In the Summertime . . .

Summertime simply means more music in our lives.  It could be driving with windows down or sunroof open which causes us to play music instead of listening to podcasts and news.  With weekend getaway trips and vacations, we want to hear familiar and favorite songs.  Maybe we are anticipating the upcoming outdoor concert and want to tune up.  Summer music just makes us feel better and keeps us in a good mood.

And, our Summer music is different than our perennial favorite songs.  Try this:  make a list of your ten favorite songs which you would gladly listen to over and over.  Then make a list of your ten favorite Summer songs which make you feel good during the hotter months.  For most everyone, I suggest there would be little cross-pollination between these lists.

I made a list of my top Summer songs and quickly recognized that they fell into distinct categories.  The list includes classic summertime songs which would be included in any Billboard Greatest Summer Songs List.  But, for me, the list surprisingly included many songs that had nothing to do with Summer except some Summer association in my own mind.  I have ordained these non-seasonal songs as part of my own Summer songs for some reason.

So, here are my categories of Summer songs and some reasons why, for me at least, they relate to June, July and August.

Ode to Summer

This category is the simplest to explain and understand.  These songs ooze Summer with many appearing on that Billboard Hits of Summer list.  

Zac Brown Band:  Island Song

The Drifters:  Under the Boardwalk

Cheryl Crow:  Soak Up the Sun

Blotto:  I Wanna Be a Lifeguard

Ottis Reading:  Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay

For this classic Summer feel, the song need not be excessively high energy, although Blotto’s Lifeguard classifies as such.  Summer can be captured with a chill out vibe.  The whistling in Sittin’ on the Dock of the Bay makes you long for a lazy afternoon just taking in all that surrounds.  There is no agenda for Summer.

Summer Feel Good

These songs were not entirely or necessarily about Summer.  Yet, during the Summer, these songs just sound better.  They make you bop along with their upbeat and ever carefree nature.  They may sound good in other months, but they make you feel good in the Summer season.  For me, this group includes:

Martha and the Vandellas:  Dancing in the Streets

B-52s:  Love Shack

Katrina and the Waves:  Walking on Sunshine

They Own Summer

These artists, through their music, are eternally linked to Summer.  You could easily pick among a dozen or more of their songs as feel good Summer songs.  But each list must have limits:

Jimmy Buffet:  Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes

Bob Marley:  One Love

The Beach Boys:  Kokomo

Not The Beach Boys, but the choice of Kokomo is the most surprising for me on the entire list.  I honestly think that Kokomo is a fairly bad, trite song.  The lyrics are shallow.  Yet, when I hear it, I find myself bouncing along to the melody.  For all the logical reasons not to like the song, Kokomo transports you to Summer all over tropical landscapes.

Time and Place

This category has nothing to do with Summer, but everything to do with summertime in my mind.  These songs would differ on each person’s own list as personal to him or her.

Meatloaf:  Paradise By the Dashboard Light

Bruce Springsteen:  Sherry Darling

When I hear Paradise By the Dashboard Light, I am transported back to 1980s Summer Monday afternoons at Mary’s Husband’s Pub down the Jersey Shore.  Summer Monday afternoons meant Turtle Races at Mary’s Husband’s which served as an excuse to miss work and drink beer during the daylight hours.  The DJ played a well-worn playlist of crowd favorites with Paradise among one of the last songs.  When Paradise played, the upstanding, fine young gentlemen would dutifully serenade the women in conjunction with Meatloaf with tales of unending love:

“I couldn’t take it anymore when the feeling came upon me like a tidal wave

I started swearing to my god and on my mother’s grave

That I would love you to the end of time

I swore, I would love you to the end of time.”

With both the girls and boys concluding by screaming at each other:

“So, now I am praying for the end of time 

To hurry up and arrive

‘Cause if I gotta spend another minute with you,

I don’t think I can really survive.”

Ahh.  America’s future doctors, lawyers and investment bankers busy on a Summer Monday afternoon.

Sherry Darling is a different tale.  My buddies and I were diehard Springsteen fans long before it was fashionable to be fans of The Boss.  I lost track of the number of times I saw Springsteen play during the 1980s.  For some reason, I distinctly remember Bruce playing the band favorite, fun, upbeat, “Get the girl and get outta here” Sherry Darling at every Summer concert.  I am fairly certain that Springsteen surely played that song at some point when I saw his shows in the other three seasons, but I cannot recall one such instance.  For me, Sherry Darling embodies all the joy and camaraderie of attending Springsteen concerts with my friends in the Summer.

Whether a true Summer classic, a Summer feel good song, or a “take me back to a special time and place” ballad, what is on your own Summer music list?

Selfies or Self-Centered?

Recently, an American tourist fell into the volcanic crater of Mt. Vesuvius.  The tourist, scraped and bruised, held on for his life dangling above a 1,000 foot fall to the base of the crater and his most certain demise.  When rescued by Italian authorities, the tourist claimed that he lost his footing while trying to take a great “selfie” of himself on the edge of the crater of the famous, and still active, volcano.  A selfie.  Not: “I wanted to experience the breathtaking awesomeness of the volcano.”  Not: “Nature inspired me and I had to get closer.”  Nope.  A selfie.  Why is it always an “American tourist”?

Just how did this American tourist Darwin warned us about get into this position?  The first step appeared to be freeing himself from the oversight of any pesky tour guide or park official while hiking the designated trail near the volcanic edge.  The second step involved literally walking past the multi-lingual warning signs instructing all not to pass and not to get any closer to the carter’s edge as conditions were not safe.  The third step involved finding a prime location on the edge of Mt. Vesuvius’ crater.

By prime location, I mean a spot where a selfie taken with his cell phone would show off Mt. Vesuvius’ crater and our hero, presumably grinning from ear to ear, but precariously balancing on the edge of the crater.  Of course, my years of legal training kick in to think that this very same selfie would confirm the complete disregard of safety notices and trespassing while simultaneously firmly establishing the tourist’s liability for damages and costs for his rescue.  The American tourist did not count on the fourth step of losing his footing and falling into the crater.  While he was saved, we can only hope he dropped his cell phone deep into the volcano for its demise.

Amazingly, there is no real outrage for this incident or conduct.  The response for an extreme selfie gone wrong is more along the lines of “Oh.  Another one?”  Recall that a year or two ago, selfies of people “planking” on the edges of balconies or mountain cliffs went viral.  Taking selfies at the very top of extremely tall structures, buildings or famous attractions is a “thing”.  For perspective, between 2008 and 2021, there have been 379 recorded “selfie”-related deaths.  That figure translates to one death every 13 days — all completely avoidable.  We appear fascinated with recording our own stupidity.

Perhaps I am completely out of touch with new societal norms.  Perhaps — no, definitely — I am not part of the cool crowd.  Then, perhaps, my frontal cortex is actually fully developed and functioning properly.

Whatever the reason, the next time I am at the beach and I see folks posing waist deep in the water with their cell phones held high for a selfie, I am not going to root for the next wave to crash their photoshoot.  However, I am not going to root against the wave either.  Let’s be safe out there folks as I have three boys who, based on their ages, lack one fully developed frontal cortex between them.  They do not need to be encouraged by the next American tourist.

Who Cheers for the Bad Guy?

Early 1930s.  Great Depression in full swing.  New Deal relief still only theoretical.  The banks which have not failed continue to foreclose on defaulted mortgages at record pace.  With distrust of the government and absolute resentment of banks, it becomes easier to appreciate the romanticizing of Depression era Gangsters.

Bonnie & Clyde.  Pretty Boy Floyd.  George “Baby Face” Nelson.  Ma Barker.  And Public Enemy No. 1, John Dillinger.  These thieves and their gangs predominantly targeted banks throughout the Midwest.  They were no mobsters of the likes of Al Capone, Meyer Lansky or Albert Anastasia.  They did not belong to some larger syndicate.  Rather, these gangs were free-lancing opportunists sticking it to what is left of the establishment, especially banks.

The 1930s social media, otherwise known as newspapers and news reels at the movies, push the narrative of Gangsters as modern day Robin Hoods.  J. Edgar Hoover, at the Bureau of Investigation (soon to be renamed the FBI), responds with publication of his Public Enemies List naming bank robber, escaped prisoner and murderer John Dillinger as the first Public Enemy No. 1.  Across the nation as movie house news reels carry stories of this Public Enemies List, movie-goers cheer images of John Dillinger and hiss at images of federal agents.

But Robin Hoods?  That analogy clearly was half correct.  These gangs knew how to “rob from the rich” banks.  The bank robberies appeared well-prepared with knowledge of time before police could arrive, detailed casing of banks by pretending to be federal officials, established get-away routes including gasoline cans hidden in hay fields for refueling, and prepared safe houses for laying low hundreds of miles from the latest heist.  However, the stories of “and give to the poor” are virtually non-existent.

Charles “Pretty Boy” Floyd stands out as the only one of the bunch who might be able to claim Robin Hood status.  During bank robberies, Pretty Boy Floyd would burn or otherwise destroy mortgage documents at the bank in an effort to free others of their debts.  These acts may not fit squarely into the “and give to the poor” category.  Yet, among this collection of Gangsters, Pretty Boy Floyd appears at least marginally concerned with others.

Before canonizing Pretty Boy Floyd as a saint, we should recognize that he robbed 30 banks and killed at least 10 people along the way.  After John Dillinger’s death, Pretty Boy Floyd deservedly became Public Enemy No. 1 until federal agents killed him in late 1934.  Speaking of John Dillinger, he also killed at least 10 people while robbing a mere 24 banks.  Dillinger does get credit for also improbably robbing four police stations before being gunned down in July 1934.  The scorecards for our other named media darlings:

Bonnie & Clyde.  15 banks robbed (but countless gas stations and local stores also held up).  Dramatically killed by countless bullets by law enforcement in May 1934.  Onlookers at their death tried try to take body parts as souvenirs.

Ma Barker.  Oversaw the Barker – Krepis gang credited with 11 bank robberies.  The actual number of bank robberies is not known as Ma Barker rotated gang members with different hits on banks.  Ma Barker made it all the way to 1935 before being gunned down.

George “Baby Face” Nelson.  The number of bank robberies is not entirely clear.  Baby Face Nelson functioned for a while as part of John Dillinger’s gang.  However, Baby Face Nelson was quite trigger happy and killed more federal agents than anyone else.  John Dillinger refused to work with Baby Face Nelson after a few bank robberies considering Baby Face Nelson “too dangerous” to be around.  Law agents killed Baby Face Nelson in 1934.

The era of the romantic Gangster rose quickly in 1930 and ended with an avalanche of federal bullets between 1934 – 1935.  Perhaps this short duration adds to the romanticism.  Yet, I do not recall Robin Hood having killed so many along his journey. One point is clear:  J. Edgar Hoover did not react well to America hissing at him while cheering the bad guys.  Maybe people already knew that J. Edgar Hoover was not such a good guy after all.

Lost at Sea

Summer weekends.  Time to escape the New York City area for the Jersey Shore, the Catskills, or Montauk.  The Upper Crust of society venture to their get-away “cottages” in The Hamptons.  Then there are the highest of high society who give no concern to traffic jams or crowds on the beach as they retreat to their well-stocked, well-hidden, palatial and ultra-private compounds on Martha’s Vineyard.  They arrive by their private planes on their own schedules for a sun-drenched weekend of fun and frolic.

Until it all goes sideways.  Friday night, July 16, 1999, John F. Kennedy, Jr. sits at the controls of his personal plane at a small New Jersey airfield as he pilots off to Martha’s Vineyard together with his wife, Carolyn, and his sister-in-law, Lauren Bessette.  JFK, Jr.’s plane crashes into the Atlantic Ocean seven miles off the coast of Martha’s Vineyard.  Five days later, the aircraft and its three passengers are located at the bottom of the sea.

Lost with John John and his family was a sense of hope for the future of America.  In the 1990s, America was transitioning from political leaders defined by World War II and the Cold War to a new and younger generation.  Bill Clinton was in the White House as the youngest U.S. President since John F. Kennedy.  The future looked bright for young politicians such as newly minted U.S. Representative and future Speaker of the House Paul Ryan, 38 year old Indiana Governor Evan Bayh, and University of Stanford Provost, Condoleeza Rice who was in her thirties.  The brightest star among these young constellations remained John F. Kennedy, Jr.  He had the name and pedigree.  He had the looks.  He became engaged in causes.  He had the Kennedy political machine at his disposal.  He avoided all the messiness the other Kennedy family members appeared to attract.  JFK, Jr., was well-positioned to follow in his father’s footsteps as a Senator and even beyond.

Perhaps John John would have failed miserably as a politician.  Maybe he lacked the ambition to take the reins of leadership.  I doubt it.

What may have been different if the plane made it all the way to Martha’s Vineyard without incident on that summer night?  Would America have been introduced to little known first term U.S. Senator Barack Obama as the keynote speaker at the 2004 Democratic National Convention?  If Senator Obama’s fortunes were altered, would then Senator Joe Biden eventually become Vice President and then positioned to run for President?  Were the political fortunes of so many others altered with JFK, Jr.’s fateful flight?

So many of us have emblazoned in our minds the image of 3 year old John John saluting his father’s coffin during the funeral procession.  We also recall the handsome young up-and-coming 38 year old Kennedy on the cusp of embarking on a life of public service from 1999.  Just imagine if we could interject into the current American political climate the gravitas and maturity of a 61 year old JFK, Jr.  Regardless where you might stand on his politics, the presence of this older JFK, Jr. would have to result in the temperature in the room coming down by at least a few degrees.  Opportunities lost.