Graphic by Antonio Mochmann
As we embrace the new year, we’ve been feeling wistful. With the trees bare and the temperatures near freezing, it’s hard not to reflect on our warm summers. Some of The Press’ staff are cleaning up last night’s party streamers and champagne bottles right now, while others are drafting up New Year’s resolutions and curating vision boards. Either way, our summer playlists are on shuffle today. Here’s some of our favorite tracks.
Magdalena Bay — Death & Romance
by Elene Mokhevishvili
It’s rare that I find a love song that creates an existential pit in my stomach every time I hear it, so it’s no surprise I had it on repeat all summer. Magdalena Bay’s “Death and Romance” captures the ultimate human experience of love and loss with a backdrop of synth and classical piano.
This dance won’t end
It goes forever
Romance and death
Keep us together
Those words were on repeat during my commutes in the city over the summer. Living in Brooklyn, most of my life is spent riding the Q train, but I’m not special. Surrounding me were people with their own lives, experiences, loves and losses. Nothing’s more introspective than public transportation. No delay is just a delay. It’s the amalgamation of every decision someone has made at that moment and a deciding factor in the route the rest of your life is going to take. One train ride could cost you a job, a relationship, $2.90, or even $100, if you’re a risk taker like me.
Yeah, I give and you give ’til it’s all that we have
You know nothing is fair in death and romance
The MTA is the life force of New York City, so, as I sat there with my noise-canceling headphones, blasting my computer-generated synth beats, I started looking at my commute with a more loving eye. Every weird sticky stain became the memory of someone’s shitty day that started off with them spilling their coffee. Every loud noise became two friends running into each other after a long time. Every whiny kid became a mother’s greatest joy. No one person with the same life as the other, but now on the same route. Everyone in those cars with their own, completely different lives now had three things in common: death, romance and a place to be.
Remi Wolf — Soup
by Emma Ehrhard
Ingredients for Remi Wolf’s “Soup”:
- One cup of ‘80s synth sounds
- Two handfuls of powerful pop belts
- Two spoonfuls of quirky metaphors
- A sprinkle of Remi’s Secret Seasoning: a dash of funky, a pinch of sexy and a hint of jarring relatability
Eccentric pop diva Remi Wolf dished up a phenomenal sophomore album this summer with the release of “Big Ideas.” The second song on the album, “Soup,” enriched my palette with powerful vocals and upbeat tracks, known to be Wolf’s specialty.
“Soup” serves the feelings of my midsummer scaries — the sudden awareness that June has slipped away and August hovers over the near horizon. It tastes like the realization that my summer fling has gotten a bit too serious.
If you give me the keys, I’ll go and pick up the soup
Simple yet impactful gestures, such as picking up a meal, relay a sense of comfort and well-being. This lyric closes out the chorus with surface level endearment. Yet, Wolf’s whiny belting twists in a tone of desperation, as if to say, “I’ll make you feel loved if you let me try.”
I can’t help but make it ‘bout me
Oh when you and I are together
Now I’m brushing off the blood on my teeth
And I’m hoping that I’m getting better
In the pre-chorus, Wolf admits that she’s not a perfect partner, noting disdain in her selfish behavior and banter. I’m no better. But as the last line notes, Wolf and I possess the self-awareness of when it’s time to turn things around.
Doing business on top of the roof
They told me to leave but I don’t want to leave without you
The “business” in question certainly isn’t the professional kind. These lyrics highlight Wolf’s wake up call that messing around is hindering her connection with her lover. The next phase of summer is turning in, but she doesn’t want to enter it alone. In order to blossom in the relationship “Soup” plates, a shift in priorities and behavior must be put in place.
Oh I don’t want to live without…
The drums cut in time for the song to end on this incomplete sentence. The sudden stripping of the back beat makes me imagine a scene of calling out to someone as the distance between the caller and subject grows. This line stirs up Wolf’s tone of despair as if she yells for her lover to turn around and give her a chance. She’s ready to put in the work, if only she’s still given the opportunity.
“Soup” sits with listeners like a beloved family recipe, the sparkling ‘80s synth instrumentals fill them with warmth and energy. The dancing track contrasts with lyrics ridden with confusion and desperation. This juxtaposition reflects an “oh shit!” moment I know too well. It throws me back into the point of my summer situationship where I saw that it might be love, but I had looked too late.
Wolf conjured up a song that’s both salty and sweet — the perfect summertime snack. It’s one I’ll revisit even in the cold months, living in the nostalgia of my beautifully messy summer relationships with the hunch that I’ll relearn the lessons I keep forgetting next summer.
Gordon’s Grandson — My Lover Girl
by Brian Chen
Nestled in The Press office with fellow editors Ali and Aman, I noticed the clock tick toward 6:25 pm on a quiet Friday the 13th. With my back to the window, I watched the soothing amber glow envelop the room while the sun descends in the sky. As I desperately sought ideas to include in my Songs of the Summer piece, Ali played Jeff Buckley’s “Lover, You Should’ve Come Over” on the comically large speakers. At this moment, the office filled with a tranquil ambiance. “Love is such a common theme in music,” I thought to myself.
“My Lover Girl” by Gordon’s Grandson is seemingly yet another entry in the endless list of romance songs, but stands out with its unique use of instrumentals. I had never heard a song start with a collection of voicemails, followed by a beautiful array of strings. Behind the strings lies the heartbeat of the song: the percussion. The drum’s pulsing foundation transitions the voicemails back and forth between a nostalgic chorus, holding together the arrangement with a steady presence that allows the strings to shine. Combining all this with his double-tracked, airy vocals, the song evokes puppy love and the heartfelt feeling of falling for someone.
All summer long, during my commute to and from my courthouse job, I found myself going back to this song. Charmed by its melodies, I was reminded that love is present everywhere, even where you least expect it. I was taken aback to find moments of love while I sat within the cold, empty walls of the courtroom. Families gathered, hearts heavy with hope, seeking justice from criminal trials. Soon-to-be parents filled out adoption papers, bright-eyed at the prospect of starting a family. Couples walked hand in hand, donning wedding attire, ready to get their marriages legalized. In a world that often encourages us to become apathetic and to shield our hearts from pain, I realized how tragic it would be to ignore the love that can thrive amid chaos.
Dayglow — Cocoon
by Aidan Steng
With the second and final single on his self-titled album, Sloan Struble, under his project Dayglow, lit the indie rock world up once again this summer.
“Cocoon” is a fast-paced, high-energy reflection of changing times, changing people and all the anxiety that comes with. The song toys with both soft and heavy sounds to maintain a sense of Struble’s signature playfulness, while introducing a new raw and distorted taste.
“Cocoon” opens with a hi-hat count in before Struble leaves the listener with no time to catch their breath with the line, “Oh, wake up, Mr. Glow.” The momentum picks up as the snare and bass drum are added, and from this point on, there is no looking back.
At the chorus, Struble employs a clever accented rhythm tactic that leaves the audience tense. He then goes into full swing in a hook that grows as the song progresses.
The song’s lyrics paint the picture of a train of thought riddled with anxiety. Phrases from the first verse such as, “There’s a likely storm ahead of us” and “It seems nobody knows that the world’s about to blow,” feel frantic. The pre-chorus shifts to talking about change and the past with the line, “But if nothing ever happens then where’d you go.”
The chorus expresses his view on the present and what’s been happening while also shifting to discussing the past to further attempt to frame the chaos of an ever-changing world.
In many ways, “Cocoon” acts as a therapy session. Turbulent lyrics reflect the vagueness and uncertainty of life itself. Struble shows that he is just like the rest of us — unsure, uneasy yet perpetually nostalgic.
His introspective concepts about his life are all tied together with a killer guitar solo following the third chorus of the song. He then lets loose during the fourth and final chorus and wraps up the chaotic jam abruptly, leaving me wanting more from Dayglow well into autumn.
Snail Mail — Tonight, Tonight
by Tyler Rieger
It was during one of those unbearably muggy afternoons in the dog days of summer — where a stifling heat sets in, and you’re just about ready for the sun to go down and have the cool, breezy air of the night come along to wash away the day — when my brother sent me a link to the song “Tonight, Tonight.” Undoubtedly, my brother sent me this song because he knows that The Smashing Pumpkins, the original creator of the song, are one of my favorite bands of all time. Their song and the iconic album on which it was released, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, serve as a legendary musical interpretation of the nature of youth and the passage of time. I’m mildly embarrassed to admit just how influential The Smashing Pumpkins were in my formative years, as their sound evoked a blissful blend of unruly dissatisfaction, unrealized forlornness, and somehow still some hope, all of which made a perfect concoction to match the universal turmoil that is adolescence.
But what my brother sent me wasn’t that original masterpiece crafted by frontman Billy Corgan and his Smashing Pumpkin pals nearly three decades ago; it was a cover released by the provocative and electric indie rock artist Snail Mail. Songs like “Thinning” and “Heat Wave” are testaments to her talents as a guitarist and songwriter — coupling energetic melodies with piercing lyrics that transcend the usual tropes of burgeoning young musicians (similar to The Smashing Pumpkins among their contemporaries back in their day).
All this is to say that Snail Mail is the ideal artist to cover a song like “Tonight, Tonight.” Her version is both boldly fresh and devastatingly nostalgic. Her swooning voice hums over the revamped music, which offers a punching impact. She tenderly delivers Corgan’s lyrics and gives the song — an ode to the bittersweet sentimentality of recognizing a singular moment in changing times — a new defining quality.
Time is never is never time at all
You can never ever leave
Without leaving a piece of youth
Sitting there on that sweltering summer afternoon, listening to this new iteration of timeless wonder for the first time — again — I couldn’t help but get swept up in the moment.
We’ll find a way to offer up the night (Tonight)
The indescribable moments of your life (Tonight)
The impossible is possible tonight (Tonight)
Suddenly, I didn’t want the day to end. Time is fleeting — moments escape us, and we inevitably change along with the world around us. But as The Smashing Pumpkins initially taught me, and now how Snail Mail reminds me, just because the world is changing — and us with it — doesn’t mean we still can’t find those indescribable moments of bliss along the way.
Stephen Dawes — Cherry Red
by Sonia Zahid
When Stephen Dawes plays his first few guitar chords on “Cherry Red,” a taste of humid, smoky air hits the tongue. It’s an August evening spent in the city, a fleeting feeling of invincibility mixed with an ever-present sense of dread. Summer is almost over – but his heart desires more, aching for something that will breathe life into the world.
Tonight, Dawes’ thoughts are all about a past lover. In his lovesick lyrics he wants to rekindle the flame they used to have, giving in to the way his body reacts whenever he sees her. “When you’re next to me, I get in my head/Feel my cheeks turn cherry red.” He knows he needs to stop, that he should be reasonable. But who can truly be logical in the face of love? Certainly not Dawes.
I first listened to “Cherry Red” when it came out near the end of summer. It was a particularly hard night for me. The future I was ignoring started to knock on my front door, and I couldn’t handle it. Sitting on the floor of my disheveled bedroom, I found solace in Dawes’ singing, the minor key showing that he also felt a sense of apprehension at what lays ahead. But somehow, his electric guitar and repeated drum and bass beats turn “Cherry Red” into an upbeat love song that I could sing along to in the midst of my despair.
While I love the mix of his raw vocals and backing instrumentals, what truly seals this song as my pick for Songs of the Summer is its beautiful ending. Dawes ditches everything else and opts for just a low bass track as he lets his voice ring out: “Oh I, I want you back, I want you back.” His words are an emotional admission to the world – despite everything, he’s listening to what his mind craves.
“Cherry Red” is a reminder for me to always do what will make me happy, even if it seems daunting. Of course, that isn’t as easy as it sounds. But sometimes, Dawes sings, there’s nothing you can do but listen to the risky demands of your beating heart.
Beabadoobee — Beaches
by Tui Katoanga
Spinning out on what to say or what to do
Finding reasons for my constant change in mood
Said I’ll see it to believe it, but who knows the actual truth?
These lyrics first graced my ears at 2 a.m. while I forced myself to study calculus. I’d look at differentiation problems, clicking and unclicking my pen, not knowing what to do.
But the only thing I hated more than differentiation was feeling unprepared. With my limited understanding, I was not going to do well in my first semester at university.
I needed to study. So every day this summer, I took out my laptop at 1 a.m., opened Khan Academy and got to work. I set up a small workspace on the dining table and worked until I saw the sun rise in my living room. After countless cups of tea and scribbled-on reams of paper, the same math that used to make me anxious became cathartic to solve.
“Beaches” is a wise, charming ode to this exact feeling — the joy of refusing to let the fear of failure prevent you from perfecting your craft.
Find it hard to say, I know that I’m alright
Took a while for me to finally realize
That when I see it, I’ll believe it
Giving me a peace of mind
The derivative, the tool that Isaac Newton — or Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, depending on who you ask —developed to find a function’s instantaneous rate of change, is key to calculus. Tracking the rate of change is often a tall order for math students and songwriters alike, but Beabadoobee has it down to a science. Her sophomore album This is How Tomorrow Moves is a reflection on her uncertain relationship with her career and how it’s changing.
The standout track on the record that explores the theme of work anxiety is “Beaches”: While the guitar shines throughout, the slick drum line keeps the song chugging along. Beabadoobee’s gentle voice glistens over the warm instrumentals, allowing listeners to feel her optimism. “Beaches” is a landmark in her discography, signifying her becoming comfortable with life’s rate of change — as it accelerates, she trusts in her ability to keep up and adapt.
‘Cause some days I’m afraid to fall down
But I understand the coming outcome, pick it up if I allow it
Beabadoobee remains wary about her growing confidence, expressing her fear of failure. As am I, when it comes to math; after I become proficient in one skill, learning another becomes daunting. But growing means accepting that miscalculations are inevitable to a certain extent. If a passion is worth pursuing, it is crucial to not let the fear of failure become all-consuming and keep moving forward.
Beabadoobee — Coming Home
by Annabelle Gilman
In July, I added Beabadoobee’s “Coming Home” to a playlist I was putting together for my cross-country flight to Seattle to see my best friend.
This unconventional meetup was just far enough into summer that it was nearly impossible to get a stable summer job. We could just barely fit 10 days together into our respective schedules, yet it was a sacrifice both of us were eager — not resentful — to make. Our friendship was a never-ending dance around time zones, mismatched calendars and our forgetfulness.
I sat down on the plane and pressed play. First, the instrumentals caught my attention. Then the synthy harmonies. After the first two plays, nothing else on my playlist satisfied me the way “Coming Home” did, so I put it on repeat. And that’s how it stayed for the rest of the flight — again on the connecting flight, and then for the next 14 days of the trip. Before I knew it, “Coming Home” became my song of the summer.
The song is a bittersweet lullaby about long-distance relationships. It haunted me with truths about the things I was feeling, things I didn’t know I was feeling about our long-distance friendship, about seeing her again. It cleared those muddied feelings to reveal the sharp hurt I hid away, and chose not to acknowledge, when seeing her wasn’t within my grasp. But here it came, and I was ready to let myself feel how much I missed her. I let the song guide me through all of it.
The lyrics reminded me of the excitement of being closer to my best friend. I realized how much I missed her and how anxious I would be in 14 days, sitting on the plane for my trip home, knowing the miles between us were going to increase just as fast as the plane was decreasing them now.
And a seat on the plane only shows that we’re miles away
So, I promise this time I won’t be late
I’ll do the dishes, we’ll carry the load
Because we have time
I emptied the trash like I said I would
These mundane moments seem miles away. They always did. Those daily tasks I would usually groan at, I was so excited to share with her.
As I listened over and over, I realized this song would be a place for memories from the trip to be safely preserved.
The Marias — No One Noticed
by Michelle Grisales
I have an unhealthy obsession with music.
I’ve been conditioned to interpret silence as negative; there should always be noise, because quietness is uncomfortable. I struggle with understanding that this isn’t the case for everyone, that some people find peace in it.
Over the summer, my best friend, Donna, and I were driving back from a seafood boil dinner full of gossip, jokes and raunchy topics. I nudged my phone in her direction, giving her the reins to fill the car with noise during our 40-minute drive.
She chose to play “No One Noticed” by The Marias. I had listened to their music many times before but I found the mellow and slow beats of this particular song to be soothing. Once it came on, I was hooked and mesmerized by the ballad.
Its powerful, intense lyrics are like the breaking of a dam, where water rushes out and floods through the listener’s ear. It can resonate with people across a broad spectrum. My interpretation of the song is that it’s a story told by someone who is deteriorating mentally, feeling like a ghost — unseen by others who can’t see the suffering they’re in.
No one tried
To read my eyes
No one but you
Wish you were true
This verse blatantly describes this person’s feelings of sadness, despair and isolation, but reaches outward pulling someone else into their world. This person wishes that someone could be their knight in shining armor able to see the war going on in their mind.
Come on, don’t leave me it can’t be that easy, babe
If you believe me I guess I’ll get on a plane
Fly to your city excited to see your face
Hold me, console me and then I leave without a trace
Sometimes, even unintentionally, partners can build a codependent bond that transgresses healthy boundaries. Despite the numerous therapists I’ve had and the endless advice from friends, I’ve understood being in this position too many times. It no longer is love, or it might’ve never been. It spirals into an attachment to a person. The familiarity is so hard to let go that when I did, a piece of my heart felt ripped out. In “No One Noticed,” this person is begging for them not to leave and offering the incentive of visiting them, even if just for a moment, just to be consoled.
The slow, melancholy melody emphasizes the agonizing emotions behind it and resonates with listeners, including myself, while going through rough times.
I’ve driven countless times, sobbing hysterically, with this song playing at maximum volume to tune out my hideous screams so I could release my pent up emotions. That’s what this song is — what people won’t say. They hide the wars being fought in their mind, but to me this song is comforting, and serves as an outlet.
Addison Rae — Diet Pepsi
by Kaan Ozcan
You may have heard that music is supposed to have meaning — through its lyrics, beats and melodies. But I raise a counterpoint: bring meaningless music back. Who’s dominating this field? Addison Rae.
Some describe Rae’s music as generic, meaningless. Some may even say it’s garbage. But I think it’s genius.
Rae’s “Diet Pepsi” gives an insight into my summer: careless, free and filled with Coca-Cola. I know the song is called “Diet Pepsi,” but I don’t drink that.
Rae’s unwavering commitment to being her most authentic self — unapologetically lustful and strikingly beautiful — speaks to me with more words than I can express in this 400 word blurb.
The synth wave that backs her whisper-filled symphony (So sweet), her falsetto describing the back seat of her lover’s car and most importantly — the key change in her final chorus; all come together to make Rae’s masterfully-crafted albeit overproduced art.
Rae tells us the power of letting go of what is expected of us. A Southern belle turned Los Angeles popstar, Rae didn’t let her Bible Belt birthplace Louisiana hold her back from reaching her full potential. Some say she’s an industry plant sent by Ramon Laguarta, CEO of PepsiCo. himself, but I don’t care.
When I listen to this song, whether it’s at the Staller Steps, or in the Dunkin’ line, waiting for the kind worker to call out my order number, I feel like I’m transported to a Malibu beach, absorbing enough sun to toast a piece of bread.
You may think I’m crazy for putting this much thought into a song, but Rae taught me that it doesn’t matter — that nothing matters. The Press staff hates me for leaving this song on repeat for hours and hours. But to me, it doesn’t matter. Because Addison Rae taught me it doesn’t.
Chappell Roan — Good Luck, Babe!
by Shelly Gupta
Thirteen is a weird age. I always felt awkward, different and weird — as many 13-year-olds do. The boy talks in the corner of the courtyard during recess always felt foreign, and I always felt as though I was on the wrong side of a glass box – like I was watching, but never really participating.
I remember the first time I had a crush on a girl. Instead of the squealing and playful teasing the other girls were greeted with when they admitted their newfound infatuation, I was met with words that echoed in my head for a long time:
“Being gay is a sin!”
Liking girls was a sin. And I was not a sinner.
It’s been years since that day, and I have grown to become comfortable with my bisexuality since then. High school helped me connect with others like me, which I could never find at my predominantly white Catholic middle school.
And yet, when I heard “Good Luck, Babe!” by Chappell Roan last summer, I was teleported back to the uneasy feeling of being an outsider.
You can kiss a hundred boys in bars
Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling
ithout realizing, I had been avoiding having feelings towards women.
You can say it’s just the way you are
Make a new excuse, another stupid reason
I’d been so scared — scared of what my identity means for my future, about the way people would react, about how to be okay with it. I told myself to take the “easy” — or compulsively heterosexual — route.
Eventually, this conformity and heteronormativity became my life, and my sexuality became something I continued to repress without confronting it. But it was the haunting bridge of the song that brought that realization to light.
When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night
With your head in your hands, you’re nothing more than his wife
And when you think about me, all of those years ago
You’re standing face to face with “I told you so”
I don’t want to wake up regretting my life choices, stuck in a never-ending cycle of regret and what could have been. The anger and strife in the lyrics alongside Roan’s powerful voice strike a chord in me. They haunt me and fill me with a feeling of fear that continues to sink deeper and deeper, only to rest as a pit in my stomach.
You know I hate to say, “I told you so”
You know I hate to say, but, I told you so
I won’t let myself be an “I told you so.”
Billie Eilish — BIRDS OF A FEATHER
by Kaitlyn Schwanemann
I’ve spent every weekend with my partner since this one day last winter when I called him out of the blue. He was already outside my dorm while the phone rang. He’d been trying to get in so he could slip a love letter under my door. When I hung up the phone I found him waiting outside Douglass Hall, a meticulously sealed envelope in his cold hands, my name written in script on the face of it.
“BIRDS OF A FEATHER” by Billie Eilish came out in the spring, and I played it all summer. I played it in the car when we went upstate to see the Green Lakes, on the way to kayak Stony Brook Harbor, and on the way to Coney Island — my parents took me there every warm weekend when I was a kid. And I played it one Saturday morning on the way to Avalon Park, where we leaned over the bridge to look into the pond for a while. Two ducks peered back at us from a mossy log.
A slight echo underscores her confessions of undying love in the first verse: “I want you to stay/‘Til I’m in the grave/‘Til I rot away, dead and buried...” But it sounds better in the car; the drums and dreamy synths reverberate off the doors and windows, and it feels like I’m swimming in them. Death is a recurring motif throughout, but the final few lines touch on rebirth: “I knew you in another life/You had that same look in your eyes.” I played the song again at the end of the summer while he helped me move into my new dorm.
It’s getting cold outside again, and there are dew drops on the grass when I leave for class in the mornings. Soon it’ll be too cold for hiking or kayaking or beach days. The morning dew will have turned to frost and then died, and the greenery upstate will have fallen. But there will be snow days and ice skating and holidays spent together, and I’ll play “BIRDS OF A FEATHER” on the car rides there. Sometimes I’ll play it while I reread the letter. Sometimes I’ll play it while I wonder what those two ducks will do when the pond freezes over. Maybe they were just that: another life, one where we spend warm Saturday mornings sitting on a log and watching passersby.
Billie Eilish — CHIHIRO
by Ben Campo
During the summer, one of my best friends recommended a new Billie Eilish song called “CHIHIRO.” I hadn’t listened to Eilish in a while and wanted to give the song a try. After my first listen, I loved the song’s softness: Eilish sings, “Did you take my love away from me?” These lyrics made me feel lost within the song; Eilish is pleading for an answer as to why she doesn’t feel love anymore after a relationship that has ended. I rewind the song to listen to these lines just to hear her melancholic tone. Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I imagine she’s speaking these lyrics to me directly — like we’re having some sort of emotional confessional.
“CHIHIRO” reminds me of the movie Spirited Away, one of my favorite films of all time. The title of the song is a reference to the protagonist of the movie, named Chihiro. The lyrics, “Said you won’t forget my name/Not today, not tomorrow,” seem to reference the plot point of the movie where Chihiro is trying to not forget what her name is. Listening to “CHIHIRO” felt like multitasking — I was somewhere between listening to the song, and immersing myself in the movie.
Eilish’s lyrics about love and the references to Spirited Away flow into each other and dovetail to create “CHIHIRO” — a unique experience informed by both Eilish’s trademarks and Spirited Away references. Every time I listen, I tend to feel both calm and emotional — like it’s both soothing and devastating. The Spirited Away motifs enhance this feeling with constant references to the heart-wrenching plot. Eilish masterfully penned feelings that, in the moment, feel inexplicable.
Karol G — Si Antes Te Hubiera Conocido
by Artelen Reyes
You know the first few consistently warm days at the end of spring, into the beginning of summer? The flowers are in full bloom, birds are chirping and branches that were once bare and brown are growing and green. The sudden change in weather undoubtedly boosts your daily mood.
The air is fresher, the days are brighter and the music you hear is more melodic.
Karol G managed to capture this on “Si Antes Te Hubiera Conocido.” The upbeat tune combined with the slow start of the song allows you to feel throughout the beginning of the song that it’s leading up to something. The sudden pause of the tune followed by a faster beat and the cue of additional instruments transports you to the beach. Her song is a confession to someone she met who seems to feel the same way about her but is already in a relationship with someone else. To me, this song is the essence of summer love, be that a fling or something that survives into the fall — requited or not.
The genre of music that this song falls into is called merengue. It’s a style of song that is meant to be danced to. When listening to this song, you can’t help but start to move your body.
This summer was a busy one for me, which is common. My life over the last couple of years has been a never-ending cycle of academic courses, internships and jobs. Don’t get me wrong — in choosing to pursue my passion as a career, I have been very fortunate to have received so many opportunities. That being said, the burnout that I have been facing is real. Working 40-hour work weeks on top of accelerated STEM lectures and labs to apply to veterinary school took a toll on me this summer. I am fortunate enough to love all of the amazing coworkers I’ve met, too.
These coworkers introduced me to a side of New York that I had never been exposed to. Following our closing shifts at the wildlife hospital, we would go out to bars and clubs and just dance — for hours. Letting our bodies move to the beat of the music was a mindless behavior, yet one that felt sacred to me. I view dancing as a way for my body to be an instrument in the song.
I often struggle with being in the moment, but dancing is one of the rare acts that allows me to be fully present. We would frequent a bar in Bushwick, Brooklyn that played Spanish music, which is where I heard my song of the summer for the first time. This beautiful merengue song captures how important it is to be in the moment because summer is gone as quick as it comes. Whenever I want to be transported back to the Bushwick dance floor, I listen to “Si Antes Te Hubeira Conocido.”
Elyanna — Ganeni
by Aman Rahman
It’s late and still sticky with summer heat, and we’re pushing 80 mph on the Long Island Expressway, windows down because the air conditioner broke. My Bluetooth speaker in the cupholder because the sound system in your 2001 Honda Odyssey is shit. Of course, I have a new crush. And of course, my new crush likes you in the same way I like them — vaguely, naively, bad.
You and I have been friends for so long I can’t remember a time before you. You hop on the Dance Dance Revolution machine every time it opens up until the arcade closes, though you can’t get me to dance with a gun to my head. While you sweat in the fluorescent, flashing lights, I cover for you on the Zoom meeting you logged onto for work so you can spend all your tokens and not get fired. I ask a question about computers because you said I needed to say something, and the host thinks I’m you while you nail an S grade for a song that makes my head vibrate. Then we get in your car and drive home.
Your car is a tank of silver that’s nearly killed me seven times. It was also where we moved all your shit when you left home before crashing at my place before finding some other place to be. Speaking of home, there’s a lot I can’t explain about our lives. We spent summers trying to learn Arabic, French, Python — why? To impress someone, to impress each other maybe. We’re the kind of friends who will go a lifetime without saying, “I love you.” We’re the type to not say anything except to mention the news or to share a song we love. “We can’t reach my grandmother because they cut the phone lines after the protests started.” “Have you listened to ‘Ganeni’ yet?”
Who said that “joy is an act of resistance”? The wind is louder in my ear than the music. Of course it is.
Protect — bbysit
by Liam Hinck
Ball hog: A player on a team sport, such as basketball, who controls and shoots the ball excessively instead of passing it to teammates; a player who hogs the ball.
In the past, to be labeled a ball hog was a bad thing: a selfish, greedy person who only thinks of themselves. Kobe Bryant, James Harden, Allen Iverson — three players with the most controversial playstyle in NBA history — were deemed ball hogs.
On his album “All On Me,” Protect attempts to change the narrative on what it means to be a ball hog. Sometimes in life, you won’t have teammates you can rely on, so what do you have to do? You have to be a ball hog.
At times, you may not have a friend to lean on or an outlet to vent your frustrations. This is when you ball hog. When you’re knee-deep in assignments and have to work over 30 hours that week, you just have to do it, no complaints, just ball hog.
I started to improve my life this summer by ball hogging, and “bbysit” was my song of choice while doing so. Whether it was starting my gym journey, or racking up money at my summer job, I couldn’t stop ball hogging.
I was — figuratively — taking every shot I could, seizing every opportunity I could to succeed, and it was working, I was seeing progress and improvement in every aspect of my life, and it was making me more mature. As Protect said on “bbysit,” “I keep scorin’ the goddamn ball, I’m on some Harden shit.”
Protect has transformed this term from a derogatory, slanderous term to becoming universally known as a good thing, meaning you are locked in. When I see someone on campus after a long summer break where I didn’t do much besides go to work, a simple, “I ball hogged,” gets my message across effortlessly.
This summer was a ball hog summer, but that does not mean ball hogging will end. Ball hogging is not a seasonal activity, but a lifestyle.
Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross — Challengers: Match Point
by Antonio Mochmann
Nicole Kidman was right when she said we come to this place for “magic” in her iconic AMC advertisement. My friends and I indeed came to the movie theater for magic when we saw Luca Guadagnino’s Challengers on the big screen last April. As we reclined our seats, we had no idea how drastically our lives were about to change.
Challengers tells the story of a messy and beautiful love triangle, blurring the lines between tennis and romance. The movie centers around an intense tennis match between estranged friends, Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig. As the match progresses, flashbacks reveal more about their adolescence and intimate relationship with each other as well as with the breathtaking tennis prodigy, Tashi Duncan. The audience finds out what led them to haphazardly reunite on the tennis court years later as the story unfolds.
The movie is as much of a visual masterpiece as it is auditory, thanks to the soundtrack crafted by duo Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross. The title track “Challengers” and its extended mix, “Challengers: Match Point” open and conclude the movie. The house beat, electronic melody and intense bass of these tracks accompany Art and Patrick’s sweaty match throughout the movie. The extended portion of “Challengers: Match Point” plays an added forceful melody of strings to intensify the climactic ending of the match point.
The suspense and high tensions had my friends and I sitting at the edge of our reclined seats. We left the movie theater in awe, with sweat pearls on our foreheads and exhausted muscles as if we had just played a heated tennis match ourselves. Excitedly, we kept reiterating how it was the best movie we had seen in a long time — an unforgettable experience.
It also dawned on me that this would be one of the last times I’d be able to hang out with my dear friends before the majority of them would graduate at the end of that spring semester. Of course they didn’t vanish into thin air after they graduated, but the frequency of our hangouts would decrease dramatically.
Over the summer, at home and thousands of miles away from my friends, I kept the Challengers soundtrack on loop. I kept thinking about the sweaty and exhilarating experience that was watching Challengers for the first time. I thought of my friends who had begun new chapters in their lives after graduation, how important they are to me and what I would give to see them again.
In Challengers, Art and Patrick’s deep-rooted relationship falls apart over the messiness of their intense love triangle with Tashi. Their reunion and reconciliation is a euphoric moment — a tight hug, captured in the climax of an ending in “Challengers: Match Point.”
I may not be a tennis player, but in similar fashion, the reunion with my friends this fall semester was nothing short of euphoric.
Relationships like Art and Patrick’s and the kind I have with my friends are everlasting. While we don’t see each other as often anymore, I know I can always look forward to that first suffocating hug after a long time of not seeing each other.
Hozier — Too Sweet
by Leanne Pastore
Hozier’s “Too Sweet” was undeniably the song of my summer, its melody seemingly woven into every moment. It played at my job while I worked through daydreams. It filled the warm air between the crackles of late-night fires with friends, when I was sometimes a little too drunk and “lost in a haze.” It kept me company as I wrote at witching hour, cursing my insomnia while it seemed like the rest of the world was sleeping, Hozier’s lyrics whispering through my iPhone.
Although I didn’t mind it the first time I heard it, I’d be lying if I said I was hooked from my first listen. I admittedly tend to be jaded when it comes to music I feel is overplayed — the repetition begins to make me loathe any song after enough plays on 106.1 BLI or at gatherings with friends. And so at first, when it would play, I’d turn the radio off or change the song. I’m unsure when exactly I transitioned from rolling my eyes at its unmistakable first note to seeking it out to add to my lLiked songs. But as my favorite season unfolded, Hozier’s buttery vocals trapped me like a fly in honey. I found myself becoming the very thing I loathe—a song-overplayer.
What continuously draws me to “Too Sweet” is its reflection of the hidden parts of ourselves we often don’t show to the rest of the world — the imperfections and darkness we conceal, exemplified with lines like, “You treat your mouth as if it’s Heaven’s gate/The rest of you like you’re the TSA.” It’s a powerful reminder of the beauty in our flaws and encouragement to embrace our darkest corners. To have confidence in the complexity of our existence.
Anthony Raneri feat. Sam Tinnesz — Bones
by Jasmina Pepic
Slow, nostalgic whistling — reminiscent of the countryside. The light strum of acoustic guitar lingering behind deep vocals. The beat of drums and rhythmic claps. Anthony Raneri’s “Bones” is the kind of summer song that reminds you of the season’s end, like an autumn breeze leering around the corner. With this breeze comes change — to some, it’s plagued by cold emptiness, to others it’s hopeful. Often, it’s a combination of the two. Nonetheless, Raneri’s ability to convey emotion through his voice and lyrics, always lending his audience comfort, never ceases to amaze me.
My friends are familiar with my obsession with the band Bayside. An alternative band from Queens, New York started in the early aughts, they are recognized for their rock and emo sounds, relatable lyrics and emotional vocals. I don’t take the word “obsession” lightly. As a decadeslong fan, I’ve never been disappointed with the band (knock on wood), though it’s safe to assume that as the summer went by with no new Bayside songs, I was disappointed. Then, just as I began to enter into the stage of acceptance, something happened. Raneri, the lead singer of Bayside, dropped a solo song. Skeptical, yet excited, I rushed to play it.
My spirit and soul are made out of glass
You only live once
Well, depends who you ask
Very few things are matters of fact
My life’s not worth much but I’d bet it on that
To me, these lyrics convey the sense of uncertainty and fragility many of us experience at times. As delicate as glass, our spirits seem to constantly be vulnerable to outside traumas waiting to break us. At every corner, uncertainty follows us — even until death. Some turn to religion in hopes of answering life’s questions but the irony in this lies in that even our spirituality is uncertain. The only thing we can be certain of is that we know very little.
But this uncertainty is almost never unaccompanied. The song’s chorus continues:
Can a man torn in half ever find his way home?
Searching for the answers
The trail keeps getting cold
Despite our fears, we hold out hope that our search for life’s questions will be fruitful, even as the trial runs colder. We are left to wonder, “Is everyone’s heart inherently bad?/Or is it the weight that makes us collapse?” During the last weeks of summer, this song reminded me that the struggle between falling into despair over life’s uncertainties or opening your heart to them is a difficult, lifelong one.
While to some, “Bones” is not a categorically positive song, for me it’s served as a reminder to accept our uncertainties with grace and hope — instead of letting them lead us to our demise. Even if it means accepting summer’s end, and embracing autumn’s cold breeze. As a college sophomore, I am still in the shallow end of an ocean of experiences awaiting me.
Stream our songs of the summer on our playlist below:
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