Cent took note of a nearly a decade later. It also didn't hurt that Treach's cadence was/is unfucwitable. During the couple of summers where NBN didn't have a single out, in the '90s spring just went straight into fall. Mother Nature thought, “What's the use?”

Koop: Summer Sun
From Waltz For Koop (Jazzanova/Compost, 2002)

Swedish jazz never sounded so nice. Poppy enough to sound like it could be the backdrop for an Old Navy commercial but with enough chops not to sound cheesy, this song is to lay back in the hammock on a sunny day and watch the clouds by overhead while listening to the birds chirp. Yukimi Nagano's vocals have a dreamy and optimistic tone to them that marry perfectly with the arrangement. It's impossible to not be overcome with happiness while listening to this song. Go ahead and try; I dare you.

Donald Byrd: Think Twice
From Stepping Into Tomorrow (Blue Note, 1974)

I'm not going to front – I didn't pick up this album until after I heard Dilla's BBE Beat Generation CD in 2001, but it instantly became one of my favorite jazz albums. I remember reading that Dilla had hoped to remake this entire album but settled for just updating “Think Twice.” Part jazz, part funk, and even part disco, the Mizell brothers played on and produced this fine musical specimen of cross-pollinated bliss.

SUMMER COMES TO COVERVILLE

Coverville 589: Summer Covers (Happened So Fast) � Coverville

The great podcast Coverville tackles songs about summer.

SCOTT SAUL: AFTERNOON IN ITAPOÃ

(Editor's note: Scott Saul is, among other things, an award-winning professor of English at UC Berkeley, the author of Freedom Is, Freedom Ain't: Jazz and the Making of the Sixties, and in general, an impressive "man of letters" who has critically mused on everything from the mythologies of Los Angeles, the tragedy of Jonestown, and the Civil Rights Movement in the North; he is also currently writing a biography of Richard Pryor. All of which is to say - he's as interesting and dynamic a scholar/writer as one could aspire to (myself included). For his summer songs post, Saul riffs on the wisdom that can be learned from men in bathtubs. --O.W.)

Afternoon in Itapoã

By Scott Saul

Vinicius de Moraes (1913-1980) was, by turns, a precocious poet, publishing his first chapbook by age 20; a law student; a film critic; a diplomat, posted during the late-‘40s to the Brazilian consulate in Los Angeles, where he befriended Orson Welles; a playwright and scenarist, who first came up with the story for Marcel Camus’s Black Orpheus; and a co-founder of bossa nova, that amalgam of cool jazz and samba that taught an earlier generation how to be sophisticated and taught a later generation how to lounge. He was also, throughout his life, a dedicated drinker who claimed that whiskey was man’s best friend (he called it “bottled dog”): after his feverish, three-month-long songwriting collaboration with the guitarist Baden Powell, he computed that the two of them had consumed 240 two-liter flagons of Scotch — close to three bottles per day, or, given that they wrote 25 songs in that period, about 10 bottles per song.

He also taught me — I was thirty-four; he had been dead for over twenty years — how to love city beaches and, through them, my hometown of LA, which is why he figures in this post. The song that did the job was “Tarde em Itapoã” (Afternoon in Itapoã), which he wrote in his late-‘50s. For me, it was a portal into another world, which turned out to be my hometown in an alternate guise.

Vinicius de Moraes: Tarde em Itapoã
From en Mar del Plata (Trova, 1971)

I first came across the song on the recording Days in Mar del Plata (1971), a loose-jointed “live in-studio” album that projects a sense of living-room intimacy, with Vinicius chatting up his imaginary audience as if they were one step away from being fast friends, fluently segueing from song to song, sampling from his own deep catalog as well as from younger tropicalists like Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil. There’s a perfect fit between music and milieu: while many bossa nova albums are cluttered by string arrangements so cheesy that only a hunk of Camembert could love them, the acoustic sound here harkens back to the informal jam sessions, at Copacabana apartments and bars, where bossa nova was born.

Best of all, the album conveys an essential but often overlooked aspect of the bossa nova sound — effortlessness. Not just the effortlessness that is virtuosity’s reward (though you can hear that too, when the guitarist Toquinho lets his samba and jazz chops loose), but the effortlessness that comes from feeling a sense of compatibility between the demands placed on you and the role you wish to play. This effortlessness was perhaps best expressed in bossa nova’s relaxed vocal sound, which revolutionized Brazilian pop music. Vinicius himself had a roughened baritone — no great shakes in the vocal sweepstakes — but in the service of his songs, his voice seems richly conversational, its texture a testament to a life fully lived. He never has to strain to hit notes, and even when the (often ingenious) melodies swerve in unexpected directions, he doesn’t seem to swerve.

“Tarde em Itapoã” is not just an effortless-seeming song, but also a song about effortlessness itself. More precisely, it’s a song about relaxing on the beach in the company of friends. The props described in the lyrics are modest: the singer arrives on the beach in an old bathing suit, with just straw matting to lie down on, and some homemade cachaça and agua de coco to drink. But the feeling evoked by the song is expansive — a contrast signaled by the first rhyme of “um velho calçao de banho” (an old bathing suit) with the more visionary “um mar que não tem tamanho” (a sea that has no size).

Put another way: a day with no plans except lounging —“um dia pra vadiar” — turns out to be the key to bliss. Laziness is next to godliness, in the Vinicius scheme of things. (It’s no surprise that Vinicius loved his bathtub, writing poetry and conducting interviews from it.)

And the music conveys this sense of happiness ingeniously and brazenly, with the G-minor key of the verses switching, in a flash, to the G-major key of the chorus. Admittedly this minor-major modulation, while unfamiliar in most American pop music, is more common in Brazilian music: a similar change of mode, and of feeling, can be found in the bossa landmark “Chega de Saudade,” in sambas like Paulinho da Viola’s “Tudo Se Transformou” (Everything Changed), and in Vinicius’s own “Canto de Ossanha.” Still, I can’t help but feel the pleasant surprise of this musical convention here, as all the minor-sevenths of the verse evolve into the major-sevenths of the chorus — a surprise delivered with nonchalance, as if pleasant surprises were simply the way of the world.

I’ve gotten this far into “Tarde em Itapoã” without mentioning Itapoã itself, which is a disservice to the song, since Itapoã is not just another Brazilian beach. In fact, Itapoã (also spelled Itapoan, or Itapuã, or Itapuan — in Salvador, you can see buses heading up the coast to the beach with all these spellings on them) is far from the picture-postcard paradise often conjured up in discussions of Brazil. It’s a Bahian beach made famous by songwriter Dorival Caymmi, who paid tribute, starting in the ‘30s, to the hard lives of the fishermen who worked from its shores; in the process, Caymmi galvanized a regional folk-music movement in Brazil. In Caymmi’s “Saudade de Itapoã” (Itapoã Blues), the beauty of the beach — the breeze singing through the coconut palms — is exactly what touches off a feeling of melancholy, the feeling that a promise of happiness has been left hanging.

Vincius namechecks Caymmi in “Tarde em Itapoã” — and apparently he originally wanted Caymmi himself, not his musical partner Toquinho, to write the music for his lyrics — but there are no fishermen trawling nets in his song. The idea of work has been banished for the day, and with it Caymmi’s melancholy. There’s even something like the promise of a Brazilian endless summer to the song. It begins with everyone arriving at the beach yet ends not with everyone leaving the beach, but with something more unexpected: the sun starts going down, the singer starts shivering with the rising of a wind, then decides to sleep under the moon of Itapoã. It’s a moment of total presentness — “sem ontem nem amanhã” (neither yesterday nor tomorrow) — that recalls for me how the word “happiness” shares an etymological root with the verb “to happen”: is there anything more time-sensitive than happiness? Anything more fleeting, yet seemingly out of time?

I first started listening to “Tarde em Itapoã” when I was teaching at the University of Virginia — a wonderful job but one that put me, for the first time in my life, in an utterly landlocked place. The city of Charlottesville felt small to me: there was only “one of everything” — one good sushi restaurant, one good breakfast joint, etc. — and I was accustomed to more. (It only later became clear to me that, in Charlottesville, it was easy to feel that there was only one of me, which was one of the underappreciated sources of my happiness there.) “Tarde em Itapoã” transported me to another world, where the ocean touched the sky and you could “feel, slowly, the world spinning” (“Bem devagar ir sentindo/A terra toda a rodar”). It was a promise of peace and possibility, both.

I settled back in LA a little while later, and the song took on a new meaning — as a description of a Los Angeles that I hadn’t seen before. I had been raised in the San Fernando Valley and had rarely ventured to the beach; it’s fair to say that, during grad school, I visited the gravelly beaches of East Haven, Connecticut, more often than I ever took to the beaches of LA. Looking back, I think that the mythology of LA’s beaches had sapped my ability to enjoy them. I’d seen David Lee Roth’s “California Girls” video one too many times on MTV, and so could only think of the beach as a place for looking at bodies — or, much more uncomfortably for me, for being looked at.

You won’t find any long-legged beauties or chiseled hunks in “Tarde em Itapoã”. The emphasis falls instead on the joy of spending time with friends — of debating the world sweetly (“argumentar com doçura”) with that cachaça in hand. The effortlessness of the music here suggests the effortlessness of true companionship.

When I returned to LA, I discovered that its actual beaches were closer in spirit to Vinicius’s Itapoã than to David Lee Roth’s erotic fairyland — this despite the fact that the LAPD would be likely to confiscate that homemade cachaça and would be certain to roust anyone who dared, nowadays, to sleep under the moon. Strolling around Santa Monica’s beach, I could hear “Tarde em Itapoã” run through my head and could see its promise realized in the motley crew assembled on the sand: families with their own tents and war-chest-like coolers; dudes scanning the surf; a circle of women talking Sex and the City; an elderly couple with tans approaching the shade of terracotta. All sorts of body types and all levels of social strata were on hand. It was LA at its most Brazilian — and perhaps its most LA.

Bonus Material:

• A video of “Tarde em Itapoã” (where Vinicius sings while sitting at a table where a bottle of whiskey is prominently displayed)


• A fabulous documentary – with English subttles -- on Vinicus de Moraes (featuring performances and interviews with Caetano Veloso, Maria Bethania, Chico Buarque, Gilberto Gil, Adriana Calcanhotto, and a few of his nine [!] wives) — see it streaming at

• Toquinho and Gilberto Gil performing “Tarde em Itapoã” (great harmonies and guitar interplay)


• The song “Itapua” from Caetano’s Circulado (a postmodern take on the beach, with superinventive poetry)

• The song “Saudade em Itapoã” from Caymmi’s Cançoes Praieiras (thanks to Loronix).

MICHAEL GONZALES: PITTSBURGH ON MY MIND

Editor's note: Michael is one of the hardest working, most prolific writers on music and film out there - I first started reading his work back in the 1990s, thanks to the book he and Havelock Nelson put out: Bring the Noise. I more recent years, I caught his "On the Corner" column for Popmatters.com but he's penned for many outlets over the years, including Stop Smiling, Vibe, The Village Voice and Latina. His articles on soul music can be found at http://soulsummer.com and his own blog, http://blackadelicpop.blogspot.com.

Gonzales already wrote a great summer songs piece here and for us, he pens one about childhood summers spend in Steeltown USA. --O.W.

Pittsburgh On My Mind

by Michael A. Gonzales

Years later I laughed when telling the story of how mommy shipped me and baby brother off to her hometown of Pittsburgh every summer.

If we got out of school in June, two weeks later we’d be sitting on the Greyhound bus holding greasy bags of fried chicken and looking forward to life far away from our uptown apartment, the Harlem humidity and the wildness of the city.

Though Aunt Ricky wasn’t our real aunt, she and mom dukes had grown-up together in that steel mill city from which Billy Eckstine, Billy Strayhorn and George Benson also hailed. Still, after our first visit in the early seventies, Aunt Ricky became like a second mother. Or better yet, our summer mother.

There was also my cousin Denise, whom everyone called DeeNee. Three years older and ten years wiser, she had great taste in music. Last, but certainly not least, was Uncle Ed. Cool as Champale on ice, he was dashing as Sidney Poitier and always entertaining.

As though it were yesterday, I can clearly remember listening to Uncle Ed (born in Jamaica, he loved country songs and played a wicked acoustic guitar) bursting into a chorus of “Mama Don’t Let Your Babies Grow-Up to be Cowboys” while driving his green Mack dump truck through dusty construction sites or Aunt Ricky jamming Dr. John’s “Right Place, Wrong Time” as we drove to East Hills for frozen Cokes. “I’m always in the right place at the right time,” she assured me.

Once, while spinning a Jackson 5 single in the basement of our Lincoln Road abode, I silently wondered how come nobody I knew ever played the b-sides of records. Curious, I flipped the seven-inch over (I think it was “Looking Through the Window”) and discovered the funky Michael Jackson gem “Maria.”

For the remainder of that particular summer (please don’t hold my scattered brain to any specific year), I played that song continuously.

If I’m not mistaken, that might’ve been the same summer that another dapper Afroed kid calling himself Foster Sylvers released the bump-o-matic "Misdemeanor" and almost kicked the future king of pop to the curb. Luckily, a movie about killer rats was all the rage and Motown dropped the aural sugary single “Ben,” pushing big nosed Mike back to the top of the pop charts.

A few weeks later I went through musical puberty when the whole family attended a house and I witnessed a roomful of adults slow grinding to “Let’s Get It On.” Standing in the doorway as the sensuous song splashed from the speakers, I watched the grown folks dancing close (a few with their own spouses even) and realized that the song wasn’t about playing in the sandbox.

Two summers later, Cousin DeeNee introduced me to live funk music when Aunt Ricky made her ask me if I wanted to go to a concert. Being all of twelve, I hadn’t yet been to any real shows (except for old school dudes like Ray Charles and Little Anthony) and wasn’t sure it was something I really wanted to do. “Who’s playing?” I asked.

When DeeNee snidely replied, “Graham Central Station,” I didn’t know who the hell she was talking about, but promised I’d let her know. Later, when I overheard mention that her best friend Helen, a pretty brown skinned girl who’d be dead a few years later after a fatal asthma attack, was also going, my decision was made.

Bookish and shy as I was, my young ass had a love jones for Helen and would’ve followed her anywhere. “OK,” I want to go,” I told DeeNee the next day. She sucked her teeth as though I was ruining her life. Yet, as the show got closer DeeNee didn’t seem to mind too much. She even let me play GCS’s three albums, my favorite being Ain't No 'Bout-A-Doubt It. It not only had cool album art, but also featured the amazing ballad “Your Love” and the black vinyl celebration of “It Ain’t Nothing But a Warner Brothers Party.”

By the day of the show, I was well-versed in GCS tunes. “I heard Sly Stone might be there!” DeeNee screamed as Uncle Ed, who was our chaperone for that night, sped to the Civic Arena. Once inside, we choice to forego the seats for the opportunity to stand close to the stage in what was once dubbed festival seating.

Surrounded by an audience that looked like they had just disembarked from the soul train, we excitedly stood beneath cloud of reefer smoke; I had no idea what I was inhaling, but I felt great.

With hair that would’ve made Snoop Dogg jealous, Larry Graham slapped his bass into funky submission and rocked-out for over two hours. The highlight of the entire night was when the groovy Graham Central played a rousing version of their funk hit “The Jam.”

At some point Larry grabbed the mic and screamed, “We gonna wake Pittsburgh up tonight,” as the domed ceiling slowly open. Overhead the stars twinkled bright and the band was tighter than a pair of Flagg Brothers platforms.

Twenty-four years later, when my late girlfriend Lesley Pitts was doing publicity for Prince, she introduced me to Larry Graham. When I gushed that his Pittsburgh concert was my first, he asked, “Was that the same show where we opened that dome?”

“Gosh, with all the shows you’ve played, how do you remember that one?”

“It cost me $1,000 to open that dome,” he replied.

Foster Sylvers: Misdemeanor
From S/T (Pride, 1973)

Michael Jackson: Maria
From Got To Be There (Motown, 1971)

Graham Central Station: The Jam
From Ain't No 'Bout-A-Doubt It (Warner Bros, 1975)

PETE L'OFFICIAL: IT'S THE WIND

Editor's note: Before I ever met Pete in person, I knew him from his writing 1) he's been a valuable contributor to places like The Believer, Spin, Village Voice and Salon and 2) he boasts one of the coolest looking bylines out there: "The Official Pete" (which is considerably better than being, say, Pete L'Faux). Pete's now matriculating through grad school at Harvard, wisely avoiding the imbroglio of the journalism world for the safe security of the academi...oh wait, never mind.

Anyways, Pete really took to knocking out a Summer Songs post - one that begins Uptown, ends in the Dirty South and takes detours to Jamaica and Brazil in the meanwhile. --O.W.

It's the Wind

by Pete L'Official

"It feel hot at night and shit, like, the sun ain't even out."*

Summer is something like a seduction, suspended. A seduction, because of the season's more obvious trappings (skin, sweat, gratuitous uses of words like "sultry" and "sweltering"). And suspended, because for those lucky souls of seven, seventeen, or seventy for whom consciousness of the days of the week falls blissfully away, summer is little more than a collection of moments, where each moment continually offers the possibility of the simplest of ecstasies in the next, or recalls an almost immediate nostalgia for the one that has just passed. Ennui, even of the non-air-conditioned sort, is pregnant with promise. We never mind being seduced by the summer -- we always capitulate -- even though we would like to be the ones doing the seducing. And in attempting that seduction, occasionally, we'll take a bit of help. Music is preferable at these moments, and it becomes representative of them as well.

And though, as with the summer, there are phases to seduction, you might think of it as an endless cycle -- or a playlist, on repeat. This is but one of its soundtracks, joined moment to moment.

Camp Lo: "Luchini AKA This is It"
From Uptown Saturday Night (1997)

Wild out. That feeling you got when you opened the bedroom shades on the morning of the whole of the summer. And doubled, when you came up on your man's late-afternoon jam and heard this banging from the speakers. "Oh...word?" This is why you are friends: he recognizes the importance of you making an entrance. Upon hearing this song and taking a sly look to your left, then right, your movements become the metaphorical equivalent of flying backwards through heaven with angel wings (see: about 1:17 in). Pass the "am-a-red-da."

Crooklyn Dodgers: "Return of the Crooklyn Dodgers"
From Clockers Original Soundtrack (MCA, 1995)

Max. Relax. This is what you came here for. You had crazy visions; now you're wearing them. Hang your swag on the appropriate hook; you've got a minute. Sit where you can see, and maybe even where you can be seen. Find the space between Premier's boom-bap and the smoothed-out Young Holt Trio sample (ample room: it's 29 years). No need to stress, son. It's early yet. Smile only if you have to. Head-nods -- required, once Jeru attacks with authority -- should fall perfectly on a scale between spirited and subtle.

Desmond Dekker: "Intensified '68 (Music Like Dirt)"
From Rudy Got Soul - The Early Beverley's Sessions 1963-1968 (2003)

Go in. An irresistible invitation to the dance floor. What? It ain't no more to it.

Sister Nancy: "Transport Connection"
From One Two (Techniques, 1982)

Like the title say. A rhythm, caught by two, and shared. The physicality of flirting. Something about wining. A performance of coordination and symmetry has never seemed sweeter. At this point, in this heat, merely moving performs its own seduction.

Elis Regina: "Perdão Não Tem" | "Vexamão"
From Tabelinha - Elis & Pelé (Philips, 1969)

Whispers, part one and two. Simple, glorious exchange. Names. Conversation. Laughter. Nice to meet you, and so we move in unison. (And yes, it's that Pelé.)

Juelz Santana feat. Freeway: "My Love"
From Diplomatic Immunity (Roc-a-fella, 2003)

Really feeling yourself. The high point, the crest of the wave you're currently riding. The promises that you make to one and all. What you will do. For self, others. Where you will go in three weeks. Who with. How you're going to play this entire album on repeat in the car until you get there, because it's another entire, solid summer soundtrack unto itself. Sunshine's barely contained within the looped Moments sample: "Look What you've Done," look what you can do. You. You.

Caetano Veloso: "Remelexo" | "Sampa"
From Muito (Dentro da estrela azulada) (Polygram, 1978) | From Domingo (with Gal Costa) (Philips, 1967)

Infatuation. You want to see her again. You need to know "where she rest at." You want to translate literally, because it sounds extra-cute, because that's how she does it. What girl is that who came into my life now? No one knows her window. No one knows her door. Who cares. You have the urge to write letters rather than speak, because, well, mami told you your word game is tight. Ink, known from here on in as swagger juice, is everywhere.
Hell, you even call your man to thank him profusely for throwing that party (You don't use those words, exactly). Love letters to cities that contain you, that provide the spaces you love, in turn populated by those whom you want to love are not beyond your reach, certainly not your desire. You are most vulnerable now.

Jorge Ben: "Rita Jeep" | "Que Pena (Ela Já Não Gosta Mais de Mim)"
From Negro e Lindo (Philips, 1971) | From Jorge Ben (Philips, 1969)

Wrote a song about it. So you wrote a song about it. Said it outright: heart, sleeve, etc. You want her, you want her, you want her. But wait. Does she want you back? Does it even matter when you can manage to sing so joyously, so playfully, so impishly about either emotion? It's the speciality of the season, or rather, the sense of the season contained in these two songs (between them?) that allows these feelings to co-exist.

Beanie Sigel: "Feel it in the Air"
From The B. Coming (Def Jam, 2005)

Spider sense is tingling. Something is wrong; was that a chill I just felt? It's now late, and all this time you thought it would never come. Now, it's almost over. It's the sound of an undoing, an unraveling (or secretly, the beginning of a fierce winding-up.); it presages a decline, a fall. Indeed.

Tim Maia: "I Don't Know What to Do With Myself"
From Tim Maia (Continental, 1971)

What to do? You can listen and hear either an exultant ennui, or the same coupled with heartbreak. This is just about right for late August, but right anytime too.

Bun B feat. Pimp C, Young Jeezy, & Z-Ro: "Get Throwed" (Promo Only)
From Trill (Rap-A-Lot/Asylum, 2005)

What to do with yourself. What else is there to do now before it's all done? Get throwed, one last time, obviously. Or so the men say. Wise men, they are.

Lesson learned: Whether it's around 3 minutes, or 3 months, one ought to love every minute, because there's always a limit.

*see Raekwon, "Spot Rusherz," Only Built for Cuban Linx...," Loud/RCA/BMG, 1995.

SUMMER SONGS '09: LAUNCH!

Hello everyone,

I meant to have this up and running last week but hey, the beauty of summer is that it can start whenever - the end of school, the Memorial Day weekend, if the mercury creeps over 70, etc. And so, with today, we start yet another year in our long-running Summer Songs series here at Soul Sides. I know it's cliche to say that each year will be "bigger and better" but I've been more ambitious in the last few years, inviting more folks to contribute their take on "what does summer sound like to you?"

The first two posts are already up on our dedicated site - one from writer Michael Gonzales, thinking back on his summers in Pittsburgh. The other comes from writer-turning-scholar Pete L'Official. In the weeks to come, anticipate contributions from everyone from music historians Lauren Onkey and Scott Saul to incomparable mixmasters DJs Cosmo Baker and Monk One to political/cultural columnist Ta-Nehisi Coates to DJ-turned-soul singer Mayer Hawthorne (and many more!)

In the meantime, also check out my man Jeff Weiss' "Summer Jamz" series, rescued from Stylus Magazine. Mo' summer songs, mo' better.