For this installment of Indie’s Playlist, we asked six members of the Independent team to describe their songs of the summer: the song that best encapsulates the feeling of the season that no one wants to end. The result is a soundtrack that goes perfectly with driving down Route 6 on a sunny morning, the taste of watermelon, and the feeling of saltwater drying on your skin in the warmth of a late afternoon. Listen along at https://sptfy.com/Rd2N. —John D’Addario
‘360’ and ‘365,’ Charli xcx
It’s a “brat summer.” Don’t believe me? Even Kamala Harris’s presidential campaign knows it’s true. (I’ll be a brat and tell you to look it up.)
Brat is the title of the newest album by Charli xcx. Charli is a certified brat, and brats get what they want. In “365,” the last song on the album, she asks, “I wanna hear my track, are you bumpin’ that?” Yes, Charli. I’m bumping that.
“365” is a banger: bouncy as a rubber ball, electric as static shock, sultry and whiny and drunk with fun. It’s gritty as the floor of a club and sleepless as a night out. It’s exhausting, really, but isn’t that what summer’s all about? We can sleep in the winter. (Or maybe not: “365” means a party every day of the year.)
Brat opens with “360,” the fraternal twin sister of “365,” a manual for the self-confident party girl. “Work angles,” Charli instructs. “Drop down.” Do you like what you see in the mirror? That’s not important. What is important is whether you’re bumping that beat. —Dorothea Samaha
‘cherry cola,’ Devon Again
Sickly sweet with a killer bite, “cherry cola” is a full sensory experience that packs a punch. It has all the makings of a summer hit: a narrative opening verse, a pre-chorus that starts calm and builds to a chanting climax, and a simple, catchy chorus.
You probably haven’t heard of Devon Again. She’s one of an esoteric group of women making alternative pop songs that I discovered and fell in love with a year ago when I saw singer-songwriter Wallice perform at the Sinclair in Cambridge. They expertly combine the fast-paced fun of traditional pop with the lyricism and emotional depth of indie music.
This song does that perfectly. The pre-chorus is mesmerizing, capturing the singer’s desperate obsession with the person she loves. It’s sugary, bubbly, and mouth-puckering all at once — and best enjoyed on a hot summer day. Dancing is strongly recommended. —Chloe Taft
‘Praise Jah in the Moonlight,’ YG Marley
This smooth reggae groove transports me to the beach: I could be at a bonfire, enjoying a moment of solitude and watching the sea wash the shore clean. The moon rolls across the landscape, stark against the summer sky, and I’m swaying to the melody.
The song speaks of overcoming adversity. It opens with a sample from the chorus of Bob Marley and the Wailers’ 1978 song “Crisis”: “They say the sun shines for all, but in some people world, it never shine at all.”
And yet “Praise Jah in the Moonlight” feels romantic, with hints of longing: “I’ve been fiendin’ for your love so long,” YG Marley sings. Whether you’re with a friend or a lover, the reggae beat is impossible to resist — or at least acknowledge with a subtle head bob.
I always belt the last line, “Give Jah all the thanks and praises.” Try blasting the bass of the outro in your car, and let the harmonies wash over you. —Kiran Johnson
‘Don’t Forget Me,’ Maggie Rogers
I’ve never spent so much time driving as I have this summer. My morning commute is the perfect time to listen to “Don’t Forget Me” by Maggie Rogers — part of an album Rogers said was designed for the car.
I first heard the song last summer during a tour for her previous album. A downpour a few hours earlier left droplets on the outdoor amphitheater seats. But later that night, Rogers pulled out her guitar, the humidity floated away, and it felt like the sky was given a second chance.
The song feels stripped down compared with much of Rogers’s earlier work. There’s a hint of country, but I don’t mind. It makes the song feel soft, like summer.
I’ve also been running lately and realized that “Don’t Forget Me” builds slowly, like climbing one of Wellfleet’s small hills. The start of the chorus feels like the moment you start heading downward. “Oh, but every time I try just a little,” sings Rogers as you move faster and faster. “So close the door and change the channel/ Give me something I can handle/ A good lover or someone who’s nice to me.” Before you know it, your legs are lagging behind the rest of your body as you barrel ahead. —Jacob Smollen
“august,” Taylor Swift
Taylor Swift’s “august” is for the girlies who find joy in scrolling through their camera roll and transporting themselves back to the moment each snapshot was taken. The track is an homage to the nostalgia of summer, a soliloquy from a narrator who wistfully recounts a past romance and the person she was when it unfolded.
The song opens inside a memory. “Salt air, and the rust on your door/ I never needed anything more,” Swift sings atop an airy string ensemble before bouncing between reliving the memory and reflecting on its significance. By the chorus, she realizes that the memory is lost: “August sipped away like a bottle of wine.”
Although it was released four years ago, “august” is still my song of this summer. Like most of Swift’s music, it is timeless. And I’ve been feeling particularly wistful this summer, excited for the moment a few months from now when I get to look back longingly at the photos from my summer on the Outer Cape. What is summer if not a time in which memories are created? —Molly Reinmann
‘Good Luck, Babe!,’ Chappell Roan
What makes the perfect summer pop song? For me, it’s the car test: whether it makes me want to roll down the windows and turn up the volume whenever it comes on the radio (or, more likely, pops up on my playlist). Not since Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” way back in the summer of 2012 has a single aced that test barely halfway through my first listen as Chappell Roan’s “Good Luck, Babe!”
From the opening synth chords to the sweeping, killer hooks, it’s clear that Roan — a powerhouse vocalist with serious songwriting chops who went from being an in-the-know indie favorite to a full-fledged late-night-show superstar over the past few months — has mastered the art of pop perfection.
Unlike Jepsen’s giddy ode to a new crush, Roan’s lyrics are directed at a lover who’s decided to go back to dating men. “Well good luck, babe,” she sings to her soon-to-be-ex in the song’s magnificently devastating kiss-off of a chorus. “You’ll have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.” Rarely has a song about the end of a love affair made me want to turn it up so loud. —John D’Addario
