needs an accompanying soundtrack. Margaret Atwood wrote a short story, the title of which I helpfully cannot remember, describing the preserving power between clothing and events. Gazing at, touching, the scent of, an old article of clothing (that you can’t bear to throw out) holds memories of people and emotions, transporting you to a special moment in time. The same holds with music. Music elicits wonderful memories for me. Lust, love, happiness, joy, life.
Summer feeds on sensual slices of soul. Music that can’t help but inspire. Needing to hold someone close under the hot summer sun, slip between crisp cool sheets, my legs intertwined with another, rest my head on a firm shoulder while watching the world go by from a rooftop bar or café.
These songs make me think of summer. This is my summer soundtrack.
This masterpiece needs to be loudly playing while I’m sitting in the passenger seat of a convertible! My sandaled feet on the dashboard, wind blowing through my hair, a blanket and picnic hamper in the backseat waiting to be unpacked on a secluded sandy dune…Yes.
Just the best song ever written. Full of the positivity and hope needed to shake away past regrets and disappointments. Will be played at my funeral. Best enjoyed on cool crisp sheets, a book in hand, the dying rays of the sun hitting my body, whiling away those long summer evenings.
The video has NOT aged well, BUT thankfully the song has, like a Cabernet Franc. Supremely flirty, technically delicious (the strings! Noel McKoy’s voice is smoked honey!) and undeniably sensual – “after this it will be my place, a glass of wine and we can snuggle up tight”- it is the soundtrack to an evening spent catching a sunset over the London skyline with a new lover, an exotic cocktail in hand.
As an aside, wild horses could not remove me from James Taylor’s face.
Pure perfection, happiness in a song. No more needs to be said.
Above all else, summer is lusciously camp. Men in tiny short shorts on the beach, pastel blue and baby pink shirts adorn the men of the city, miniscule summer dresses, spangled bikinis, (any type of bikini really) become de rigour, daytime cocktail meets are miraculously socially acceptable and a general sense of letting loose and expelling and inhaling pheromones becomes the norm.
We are all the girl from Ipanema for a short while.