Since every blogger and their mother’s mother are posting some sort of “Summertime Favorites” list (please, no more Roy Ayers or William DeVaughn, folks - we get it), I’ve decided to painfully date myself and choose ten songs that I must have played non-stop during those summers between years of high school (I graduated in ’96). Growing up in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, I loathed my teenage years of education for the most part, so I have much fonder memories of the summers: the smell of barbeques and freshly cut grass, the stifling humidity during the afternoon, and some of the most amazing sunsets before the orchestra of crickets at dusk. My tastes in music weren’t exactly revolutionary back then, but each of these selections calls to mind a vivid recollection of a time and place during those long, hot days and nights that I’ll never forget. Oops, there’s the nostalgia creeping in – I’ll do my best to curb it somewhat. These songs pertain to the rock/hard rock category and are in no particular order; I was also listening to a lot of metal during these years, but perhaps I’ll save those for another list.

On second thought, maybe not.

“Dog Inside Your Body” – Butthole Surfers 3:06 (Independent Worm Saloon, Capitol 1993)

I could only raise so much hell and mischief without a driver’s license back in ’93, but there’s no doubt that my “discovery” of the Butthole Surfers contributed to my delinquency. I distinctly remember having my mother drive me out to Crossroads CD’s & Tapes for the sole purpose of purging myself of the heinous New Jack R&B and dance cassettes I had amassed over the past few years. The clerk gave me $53 for my garbage, and I purchased two CD’s with it: Radiohead’s Pablo Honey (1993) (what kid wasn’t hooked on the buzzsaw guitar in “Creep”?) and the Buttholes’ Independent Worm Saloon (1993). “Dog Inside Your Body” was one of the most wild and raucous things I had ever heard – just listen to how incredibly badass the guitars sound. Yeah, I know earlier Butthole Surfers is far superior in quality, but I easily listened to this record thousands of times during that summer; I must have found a kindred spirit in its bratty, obnoxious attitude.

“Milquetoast” – Helmet 3:54 (Betty, Interscope 1994)

For a few weeks during the month of June after ninth grade I had to take a Phys Ed summer school course, which consisted of walking around the school property in 98 degree heat, practicing our Beavis & Butthead impersonations, and talking about how kickass The Crow (1994) soundtrack was. Class let out at noon, at which point I would get into my ’84 Camry and drive around the county before I had to be at work in an hour, chain-smoking cigarettes and blaring Betty (1994) out of my tinny car speakers. Though it can’t hold a candle to anything off Strap It On (1990), “Milquetoast” was one of the highlights of the disc, its mashed jazz chords and hip-hop drumming somehow staying afloat in a sea of monstrous heaviness.

“Suicide Machine” – Hum 5:57 (You’d Prefer an Astronaut, RCA 1995)

When You’d Prefer an Astronaut (1995) was released, I made a futile and selfish attempt to keep it all to myself, carefully safeguarding it from my friends who had been corrupted by Candlebox and Stone Temple Pilots. It was useless; “Stars” was inescapable to anyone with a radio, and soon every band in school was covering it for some talent show or underage venue gig. I still adore this band regardless, and the open, sprawling atmosphere of album centerpiece “Suicide Machine” perfectly encapsulates those muggy summer evenings when the air is sticky and sweet with the smell of honeysuckle.

“Phototropic” – Kyuss 5:13 (…And the Circus Leaves Town, Elektra 1995)

The month of August ’95 was a glorious time. Around 5:30 every evening, my brother, my friend Tanner, and myself would load up in the car and drive twenty minutes to the Middle River, where we would spend every evening walking barefoot over the rocks and fishing in the muddy water. Kyuss’ …And the Circus Leaves Town (1995) was our soundtrack for the drive, windows down, blasting out of the back speakers at 110 decibels. I don’t want to digress on this band too much, as I plan on showcasing them in all of their stoned-out, ass-kicking glory in a future post. But I can’t imagine anyone listening to this band in the dead of winter.

“The Bloat” – Melvins 3:40 (Stag, Atlantic 1996)

During the summer after graduation, I worked as the evening produce clerk at a local Food Lion ten miles outside of town, in a tiny globule of dip spit on the map known as Verona, Virginia. I actually rather enjoyed the job; the boss had left for the day by the time I clocked in, and I usually worked alone at my own pace, never hearing any complaints as long as I got my work done. Occasionally I would have Travis, the Camaro-driving frozen food clerk as company, and we would alternate between Soundgarden’s Superunknown (1994) and Melvins’ Stag (1996) on the boombox in the backroom. Travis didn’t really care for most of Stag (admittedly, I remember forcing myself to like a lot of it) but I would always get an enthusiastic “Woo!” out of him when “The Bloat” would come on. Kudos to Atlantic for sticking with the Melvins’ bizarre, near-inaccessible weirdness for three full-lengths in the mid-’90’s.

“Scare Crow” – Ministry 8:21 (Psalm 69, Sire 1992)

The summer heat waves in Virginia can be brutal, and Psalm 69 (1992) was my therapy. “Scarecrow” is the aural equivalent of those 100-degree days when the air is oppressive, visibility is minimal through the haze, and the concrete shimmers in the blazing sun. The chainsaw guitars stick to the skin, the bass drum pulses like a dying heartbeat, and Al Jourgensen’s heroin-nightmare vocals smolder the eardrums like hot embers. To my mother’s horror, I would wear my “Jesus Built My Hotrod” t-shirt at any public opportunity, until she dug it out of my closet one day and started using it as a dust rag. Touché, Mom.

“Tahitian Moon” – Porno for Pyros 3:47 (Good God’s Urge, Warner Bros. 1996)

Good God’s Urge (1996) was another relic from the post-graduation Food Lion era; I used to sit in my car on my dinner breaks and zone out to this record. It was one of those discs that took some time to grow on me, and I remember being initially disappointed at the lack of energy compared to the Porno’s debut, Porno for Pyros (1993). I was inexplicably dating a country girl at the time, and I would try to play “Bali Eyes” during make-outs before she would complain and promptly eject it out of the cassette deck. Our thing didn’t last long.

“Hummer” – Smashing Pumpkins 6:57 (Siamese Dream, Virgin 1993)

I can’t help but cringe at most of the Pumpkins’ music now, but “Hummer” is an exception, a fantastic guitar mini-epic that stands as the best track on Siamese Dream (1993). This song reminds me of early September, on that first day when summer’s heat and humidity pause for a brief teasing glimpse into fall, when the sky is a royal blue and it actually feels comfortable being outside. The last third of the track (at 4:30) is just heavenly – as long as one can ignore Billy Corgan’s “Do you feel/love is real” couplet.

“Born with a Tail” – Supersuckers 3:15 (Sacrilicious, Sub Pop 1995)

This one is slightly embarrassing, but at the time I remember loving it, although I was fooled into thinking that a record titled Sacrilicious (1995) couldn’t be that bad. It was rancid, and “Born with a Tail” was the only decent moment on the disc (it was also the single). Maybe it was the video, a rollicking, hyper-masculine beerfest showing Eddie Spaghetti & Co. thrashing around on the back of a pickup as it roared through the desert in a whirlwind of dust. Fortunately, the band would make amends with Must’ve Been High (1997) a few years later, but I’m still left wondering how impressionable (or high) I must’ve been to fall for this.

“No One Else” – Weezer 3:04 (Weezer, Geffen 1994)

C’mon, it’s Weezer. I don’t think I knew anyone who disliked Weezer (1994) at the time of its release, and no matter how angst-ridden, pissed-off, or doom-and-gloomy you were, this band would still manage to charm and seduce you. I used to crank this in the car on the way to practice with a band in a garage across town, and it was usually the best part of going to rehearsal. In retrospect, it’s the production that’s most notable for me personally, and I don’t think its streamlined, sugary crunch has aged a bit.

Yesterday at work, in the midst of our daily lamentation on the state of modern music, Duff said something to the effect of, “Bands shouldn’t become famous because of cover songs.” I agreed wholeheartedly, but there are always exceptions to the rule, and I thought of a great little 7” I picked up at the undergroundhiphop.com store a few weeks ago. The band is called El Michels Affair, a retro-funk outfit from Brooklyn that specializes in authentic reproductions of classic Wu-Tang backing tracks in addition to their own original material. Occasionally I’ll purchase a record I know absolutely nothing about and based purely on aesthetics alone; this was one of those purchases, and I was delighted when I played it back and heard what was contained within its grooves.

Before I proceed, I should be clear on something: the last – and I mean absolutely last – thing the world could benefit from is a soulless group of mediocre white musicians who happened to pick up a copy of Herbie Hancock’s Headhunters (1974), had the subsequent “revelation,” and decided to bring “da funk” in the form of obnoxious twenty-plus minute jams. That’s not the case with El Michels Affair. The nine-piece group was formed in 2003 by pianist/organist Leon Michels, who had been working with Phillip Lehman’s Soul Fire label up until then. Although information on the web about the group is scarce, Michels formed his own imprint, Truth and Soul, and the band released an incredibly solid debut last year titled Sounding Out the City (2005) (which can also be found at eMusic).

In contrast to the aforementioned funk collectives, for whom the phrase, “Okay, that’s enough” is meaningless, El Michels Affair present their original material as instrumental backing tracks where the songs are short, the grooves are tight, and solos are kept to a minimum. The nearest comparison would be Isaac Hayes’ Movement from the early 70’s, but more refined, with not quite the amount of gritty, southern-fried funk. As impressive as the band is, the production is what’s mind-blowing: a warm, slightly reverbed, tube-compressed sound that could have originated from the vaults of the Stax studios circa 1972. It sounds so good.

Recently the group has been working with Raekwon and other members of the Wu-Tang to provide live support and interpretations of the classic Wu bangers. I’ve heard bands attempt to recreate the fiery groove and delicate piano lines of “C.R.E.A.M.” without much success, but El Michels Affair pulls it off here triumphantly.

“C.R.E.A.M.” – El Michels Affair 2:51 (Shaolin Series Vol. 1, Truth and Soul 2006)

I would have never imagined a group being able to reproduce the sinister claustrophobia of “Glaciers of Ice” from Rae’s classic Only Built 4 Cuban Linx (1995), but El Michels Affair somehow manage to capture the feel and spirit of the original perfectly, right down to the delayed drum intro and those menacing horns.

“Glaciers of Ice” – El Michels Affair 3:24 (Shaolin Series Vol. 1, Truth and Soul 2006)

At the SXSW festival back in March, the group teamed up with Rae, the GZA, Inspectah Deck, and U-God at Stubbs Barbeque for an energetic and unique performance. (Rae: “It’s like Woodstock, only this is Hoodstock.”) I don’t think this is the actual show, but a great live recording of the El Michels/Wu-Tang dynamic can be found here.

Like many of their peers in R&B, the 80’s were not kind to Earth, Wind & Fire; I Am would be their last great album. The hangover from disco was brutal, drastically changing the way records were made: players were replaced by machines, songwriters were replaced by producers. The group did their best to avoid this plague of cold, mechanized soul music, but sadly, eventually succumbed by the middle of the decade. Faces (1980) was the first indication of a dip in quality, a sprawling, overambitious double-LP that failed to go platinum, which hadn’t happened since the early 70’s. The two singles culled from the record weren’t chart-toppers by any means (though “And Love Goes On” was a minor success), and while Faces is eminently listenable, it’s not particularly memorable as a whole. Longtime fans were turned off by the slick production and found it a chore to sit through, but in meager doses the album admittedly has a few great tunes to offer.

“Turn It Into Something Good” is almost shocking in its message of positivity, an uplifting, heartfelt pep talk with a chorus that hilariously dates itself from the start:

Turn it into something good
Remember you can choose not to lose
Find your groove and be a winner

Remember, this is back in the era when calling someone a “winner” was the highest form of flattery. The track doesn’t skimp on the funk, however, or the hooks for that matter. Verdine contributes a remarkably fluid bassline, and one is almost taken aback by Philip’s multi-tracked enthusiasm here. Listen closely to the guitar in the right channel executing some impressive licks, and could almost be another percussion instrument altogether.

“Turn It Into Something Good” – Earth, Wind & Fire 3:54 (Faces, Columbia 1980)

Maurice was reportedly upset at the lack of label promotion and public response to Faces and made a conscious attempt to reconnect with his audience on Raise! (1981). “Let’s Groove,” was a million-selling single and was the band’s last successful hit, but most found the remainder of the album pretty miserable, the band’s warm funk replaced by digitized sterility. “My Love” was one of the few standouts with contributing vocals by Wanda Vaughn (of The Emotions) and a sensual midnight groove.

“My Love” – Earth, Wind & Fire 4:35 (Raise!, Columbia 1981)

The band toured for most of 1982, translating - somewhat tellingly - very little of their recent material to the stage. Maurice, delaying the inevitable downfall, released three singles from 1983’s Powerlight, one of them being the excellent “Side by Side.” The album fared better than the dismal Raise!, but not by much. Working again with Wanda Vaughn (who contributes vocals and leads the gospel choir here), “Side by Side” doesn’t deviate from the squelchy synth bass and glassy keys formula, but adds steel drums for a nice touch, and I love the horn triplets just before the chorus. Despite the dated production, it’s actually a catchy and well-crafted song.

“Side by Side” – Earth, Wind & Fire 5:33 (Powerlight, Columbia 1983)

Earth, Wind & Fire attempted one last time to conform with the technological tide on the disastrous Electric Universe (1984) before the group split and went their separate ways. Looking back through the band’s discography, it’s remarkable that they lasted as long as they did, and ten studio albums in ten years is no small feat. Maurice and the group’s hard work paid off when their music received a welcome renaissance of sorts in the late 90’s; subsequently, the band was inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2000. Although they’ve released a handful of mildly received albums in the past few years (The Promise (2003) and last year’s Illumination), the group is content to rehash the best of their 70’s material on stage, and who can blame them? Earth, Wind & Fire deserve every commercial and critical acclaim bestowed upon them, and their music will forever be remembered for its undeniable musicality and warm, direct message of love and spiritual enlightenment.