Whether it’s wafting from the open windows of a passing car, making its way down the beach from an unseen stranger’s radio, or simply filtering through the privacy of your own headphones, you know it when you hear it: that song that officially makes it feel like summer. For this latest edition of the Indie Playlist, we asked Independent staff writers and summer fellows to tell us theirs. Listen along on Spotify at https://sptfy.com/NY7U.
‘Add Value Add Time,’ Shilpa Ray
If you’re looking for your next summer song — that buoyant anthem that makes you want to drop your work and run to the top of the highest dune — you won’t find it in Shilpa Ray’s “Add Value Add Time.” But the percussive ballad has its own merits: syncopated drumbeats and maracas undergirding Ray’s sardonic and astute musings on late-stage capitalism.
I discovered this song early on in college. I can’t say I totally understood the song’s nine-to-five malaise and commercial ennui, but with my headphones slipped over my ears and sunglasses shading my eyes, I pretended I knew something the rest of my post-adolescent peers didn’t. “Work, work, work/ Die, die, die/ MTA asks, Add Value Add Time.”
It’s not the most uplifting message, but if you don’t pay attention too closely to the lyrics you could easily find your head bopping and your feet tapping. Let your ignorance lapse, however, and you’ll find a missive about capitalism so fed up it’s refreshing: “You broke my dreams and built a Whole Foods on top of it instead.” —Sam Pollak
‘Be Nothing,’ Beach Fossils
I started listening to Beach Fossils in high school, and I’ve always associated its music with the summers of that period of my life. That’s partially because the laid-back surf-poppy sound is a perfect complement to a drive to the beach — but also because I went to one of its concerts the summer I graduated. “Be Nothing,” from its 2017 album Somersault, showcases the band’s lush instrumentation and understated lyricism. At five minutes long, it takes its listener on a bit of a journey, building from an earwormy bass hook to a frenetic climax before gently petering out. The lyrics are slightly repetitive and vaguely Zen-inspired, drifting along on top of the electric guitar and pushing drums’ foundation: “Be nothing/ Be nothing/ Be nothing/ Be nothing.” The lyrics encourage the destruction of ego; the song itself encourages me to keep listening to it. —Sophie Griffin
‘99 Luftballons,’ Nena
Something about the opening synth chords of “99 Luftballons” stirs a desire to roll down the windows of a glamorous car and drive off into a vibrant orange sunset. Whether it plays through my AirPods or from a speaker, I find myself irresistibly compelled to crank up the volume. My phone warns of potential eardrum damage, but somehow it seems worthy of the hearing sacrifice.
“99 Luftballons” was Nena’s one-hit wonder released in 1983 amid Cold War tensions. While she recorded an English version, the original German one still takes top spot. Remember back in late January when a Chinese spy balloon was spotted floating above U.S. airspace? Among other things, it made Nena’s only hit song suddenly start accumulating views on YouTube. The resurgence in popularity was probably how it made it onto my randomized Spotify playlist.
It’s comical but entertaining to witness my friends and me butcher the pronunciation of the German lyrics — it adds charm to the listening experience. As a backing track for a summer barbecue or coastal road trip, it’s sure to coax a smile or maybe even inspire an impromptu dance. —Georgia Hall
‘Prescription,’ Remi Wolf
I listen to Remi Wolf’s music on repeat. The R&B-inspired instrumentals and Wolf’s raw, expressive voice make it easy to close your eyes and get lost in the groove. With each listen, I always find something new.
“Prescription” is a sharp mix of innocence, helplessness, and playful sensuality. At one moment, Wolf revels in the anxiety of desire (“Got this pit in my stomach/ Makes my skin crawl in the best way.”) In another, her feelings manifest almost as puppy love: “Take me wherever you can/ And I’ll always tag along.”
But as in all of Wolf’s music, there’s a dangerous, almost provocative strain below the surface. Her deliciously gritty belt verges on a determined shout as she sings, “It ain’t easy being needy/ but I can’t help it.” As the title suggests, Wolf — who has spoken publicly about her battles with substance abuse — depicts a feeling so intoxicating that it borders on addiction. Sugary-sweet with a jagged edge, “Prescription” masterfully blends the pleasure and peril of dependency. Just like Wolf in the song, I can’t resist coming back for more. —Elias Schisgall
‘Early Morning Rain,’ Gordon Lightfoot
There’s something blue about this classic song by recently deceased folk music legend Gordon Lightfoot. Most people wouldn’t consider it a summer staple. A line like “I’m stuck here in the grass with a pain that ever grows” doesn’t exactly scream fun in the sun. But for me, there’s always been something comforting in the song’s angst, that desire to move but having “no place to go.”
The first heat of summer brings with it a restlessness to move. As John Steinbeck writes in Travels With Charley, “The sound of a jet, an engine warming up, even the clopping of shod hooves on pavement brings on the ancient shudder.…” Something about summer — the lingering sun, the coming and going of suitcase-stuffed sedans down the highway, the wasps circling the ice-cream-splattered sidewalk, the breeze rolling off some rushing stream — brings me that ancient shudder.
In comes the remedy: Lightfoot’s sweeping vocals elevate a simple story to a piercing cry. The plane’s roar as it rips across the rain-filled sky personifies that unquenchable human dream to move. It’s melodrama. It’s art. And once it ends, I’m more at peace with where I am. How does a song of unfulfilled longing bring about a contentment with the present? —Oliver Egger
‘Mona Lisa,’ Dan & Drum
Los Angeles-based duo Dan and Drum is on my Spotify queue year-round. But there’s something acutely summery about their lively and delightfully unpolished tunes. “Mona Lisa,” the lead song from their 2017 album Growl Pop, is about the quintessential thrill of catching someone’s eyes and becoming entranced: that mesmerizing stranger-face becomes symbolic of Leonardo da Vinci’s iconic Renaissance painting. “Tell me who’s that boy over there, now/ Makin’ eyes, makin’ me stare?” Dan Checkers wails in the chorus. “Well I don’t know your name, but can I call you Mona Lisa?”
Writing this out, I’m realizing I could (should?) be a little embarrassed about the loop on which this song sometimes blasts in my car. But in my defense: even in the winter, its springy vocals and percussive flair are reminders that sunnier days are coming. The bounciness of “Mona Lisa” — its wailing vocals accompanied by a snappy snare — is the sonic equivalent of early summer on the sun-dappled Outer Cape. —Sophie Mann-Shafir
