My Summer Playlist

A sweet girl named Liz let me borrow Perfect from Now On one spring late in college (I was on the seven-year track). I think we made out listening to it, maybe just because we both loved it. Unfortunately for us, I was completely sprung on another girl with freckles, stoner eyes, a love for snowboarding, and a Scandinavian last name. Unfortunately for me, she was sprung on someone who was better at snowboarding than me. The engulfing textures, ample volume, smoldering guitars, and Doug Martsch’s lyrics swallowed me that summer, but it was on “Velvet Waltz” that I’d always hit the repeat button (this was CD-­player times) while sulking in a house with an absen­tee roommate, the stereo on loud and the lights turned low. That’s no way to spend a summer, but rather than causing grief when I listen now, this song and record make me laugh at my collegiate naiveté. With the sting of real life an everyday companion, those problems seem quaint by comparison. When I go back to them now, it’s to remind me to keep all things in perspective. It’s probably not as bad as you think.

I could just as easily have gone with “Waterfall,” “Summer of Love,” or “Until the End of Time” from last year’s excellent Play It Strange, but those were songs of a different summer. This year, it’s all about “Poison Wine,” the last track off this year’s Secret Walls EP. There is a moment, starting at 2:01, where the longing piano line folds in a higher note, the shining tambourine does not relent, and the canyon-sized vocals spill over the top of everything. I could listen to this crescendo for eternity.

Got plans for debauchery this summer? Greg Dulli has got you covered. He’s been called “the Savior of Misbehavior,” which is most appropriate. Dulli’s back-alley yowl will help you justify whatever sinning you might have in mind, and “On the Corner,” off the Singers’ latest, Dynamite Steps, is a prime example. “Spread your legs/Insert your alibi,” and then “All rise with me/All take your place,” all the while sounding like a feral cat looking to kill or fuck. The implication being: You don’t have to feel guilty when Dulli’s in your corner. He’ll take the rap.

It’s hard to tell if the drumming here is a drum machine or some uncannily accurate and taught time-keeping (probably the former). Either way, this song seems like the soundtrack to a paradise somewhere past the sun. Over a rudimentary and ascending high-pitched and heavily reverbed guitar scream, Victoria Legrand, in her Valium coo, bellows “Foreveeeeeeeeer,” as a wash of cymbals sweeps over the last crescendo. It’s a steep trajectory, but one I’ve been traveling over and over again since the Baltimore band released Teen Dream a year and a half ago.

The first seconds of this song sound like a flurry of electricity harnessed to the front of a high-speed train, then it all takes a most abrupt turn, dropping into a churning, repeating guitar whine, rim-tapping, syncopated snare hits, and the world’s most perfect descending bass line, which consumes all before moving on. The song’s momentum never really dissipates until its final moments, and much like the aforementioned “10 Mile Stereo,” or JEFF the Brotherhood (more on them in a sec), it’s a great choice to have on the headphones for a long and determined march, whether it’s into battle or to the beach.

Lazy people are throwing around the idea that “Bill Callahan is this generation’s Leonard Cohen!” which is absurd. Leonard Cohen is this generation’s Leonard Cohen, and Bill Callahan is this generation’s Bill Callahan. With that out of the way, “America!” off Apocalypse, Callahan’s latest, is this summer’s sun-baked tribute to our beautiful country. It’s got pride (“I wish I was deep in America tonight”), globalism (“I watch David Letterman/In Australia/…I wish I was on the next flight/To America”), nationalism and subversion (“What an army/What an air force/What a marines/…I’ve never served my country”)—all sung in Callahan’s subdued tone over a lightheaded and almost anti-melody guitar jangle. Toward the end of the number, Callahan sings, “Everyone’s allowed a past/They don’t care to mention.” Just like America.

I’ve recently been in a very heavy funk. I’ve been a Type 1 diabetic for 14 years, my drinking has been out of hand, and the combination landed me in the hospital for a weekend. My grandfather, with whom I have a very close relationship, is slowly withering before my eyes, and I can’t seem to land a girlfriend to save my life. In an effort to get my shit together, I joined a gym for the first time in my adult life. On my first visit, I listened to Heavy Days on repeat (well, really just “Heavy Days” through “Heavy Krishna”) and spent an hour on the treadmill. It felt fucking great—and for about 36 hours, I felt a modicum of dignity and something resembling happiness. In case you missed the first 300 times I wrote about them in the last month, JtB are a guitar-and-drums/brother duo with a rocking sense of humor. Their father is Robert Ellis Orrall, who’s found success in Nashville as a songwriter (he’s written hits for Reba McEntire and Taylor Swift, among many others). He’s been a huge supporter of his sons’ music and even gets various production credits on their records. The combination translates into frenetic guitar work, brawny drumming, and arena-rock-quality vocals. Perfect ingredients for a comeback. I think I’ll go hit the gym now.

This story has been updated since its original publication.