My Three Son(g)s (of the Summer)
I've come to think of seasons like cultural critics think of the 1960s—the boundaries are less dictated by the calendar and more by monumental vibe shifts. This year my summer began early, in late April when I left for my honeymoon. And now that it's been unseasonably cool (but pleasantly so!) in New York for a couple of weeks, I'm confronted with my first-ever summer that seems to be ending before Labor Day.
I fucking love summer. Always have. Fall is usually enjoyable, late spring can be. If I had my druthers, winter would die a slow, painful death that mirrors the interminable torture it inflicts upon me (editor's note: global warming is an imminent threat that already claims thousands of lives each year, and at least 75% of our tax dollars should go towards efforts to fight it). There's music for every season—even winter's frigid butthole—but I contend that even the frostiest black metal album sounds better on a warm, sunny day.
For whatever reason, this summer has felt less like one sweaty three-month block, and more like classic narrative structure: an idyllic beginning interrupted by conflict, a cathartic midsection, and a reassuring dénouement.
I tend to stay out of the "Song of the Summer" conversation. There have been years where the answer has been too obvious and fitting for me to ignore—see: Fetty Wap in 2015—but the modern pop landscape is usually too fractious to be accurately time-capsuled by one single. Even on a personal level, completely untethered from chart success, it's rare that one song dominates my attention for three straight months.
It's fitting, then, that I find this arbitrarily segmented summer more easy to categorize by song. I'm not a huge repeat listener—my most-played songs of any given year are always ones on albums I've reviewed—but I'm also big on linking music to time-stamped snapshots of my life. I'm confident that when I look back on Summer 2025 years from now, these three songs will still sag with the weight of accumulated memories.
Wishy - "Over and Over"
My trusty inbox informs me that I was first sent an advance of Wishy's Planet Popstar EP on March 31st, nearly three months before summer's official start. I wasn't super hot on the Indianapolis indie band's 2024 debut album, but the preceding EP was one of my first big Inbox Infinity finds, so I gave the new one a shot.
Planet Popstar is the perfect EP. I don't mean to suggest that it's flawless, but its fun, eclectic grab-bag feel is a perfect palate-cleanser to Wishy's full-length—a reminder of what "extended plays" can and should be during a time when they exist primarily to collect remixes or even just slowed/sped-up TikTok bait. On their first two releases, Wishy cemented themselves squarely within the teeming mass of 2020s indie bands trying to construct distinctive sounds out of raw materials lifted from '90s shoegaze and alt rock. Planet Popstar isn't the work of a band with entirely different motives, but even on its most conventional song (the title track), the predictably huge guitars are contrasted with chintzier electronic instrumentation.
The EP would feel more like a collection of demos if all of its synths and drum machines sounded like lo-fi bedroom pop, but Wishy's tried-and-true production team of Ben Lumsdaine and frontman Kevin Krauter keep things just as lush and tasty as their full-band offerings. Maybe I'm only saying this because the opening track is called "Fly," but Planet Popstar's vibe is more Sugar Ray than Sugar. '90s hallmarks still abound, but they're culled from sources historically seen as lamer than the unimpeachably cool My Bloody Slowdive territory that has been strip-mined to within an inch of its life.
I enjoy all of the EP's six songs, but I had an instant connection with "Over and Over." It has the type of tightly wound interplay between acoustic guitar and a skillfully programmed beat that I associate with Madonna's "Don't Tell Me," or more recently, Oklou's "Blade Bird." It flips the opening guitar line into a gorgeous counter-melody within 30 seconds. It's spare, never showy, guided primarily by Krauter's plucky vocal performance. "Over and Over" has all the makings of a great two-minute pop confection—the fact that it sustains its dazzle over four minutes of subtly brilliant tweaks is no small feat.
As soon as I heard it, I pictured myself one month later, on a balcony in Rome sipping a morning espresso. I was excited to see the Colosseum, to explore winding streets, to eat carbonara and cacio e pepe, but actualizing this vision became my first priority. It did not disappoint, to the degree that it became a ritual for all four days that my wife and I spent in Rome.
Across all three songs of my summer, there's a recurring trend of me not paying attention to the lyrics. The only line that sticks out to me in "Over and Over" is: "I was a fool to try/Over and over again." That reads as sad, right? Maybe I'd investigate further if I was in a different place in my life, or if I was writing a serious review of Planet Popstar, but "Over and Over" puts me in such a good mood that I refuse to pop the balloon. It's ebullient in a way that perfectly matched spring's first warm days, especially when I spent a few of those days blissfully traipsing around Italy and Greece.
Wednesday - "Elderberry Wine"
Unless Wednesday frontwoman Karly Hartzman is recounting stories in vivid detail, I have no idea what her songs are about. That's a feature, not a bug, in my book. Close-reading lyrics will only get you so far—even for all of my Swifties out there. If you love a songwriter enough, the more you view their words as abstract paintings, the more they resonate.
Hartzman's images of driving to the airport with the E-brake on, pink boiled eggs afloat in brine, and a couple that freckles and tans, respectively, are so unique in their specificity. There's obvious subtext in the form of her recent split with bandmate MJ Lenderman, but the fragmented vignettes of "Elderberry Wine" form a stained-glass window that transcends anything that a more literal account could offer.
No matter your interpretation, the song is sweet, but also sad, but also comforting. Wednesday's iconic strain of Southern Gothic country-gaze is usually heavier and more confrontational, so "Elderberry Wine" was a left-turn for the lead single of the band's upcoming album. Its languid, back-porch feel is more in line with what Waxahatchee's been up to lately, which makes sense considering that Lenderman played on her 2024 album. If "Elderberry Wine" spelled a transition into less abrasive pastures, I'd be fine with it. But the new Wednesday album is not that, and honestly, the fact that "Elderberry Wine" is the gentle outlier on an otherwise skuzzy album increases its power.
As much as I love summer, there does reach a point (at least in hot, humid climates) when the sweat gets to you. In those moments, I found myself reaching for this bittersweet daydream that's equally capable of eliciting smiles or tears, depending on your mood.
Golden Apples - "Freeeee"
A month ago, I went back to the Northwest to retread my old Portland stomping grounds and visit my parents in Washington. Summertime in the Pacific Northwest is the most perfect climate in the world. It's usually sunny, never humid, and depending on how close to the ocean you are, the highs range from 65 to 85 degrees.
Since returning to New York, I've been met by shockingly similar conditions. I'm going to stop talking about it now, lest I jinx myself into snow in October, but suffice it to say that the second half of August has felt weirdly autumnal.
I usually respond to this turn in weather by mourning the loss of summer—give it a month, and I still might. God forbid anyone is able to scrape the metadata showing how many times I've played American Football's "The Summer Ends" between September 1st and October 1st in my adult life. This odd weather pattern has made me more optimistic than I usually am when the days shorten and the outer layers are exhumed from the closet.
The lyrics of this Golden Apples track are even more elusive to me than those of the previous two songs, mostly because this is a fairly lo-fi band. That said, I have zero trouble locking onto the intended vibe of "Freeeee." You don't put three extra "e"s on the end of that word if you're trying to couch underlying bad vibes. I loved this band's last album, but this is the most immediately stunning song they've ever made.
I'm mostly at a loss for words when I try to think about why I like "Freeeee," but I can talk about the drums. They're active and fill-heavy, but also dutifully driving, splitting the difference between psych-pop and krautrock. As great as the playing is, though, the drum sound is what baits me. I do play drums, and I have on occasion recorded said drums with bands I've played in, but my technical knowledge of engineering/producing is barely existent. The drums on "Freeeee" are distinctly within a category of drum sounds that I can't define beyond "lo-fi but also BIG," which I can only illustrate with references that seem completely unrelated to each other: Tame Impala's Innerspeaker, Caribou's Up In Flames, The Microphones' The Glow Pt. 2. It's this freewheeling, slapdash sense of setting up a kit in a cavernous room, using whatever mics are available, and then jamming the fuck out.
Those drums, as well as the life-drunk way that frontman Russel Edling sings "Freeeeeeeeeeeee," carry me. What's that old Irish saying about the wind at your back and the sun on your face? That's what listening to "Freeeee" feels like. Every time I've played it in the past month, it's been breezy and sunny. For that, I'm thankful.