And so here come the dog days, days of standings that actually mean something, oven-hot days studded with rapidly melting frozen treats, the sticky orange or pink or purple juice dripping over your knuckles. Open the windows and hear the buzz of crickets, the hum of lawnmowers, and maybe the pock pock pock of bicycles with Topps stuck in their spokes. The long daylight hours chime aloud with ringing guitars and sweet vocal harmonies. In order to describe the feeling let’s amend that title and call it Powerpopsickle Trickledown.
In many ways I'm guilty of attempting to recreate the magic of a mix given to me by Miss Imperial long ago, a mix called Honey Punch. That cassette fairly lived in my Saturn’s tapedeck from May ‘til October. How could I resist? Redd Kross, Tom Petty, Blue Magoos, Posies, Ass Ponys, Lemonheads, Tommy Tutone, Plimsouls, Cotton Mather, Bangles…
This morning, speeding past cornfields and produce stands and the pretty, languid river, I caught that feeling anew, this time with a two-shot of Matt Murphy-led bands, The Super Friendz and The Flashing Lights. It was bliss! (Is there a better 1-2 pop combination to start an album than "10 lbs" and "Karate Man"? Doubtful!) And it underscored the fact that, whether the ‘60s worshipping, Beatle-booted paisley underground variety, or the more twang-fueled strain, I’m a sucker for this stuff, pure and simple.
During the hot months, the day breaks down into thirds, each with it’s own appropriate sound: the daylight hours belong to powerpop; dusk brings out the Cosmic American Music; once darkness has fallen, it’s Ethiopian jazz, obviously.