Season Loves: Summer 2016
Summer’s done. Thank god. I had a love-hate relationship with the season this year, stuck in a three-month-long mood swing just like the weather out here for the duration. Same goes for my time with music: when it was bad, it was a drought; when it was good, my life was full of color again. And you’ll see I’m not lying when I say full of color. Perfume and The 1975 still rule the rotation, but I did find some new loves to squeeze into the daily playlist.
Per annual/seasonal tradition, here are 10 songs I enjoyed during this June, July and August. One song per artist, just so this list would not consist entirely of Kyary Pamyu Pamyu songs.
Chance the Rapper: “No Problems” (ft. 2 Chainz & Lil Wayne)
Coloring Book [no label, 2016]
Chance the Rapper doesn’t want anyone (read: the labels) getting in the way of what makes him happy, which seems to simply be hanging out with his dope friends to make dope music. “No Problems,” then, is that anthem among friends that basically says look how much fun we would have if you just backed the fuck off. Chance goes for the “show, don’t tell” route to communicate the message, sounding absolutely stoked to be in the same building as 2 Chainz and Lil Wayne. His friends, meanwhile, rap like no one’s watching, not giving a damn if they let out a loose bar or two as long as it’s a good time.
Garbage: “Temptation Waits”
Version 2.0 [Mushroom, 1998]
Shirley Manson doing disco was a thing I never knew I needed. While Garbage may have placed themselves somewhat in counter to pop with their (still great) self-titled debut, the materials for a strong dance-pop record were there from the start. A liking for punchy, machine-like drum beats? Glamorization of melodrama? A suppression of a desire bordering on taboo? Manson’s whispered snarl in the beginning was already a sign of a good time, but how her chorus just towers over everything felt like discovering Garbage all over again.
Hikaru Utada: “Automatic”
First Love [Toshiba EMI, 1999]
Hikaru Utada wasn’t kidding singing about first love: she won’t sound so comfortable with company as “Automatic,” one of few smashes from her blockbuster debut. From the soft keys to that swooning whine, the song is nostalgic by design, a flashback to a memory happening in the present. It adds a warm, fuzzy filter to her youthful world, where the small things blow up into a big deal and the big feelings rush too strong for the body to contain.
Kyary Pamyu Pamyu: “Fashion Monster”
Nanda Collection [Warner Music Japan, 2013]
While a colorful imagination definitely draws people into Kyary Pamyu Pamyu’s Nanda Collecion, I appreciate the pieces more where Yasutaka Nakata tries to dig deeper to reach some kind of resonance. He doesn’t fully succeed, with “Fashion Monster” being the closest he can get, but it’s more than enough. Kyary yearns to be released from her shackles. Though Nakata doesn’t share for why she’s held captive, her desire to break free — from society, rules, or some other unknown cause of frustration — strikes a chord.
Little Mix: “Weird People”
Get Weird [Syco, 2015]
Little Mix sports a throwback aesthetic from machine drums to flashy bass licks. But the group’s sound rubs less as a consciously retro move than a group nailing a style that genuinely fits what they out to make. The overall vibe in “Weird People” is especially a natural fit for a fun, goofy piece of school-hall tween pop. The vocoder, another reach of an aesthetic to the past, is a cherry on top with its belch-like growl riffing their dance-floor command, “let’s get weird all night” — a charmingly outdated phrase in itself. They titled their album Get Weird for goodness sakes: the last thing they’re trying to do is act serious.
Luna: “Free Somebody”
Free Somebody EP [SM Entertainment, 2016]
“I just wanna free somebody!” — that’s a dance-floor chant I somehow never encountered. The disco has always been a place in pop music for a self-led mission and an outlet for personal relief. Luna, though, wants to connect with another kindred spirit and get free on a high together. She’s a voice one can wholly trust as a guide, her voice locked into the rhythm as she leads with swagger. And, damn it, that rolling wub of a beat drop is so satisfying. Paired with Luna’s vocal release, this single ruled as my Song of the Summer.
Namie Amuro: “Sweet 19 Blues”
Sweet 19 Blues [Avex Trax, 1996]
Here’s a young singer on the brink of her superstardom reminding her listeners she’s clueless as everyone else. “Tomorrow, I’ll heal her through my music, but really, I‘m not special’,” she offers in “Sweet 19 Blues.” But it only makes her more personable as a leading icon who knows how it feels to be lost and full of mistakes as the next person. And it’s only apt she cries during a performance as she tries to sing that confession’s following line: “I might just show them a face no one has seen before.”
Pulp: “Do You Remember the First Time?”
His n’ Hers [Island, 1994]
It’s not time passing by Jarvis Cocker and his ex that gets me. Nor is it seeing someone you once called your partner occupied with a different person. But it’s being left as a loner while the other gets to go home to be with another, no matter how boring the company actually may be — that’s what hurts. They may call the boredom a complication, but from the outside, it’s luxury. I may not be squirmy about my situation as Cocker, but the subtle desperation in his question — “you got to go home?” — I tasted it too many times.
Sistar: “I Like That”
Insane Love EP [Starship Entertainment, 2016]
The bass line and kick drums lock in the chorus to give the drive Sistar needs to sucker punch these shallow players goodbye. They sing sweet nothings — “I like you, I love you” — more convincingly than the dudes who throw them half-heartedly from the other line. And they crumple the tired lies easy as they sing them. “I like that,” then, echoes as many things, a sarcastic scoff or, better, them getting the last laugh in this ridiculous game.
Years & Years: “King”
Communion [Polydor, 2015]
Olly Alexander’s main sentiment in “King” — “let go of everything” — goes deeper than sheer musical catharsis, though, my, he’s good at building it. His wordless, descending entry to the chorus unlocks the key for release, the glowing synths, meanwhile, ascending as a breezy spiral. But this is about breaking off as it is breaking out: Olly calls off a stalemate with both too comfortable and polite to address the issue. His soaring vocals push away but not without a weight of regret.
