Woah Black Betty, Bam-A-Lam! It’s June 1st, the first day non-scientists officially begin thinking about summer, that three-month stretch of hot weather and hotter chicks when minivans full of snot-nosed kids invade all the best frisbee golf courses and the Cubs convince me this may, in fact, be the year (It never is). But more than baseball and stealing hot apple pies off windowsills, summer is all about the music. Emo, downer musings no longer cut it. There’s just not enough time to be depressed. You need to savor every second, bask in the sunshine, and randomly collide with strangers atop unfamiliar beds.

In keeping with my sadist nature and penchant for irony, I locked five of the music writers in a sketchy, second hand freezer and didn’t return until they’d each written a few paragraphs on their favorite summer song. You know, a little ditty perfect for blowing out your car speakers while doing ninety in a convertible. Humorously, two of them didn’t make it, but as I mentioned before, there’s no time for summertime depression or attending funerals. Here’s what the surviving members churned out...

Cinema Blend Top 5: Songs To Play In The Summer

5. Nazareth’s Hair Of The Dog


Tim Peterson: Nazareth’s “Hair of the Dog” makes you hate your life, hate the cubicle you waste away in, your receding hairline, your Volvo, the TV dinners you eat every night while watching Seinfeld reruns. It makes you hate every day you’ve slobbered through since high school, since the last time you headlocked your beer pong partner and grunted “we fucking rule.” This song was your soundtrack, you fucking stud. You guzzled shots and smashed bottles to this. You launched off roofs to this! This song hurled you and all your heathens into the streets, streaking, plowing into each other and rolling around on neighbors’ lawns. This music got you laid for the first time! But then you stopped listening to it, so you don’t get laid anymore. You stopped listening to it but wish you could say you still do. Then, the few friends you do have would stop giving you their John Tesh cassettes. Admit it, you’re starting to like him. You know what: fuck John Tesh and fuck your friends.

This summer when you’re drooling home from work, muttering voodoo at all the youngbloods in their tight shirts and toned muscles, light some dynamite in your stereo, slam on “Hair of the Dog” so loud you snarl at the bluehair in the Oldsmobile, then whip your head around at the bombshell redhead on your left as the chorus roars “Now you’re messin’ with a son of a bitch!” Yeah, she’s smiling at you

4. The Kingsmen’s Louie Louie


Mack Rawden: The Kingsmen's "Louie Louie" kind of sucks. It's not even three minutes long, the vocals may as well have been recorded by an obnoxious, belligerent drunk, and musically, well, it's not exactly Handel's "Messiah." In fact, there's hundreds of songs released every single year which, when closely examined and stripped down, do almost everything more efficiently and skillfully than "Louie Louie." But none of that matters when I'm speeding--outrageously–for absolutely no reason–with the windows down--headed to nowhere in particular–because fuck you, it's Summer.

And why the hell shouldn't it be that way? Summer is a bunch of malarkey, three months of unintelligible gibberish without rules, codes of conduct, or panties. Throw out all the societal norms; reason and logic don't apply to smoldering Sundays in July. Go ahead, express the square root of two as a fraction. Fling hundred dollar bills at that stripper who vaguely resembles your sixth grade Social Studies teacher. Hook up with the chubby waitress in the bathroom of some godforsaken all night diner straight out of Edward Hooper's lonely subconscious. And for Christ's sake, turn up "Louie Louie." Let those speakers bellow obstreperously. It's the only possible soundtrack to accompany my sweaty tomfoolery.

Besides, any song good enough for Mr. Holland is worth blaring.

3. Talking Heads’ This Must Be The Place (Naive Melody)


Jessica Grabert: Jeannie had a gun. Her boyfriend, Arlo, had given it to her because her world was topsy-turvy and she’d needed an unusual answer. Her mother was long gone, off with some debonair used car salesman. Her father, well… “You let me know when it’s accomplished. I’ll take you away from here, baby, far away,” promised Arlo.

She waited timidly, small suitcase at hand, for Arlo to pick her up at the street corner. She’d done just what he told her to—chucked the gun in the swamp three miles away, packed her necessities, and left one light on in the house before locking it. It was a great relief to see Arlo pull up in his swanky black Cadillac.

She tossed her bag into the trunk, slamming it shut with victorious pleasure. Into the car she hopped, placing her sunglasses over her heavily shadowed eyes.

“Play me some tunes, Daddy-O,” she cooed.

He slid the tape in, smooth as ever, rewinding until David Byrne was crooning. “Home is where I want to be pick me up and turn me round.” Home. But the road was beckoning and they were moving along. The sun was a beacon, shining right through Jeannie’s cheap sunglasses, until David Byrne began pantomiming with his lamp before her very eyes.

“Love me til my heart stops.” Smiling a little, Jeannie grabbed Arlo’s knee. He was glancing out the window, missing the tender moment. Outside, there was an Asian mother and her younger daughter walking along the highway. The mother was carrying a pink umbrella, as if it were a parasol, to keep them hidden from the brightness of day. Everyone was hiding from something. They drove past.

“Do you love me?” asked Jeannie.

David Byrne was crooning.

“You know I love you, baby,” Arlo answered.

The last bars of the song faded away.

2. Tom Petty’s Runnin’ Down A Dream


Peter Kimmich: You can be broke, depressed, extremely thirsty or a John Mayer fan, but on a warm, beautiful sunny day, as soon as this song comes out of those cardboard speaker cones and hits your brain, you are glorious. Even more amazing, if you are driving and the song is coming out of the radio, then the song is actually … gasp! … about you.

"It was a beautiful day / the sun beat down / I had the radio on / I was drivin’.” How much more serendipitous could things possibly get?

The trick to having this song be your soundtrack to this most beautiful of sunny days, of course, is all a matter of timing. It’s best if your ride is something old and heavy, like a ’58 T-Bird. Here’s what you do: turn on the radio before you start the car. Wait for that mean, opening guitar riff – the one that descends to the song’s root note. When that riff hits bottom, start the car. Was that satisfying, or was that satisfying? You now have three more repetitions of this riff to get that beast on the road and up to 55 before the lyrics come in (see opening line, above). By the time Tom’s voice is serenading you with triumphant tales of your own exploits behind the wheel, you should be relaxing, head back and shades looking cocky.

You know those banners they have at high school football games – the ones the teams smash through as they take the field? If you’re doing this right, all stop signs become football banners. Yeah. Go team.

1. Hanson’s Mmmbop

Mack Rawden:Two things happen on your sixteenth birthday. The state gives you a driver’s license and your friends hand you a memo about being too old for childish escapes. Fairy tales are suddenly so middle school and teenage pop music is an unforgivable sign of bad taste. Supposedly, you’ve outgrown it, moved on to more intellectually sophisticated and sexually aggressive pursuits. Well, fuck that. Peter Pan will always be a literary achievement every bit as moving as The Great Gatsby and “Mmmbop” will always sit atop the musical apex with “Stairway To Heaven” and “Tiny Dancer.”

Go ahead, scoff if you want. Act like the high-and-mighty, robotic adult you’ve become. I don’t give a shit. Post a thousand comments about how Robert Plant’s vocals piss all over those of the blonde-haired brothers. I won’t mind. Because I see “Mmmbop” for what it is: an incredibly harmonized, catchy ode to fleeting relationships. The hook is a gorgeous little blend of vocals and keyboards building perfectly into a memorable, original, and highly singable chorus. So, continue listening to Vampire Weekend, obsess over Radiohead. I’ll be in my car, with the windows down, blating one of the greatest pop songs ever written, my hair blowing in the wind and a blissful smile a thousand blowjobs couldn’t come close to producing smirking across my face. Now, that’s my perfect summer day, though, I’m still down one of those hummers, if you’re offering.

What's Your Favorite Summer Song?

• Mmmbop
• Runnin' Down A Dream
• This Must Be The Place
• Louie Louie
• Hair Of The Dog

  Results