In Summer, The Song Sings Itself
And How To Achieve Soulish Grandeur
Will Smith Speaks Truth Through A Sore Throat
It was in Chicago of 1991 that we found out precisely what summer means to Will Smith. After a reprieve of nighttime partying, the then cash-strapped rapper tumbled back into the stress of financial collapse. His career had stalled from a style of lyricism that was outdated by the sonically bombastic “gangster rap.” Listening to beats while waiting to board a flight back to Philadelphia, Smith wrote his classic Summertime hit. His voice an octave lower due to a few nights out on the town, the Fresh Prince star did more than resuscitate his spiraling career, he revealed a truth about summer.
“And think of the summers of the past
Adjust the base and let the alpine blast
Pop in my CD and let me run a rhyme
And put your car on cruise and lay back 'cause this is summertime”
Summer offers a number of axioms, but by tapping into his instincts about what makes us human, Smith unearthed a specific truth. Summer breeds nostalgia. In fact, I would go as far as to claim that summer sprints towards it even before we have had the chance to miss the cherished moments which it creates. So while listening to his hit record on my Subaru’s CD player - because that just seemed right - I was compelled to pick up summer with my hands and place it outside of the mental confine it’s kept in. To wash it of the colors painted by our sentiment and look at it naked. By releasing summer of its emotional significance, we can strip ourselves of its welcomed familiarity and explore with foreign eyes. What is summer at its being and why does it make humans do such things?
A Family Debate & A Seasonal Prayer
I’ve already divulged why The Sandlot plays such an oversized role in my emotional composition. If Ham Porter, Smalls and the rest of Benny’s gang were transported to the mid 90s, they would likely grow up how I did, drowning in the playful intuition of neerdowells who had too much time on their hands and too little adult supervision. So every July, when the driveway gets too hot to stand barefooted, my cousins and I are pulled into the same debate: What exactly did the Great Hambino say that all too hot summer day on the diamond?
The scene unfolds with Benny and the crew taking a break from the game, drinking sodas that are failing to keep them cool. Exhausted and sweat-stained bodies watch as Ham pleas for their captain to let them ditch baseball practice before heatstroke sets in. Reluctantly, Benny acquiesces, but not before Ham spits out the line in question: “This pop isn't working, Benny! I'm baking like a toasted cheeser - it's so hot here!”
Toasted cheeser? No, that can’t be a thing? Can it? My uncles grew up during that time and they never heard of the phrase. Is it slang for grilled cheese? Maybe. But he definitely seems to be saying toasted cheeser and if not that then what else could he have yelled? For now, I’m Team Toasted Cheeser but I stand in the minority.
Incidentally, I am also standing in a pool at the time of this inevitable, drawn out argument; where time is measured not with clocks but by empty cans lined outside the cooler and the onset of sunburn on the shoulders. Where the amount of gas in the propane tank indicates if we are in the back half of July yet. Where the pool lounge chairs perform their circular dance, following the umbrella’s shade in a ritual to chase the hours of the day.
In this sense, summer does more than warp time, it repurposes it for a finer use. Time in fall is nothing but a propellant, pushing us to complete festivities before winter eliminates the ways in which we can gather. In fall, it denies humans the ability to pace their happiness, and in winter the only duty of time is to pass. Not only do days become shorter but they become stingier. The snow and cold replace hours as the marker for a completed day and instead are used to quantify the period between shoveling driveways and fading sunlight. Time commands humans during winter and we are foolish to think otherwise.
But spring offers a glimpse of hope. Like vikings at the gate, humans charge into spring with the intent of unchaining our passion, our zest for life. But how quickly us warriors come to realize we are truly just kids in detention hall, staring at the clock until 4pm rolls around. As stern as she is steadfast, spring has yet to let humans embrace warmth when they demand it. Has yet to let humans extend their daylight into the maximum hour we so desire. Has yet to let summer come early and when it is needed most.
So when it finally does arrive, we pray. Not the prayers of wants and needs, but those of thanksgiving. Because at last, summer embraces Time in a partnership. Whichever deity serves as Timekeeper finally capitulates, and in an act of selflessness inspired by the child living in all of us, they allow humans to both extend and direct Time. We are so close to being superhuman, demanding the hours pass more slowly when the moment is good and pure. We wake up early to maximize Time at the beach and beat early traffic to the cape. Bars stay open longer. Weekends become longer. Eye Contact with the girl from Econ 202 is held longer. So we offer prayer.
And I’ve never prayed for summer not to end, only that I feel it endlessly when here. I’ve prayed my bones capture its heat, and for this energy to be released amongst those needing the courage to dance with their desires. For this is when both clothes and inhibition fall. When strangers gaze a little longer at what they’re burning for, hoping that a smile back confirms mutual attraction. It is the time of the tempest and the tempted, connected by a rhythm so natural and potent that neither of them know which role they’re performing. I’ve given a lot of thanks for a season where even God winks at the Devil.
The Younger The Kanye, The Wiser The Kanye
As an adolescent, I was captivated by Black culture. And any honest discussion will reveal that Black culture drives American culture overall. Nevertheless, I can remember seeking the coolness of my basement to watch 106 & Park on BET. During the summer of 2007, icons 50 Cent and Kanye West went on the show together to promote their respective albums, each of them slated to drop on the same day. In hindsight, this was a sea change moment for Hip Hop.
Few believed that the authentic, Iwillmurderyouthenliterallybragaboutitinasong Brooklyn rapper would be outsold by the experimental, popped-up-collar wearing Kanye. Alas, 50 Cent’s album neither sold as many copies nor reached the critical acclaim that Kanye’s did. From then on rap would take a different trajectory as newcomers like Drake and J.Cole realized you don’t have to rhyme about drugs and homicide to top the charts. Perhaps no song embodies this movement more than Kanye’s Everything I Am.
In this DJ Premier scratched-up track, Kanye, in all of his prescience, anticipated how hard-lined, old school rap lovers might critique his album. His voice sounds tired, exhausted by those refusing to drop their loyalty to gangster rap and support a newer, more idiosyncratic sound. He sways through lines admitting he’ll never “rock a mink coat in the winter time like Killa Cam” or “wear enough baggy clothes, Reebok's or Adidas." Here, Kanye is describing his individuality by naming the qualities and traits he does not possess. As luck would have it, the same approach of listing everything something precisely is not can be used to reveal the pure essence of summer.
Fall is the time of the harvest, when most species collect the resources necessary to survive the winter. Any last crumbs of social engagements are lapped up. The cold approaches and we move inside. Not only are we protecting against the elements, but humans are searching for a surrogate sunlight. The absence of anything bright invites apathy. In turn, the festivities of winter rescue us from the doldrums of darkness. In spite of the warnings from our neanderthal ancestors, humans eagerly provide feasts during winter. Religion finds its justification during these holidays, flaunting the easiness in which it draws people together during a time when they need each other most.
Spring arrives, but never of its own volition. Many perceive spring as an unstoppable renewal of Life, but New Englanders know that winters are dominant and only surrender when good and ready, when its inhabitants have been beaten down to their emotional nadir. With grace, spring fills this void and warms the soul like a waitress topping off Sunday morning coffee. But despite all of its budding and fluorescence, spring might be nothing more than a waiting room for summer.
Flaunting its swagger and bravado, summer struts on stage like a rockstar. After making concert goers sit through forgettable opening acts, the main event cues flashing lights while waiting for total silence. There, in the midst of heavy breathing and anticipation, our star re-ties the handkerchief around his forehead one last time before preparing a single stroke of his guitar. An opening salvo, the season arrives with an echoing roar that reverberates all the way throughout the dog days of August. Once more, humans have found their rhythm.
Summer is just that; special music. Where its haze should induce lethargy, we find gyrating bodies. Where overheating dancers should be spaced apart, togetherness channels a conduit for flirting. Sweat bounces to the cadence of our confidence and there is no shortage of bravado when being summoned by this rhythm. We aren’t captured by its groove, rather, we are captured in it. For these three months we collectively sing in the pitch of our most base instincts and what emerges is a beautiful humanity.
The other seasons force us into a facade. For Easter, Thanksgiving and winter’s religious holidays we don khaki pants or our Sunday best. It is a time of moral reflection where your most wholesome goodness should radiate into the world. But summer has always been a mischievous taunt. Like the friend from the other side of the tracks, summer beckons us to indulge in what the body and mind knows is fun. It is here where we become troublemakers and birth autonomy, dispelling the restrictions of our parents to obey a more fleshly, more adventurous order.
It is during summer when we eat the ice cream and memorize the address of our fake ID. When we bring an alternative, cheekier bottom to change into once mom heads home early from the beach. When sustained silence signals that your folks are asleep and you can slowly open that creaky basement door when sneaking out to meet the girls from chemistry class. “Adult swim” was born here and will stay here because we are our most human here. Besides, we have nine other months to atone for satisfying our longing for deviltry.
We become riskier, too. Nobody cliff jumps in December. But lakes in August dare us to whip boats around so quickly that we launch our buddies out of their tube. It is the only time of year when losing a top elicits laughter. There is a lot of skin to be shown here, despite the elements telling us to protect it from the sun. Even those dangerous, nighttime fireworks extend our window to glance at our crushes just a little bit longer.
We aren’t our worst self in summer, just our most self. Some think the heat drives us a little crazy, and perhaps they’re right. But I envision summer more akin to a siren, enticing us with an ancient song that only we can hear. The signs are too obvious to ignore. Usually associated with music, pulse, beat, and pace are words now linked to the human body. This might not be by design, but it wasn’t done by accident either. What if summer truly is the season of our music? Doesn’t its permission to pursue Life’s fruitful splendor make us feel the most in tune with what it means to be a human? Rhythm is the absence of thinking, and in summer aren’t we encouraged to just do?
This is why I’ve long wondered which jerk shoved the word self in front of restraint. Of course, I’m not some libertine anarchist calling for mass chaos, but I do believe strongly in the power of words. Once coined, they cannot disappear back into the void of the unknowable. Instead, they spread and shift and become warped by minds to take greater importance than necessary. Please, question why the trouble you want to avoid is trouble at all. Summer is begging you to do just that.
Because to ignore our wants during this time is to ignore our purpose. Summer engenders the rhythm of our being and like music itself, it is unavoidable. Fall into its vibrations, where you’ll find the fulfillment of being the easiest version of yourself. Summer champions those who champion it first. Yes, there is danger in revealing ourselves unbridled, but soulish grandeur awaits those willing to show a little skin.