On the majestic, bombastic sounds of the summer album...

*I wrote most of this in a one-night creative/nostalgic burst that I had earlier this spring, back when the weather first started to warm up and summertime seemed imminent. I left it behind, thinking it was unfinished, but I read it over and liked it to much not to put it up.

It happens every spring: as inevitably as the blooming of the trees, as sure as that first 60 degree day, where myself and thousands of others jump the gun, throw on shorts and a t-shirt, and roll down the windows in the car, pretending like it's May or June instead of March or April. I am speaking, of course, of my tendency to anticipate summer through music. And it always happens on nights like this: nights where a warm breeze blows through the trees, nights where the ghost of winter finally lifts, disappears, and is replaced by evocative smells and rivers of nostalgia; it happens on nights where my neighbors shoot off fireworks and scream in celebration at two in the morning, on nights where the people on the porch across the street drink beer and shout through their intoxication, and on nights where those things, for whatever reason, don't bother me, where I realize (to quote The Dangerous Summer's "I Will Stay"), "oh my God, it's almost summer."

Summer music is my favorite kind of music: I don't know why that is, but it's most certainly true. Every year, most of my favorite albums seem to drop in the summer (last year, I believe eight of my top ten came into my life between leaving school in the spring and returning in the fall); so many of my favorite songs or records recall glorious moments of summers gone by. And every year in recent memory, it hasn't felt like spring or summer until I've given some solid play time to a few key records. The most obvious is Jack's Mannequin and Everything in Transit, with its whirlwind depiction of a California summer and its power-pop aesthetic. It's a record that has served as soundtrack for a lot of important moments in my life over the past few years, and which has even served as a welcoming committee of sorts for Earth's most flawless season. This record has an interesting connection to the summers that followed my two freshman years: first, when I was fifteen years old, I was a year late to the party (Transit released the summer before), but that turned out to be okay, because the season that it did end up soundtracking instead was remarkable. I still remember long evening runs on the golf course near my house, with the sun setting over the hills and the sounds of that album blasting through my headphones. Andrew McMahon has a lot to say about being young and completely alive on Everything in Transit, and that was a theme that I related to that summer and during every single one after it. The other freshman year, the college one, included probably the most definitive experience I ever had with the album (which, for a record that had been one of my all-time favorites for four years at that point, was saying something). It was two years ago this month, and I'd just wrapped up the last exam of my first year in college. The weather was glorious, with sun streaming down from the sky and the temperature rising. And when everything was packed and I'd checked out of the dorm, I got in my car, scrolled through my iPod, and picked this album out. What followed remains one of my most fondly recalled road trips: the weather, the music, the anticipation to be going home for the entire summer, it all made me feel immortal: it was a great start to what turned out to be the best summer of my life.
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But even though it might always be the definitive summer record for me, Everything in Transit is merely one of many that fit that qualification. Perhaps the first was either Counting Crows' Hard Candy or Sister Hazel's Chasing Daylight: I don't quite recall which I snagged first, but I know for certain that both came into my life in the summer of 2004, and both were instrumental in shaping my love for music: they're still among my all-time favorites. Hard Candy has probably the best summer bookend lyrics out there: "Up All Night" and the line "we could drive out to the dunes tonight, 'cause summer's almost here" still drives my anticipation for the season to a fever pitch when the temperature starts to warm up, and the part in "Miami" that goes "the bus is running, it's time to leave/this summer's gone, so are we" transformed the song into my definitive, bittersweet end-of-summer ceremonial for years on end. But after those two came along, there were plenty more to come, and I can still hear pieces of my past in each of them: childhood memories echoing through The Wallflowers' Bringing Down the Horse and Third Eye Blind's self-titled album; a perfect family vacation in the strains of Better Than Ezra's Before the Robots; the angsty remains of my first summer with a job and a car in Safetysuit's Life Left to Go; the duality of the summer that followed my graduation, the balance between victory and uncertainty, unbridled freedom and fear of what my life would bring, and of course, day and night, represented by Mat Kearney's City of Black and White and The Dangerous Summer's Reach for the Sun; the first love that I discovered to the final two tracks of Dashboard Confessional's Dusk and Summer; and, though it seems like it was only a couple of months ago, last summer, completely encompassed in the flow of The Dangerous Summer's War Paint.

All of those records have played a massive role in my life, and each is at least partially responsible for my infatuation with this so-called "summer music," but even after getting the "soundtracks" out of the way, there has still been so much more: the boozy bombast of The Hold Steady's Boys & Girls in America,  the soaring voice of Chad Perrone, on his solo records and on Drawn to Revolving Doors with his old band Averi, which still take me back to the beginning of summer 2010; a slew of classics from last year, from the lovelorn pop symphonies of Matt Nathanson and Mat Kearney, to the dusky jams of The Damnwells' No One Listens to the Band Anymore; from the immaculate midnight atmospherics of Bon Iver's last record, all the way to Butch Walker's The Spade, which played as soundtrack for my farewell from town at the end of last summer, and will do the opposite upon my return for this one. And of course, there's Springsteen: Born to Run, which hardly left my stereo for the entire spring of my senior year of high school, soundtracked my graduation, and remained in constant rotation all summer long, and The Wild, The Innocent, The E-Street Shuffle, which is about as perfect an inaugural summer record as any I know.

When I look back at the summers of my life, I do so through the eyes of the songs that latched themselves onto moments from each and immortalized them. When I hear these records, they take me back to hundreds of reflective late night drives, to every brilliant moment spent outside in the glorious weather, enjoying the company of the people I love, and cherishing every splendid moment. I don't know what this summer will bring: I know that it could very well be one of the last I spend in my hometown, this place where I grew up and where so many amazing moments of my life have played out. If it is the last one, if a big chapter of my life ends in four months time, I can only hope that it's one of the greatest as well. And whatever record that comes along to encapsulate that? It's going to be one that I treasure for the rest of my life.

"You gave me the best mixtape I have..."

Love is a Mixtape by Rob Sheffield

Review, reflection and inspiration

     "We met on September 17, 1989. We got married on July 13, 1991. We were married for five years and ten months. Renee died on May 11, 1997, very suddenly and unexpectedly, at home with me, of a pulmonary embolism. She was thirty-one. She's buried in Pulaski County, Virginia, on the side of a hill, next to a Wal-Mart.

     As soon as Side Two cuts off, right in the middle of a terrible Belly song, I sit there and wait for the final ca-chunka. Then I flip the tape and press play again. The first song is Pavement's 'Shoot the Singer,' which I just heard an hour ago. I have some unfinished business with these tunes. I'm going to be up for awhile. Renee's not done with me yet."

Mixtapes: there’s no easier way to give a piece of yourself to another person, no simpler way of giving a person a window into your mind, your heart and your soul than by giving them a collection of songs that are important to you. And there are so many kinds of mixtapes: the retrospective soundtracks, lists of songs that were important to you at a very specific period of your life; the “I want to improve your music taste” tape, where you give your friend a collection of stuff by your favorite bands, in hopes that they’ll finally see the light; the “I want you” or “I love you” or the “break-up” tapes, tapes for every stage of a relationship. When I listen to my old mixtapes, I feel like I’ve preserved a piece of myself and my life in those songs, like it’s a time capsule for me to open up and travel back in time with, to the day I decided that Ray LaMontagne song and that Bruce Springsteen song would sound perfect back to back. When I listen to the mixtapes from the girl I love, I feel like she’s enclosed a piece of her heart in those songs, and even when we’re not together, I can put them on and feel like she’s near me. Probably the most important mixtape I have is the one she gave me the day I left for school after our first summer together, the summer we fell in love (even if we hadn’t said the words yet). Listening to the songs she put on that mix, the happy, the sad, the lovelorn, the distant, the nostalgic, it felt like a new beginning: I was confused and sad and broken, and felt like I’d just driven 150 miles away from the person I most wanted to be with, but that mix turned my eyes toward the future. Hell, when I listened to that mixtape, I knew we were going to be together for a long, long time.

Rob Sheffield knows all of this: he’s made every type of mixtape that I listed above (along with many others), and he’s heard thousands of songs become the soundtrack of his life, both as the subjects of his mixtapes and the mixtapes his late-wife Renee made for him. Those mixtapes are the basis for the story that unfolds in Sheffield’s 2007 memoir, Love is a Mixtape. Throughout the book, Sheffield chronicles his life through stories about his two great loves: music and Renee, from his early mixtaping days for the middle school dance (I've got stories of my own in that genre), to making his first mixtape for the woman who would become his wife, to soundtracking their final hours together, before she suddenly collapsed one Sunday afternoon and died in his arms; no warning, no chance to say goodbye.

As a book, Love is a Mixtape is over far too quickly, and once I reached the final page, a part of me just wanted to hit rewind, to loop the thing over and over again, or to just have it keep going, but just like Renee and Rob’s relationship, just like Renee’s life, it’s over far too soon. Sheffield is a terrific writer: as a columnist for Rolling Stone, he’s chronicled his adoration for the kind of pop music many of us (myself included) have written off time and time again, and he does that in this book, but he also gives us a window into his life, gives us a piece of his heart, like he’s mixed us the best tape of all. Sheffield’s endlessly sarcastic, self-deprecating wit lends a joyful humor to many parts of the book, from his awkward youth, to his perhaps even more awkward college days, all the way to the strange, euphoric taste of first love and then later, the ups and downs of married life: the great moments spent just driving around with his wife and singing along to songs on the radio, or of the whirlwind social life she brought him into, this shy guy who would have felt so much more at home with his records (I can definitely identify with that one), or of the stupid little fights they used to have, all of which he lost (the girl always wins…).

But Sheffield is every bit as good at painting the tragedy: the numbing shock of her “here-one-minute, gone-the-next” passing; the futility of trying to move on into a life without her; his endless nights of just sitting in the backyard, listening to mixtapes and trying to find her again in the songs; the overwhelming displays of human kindness he found himself surrounded by in the months after her death; the emptiness of things like work and bills and cooking, and how pointless they seemed to him when she was gone. The months spent eating out at restaurants, and the unbearable sadness in his prose as he describes his search for a place where he can just be alone, uninhibited by the stares of others or by the small talk of friends or acquaintances, and especially a place where the memories of the woman who was stolen from him far to soon won’t haunt his every thought. This part of the book, though it follows a hundred solid pages of smiles, laughs and happiness, is so crushingly sad, so painfully haunting, that it was hard to read at times, but it’s also completely honest, raw and powerful, and it makes the book something I don’t think I will ever forget. Some of my favorite songs of all time are songs that I find so powerful because I can feel the artist’s emotion in every word and every note, and that holds true for Sheffield’s book as well.

The mixtape really is a mythical creation: it can be such a simple thing, but when thought and love is poured into it, it becomes something so much more. I always used to think that I would never be happy unless the girl I fell in love with had great taste in music. I don’t know if that seems shallow or anything, but considering that music is one of the most important things on the planet to me, I really can’t imagine falling for someone that I didn’t feel musically compatible with, because that would probably hint at some other compatibility issues as well. One of my first favorite songs was Butch Walker’s “Mixtape*,” and it put this fantasy in my head of finding the perfect girl to make the perfect mixtape for. Luckily, I found a girl who is all of that, and even though love is, unlike Sheffield says here, so much more than just a mixtape, I honestly think the songs I’ve traded with my girlfriend have added a facet to our relationship that I wouldn’t give up for anything. Those songs have provided soundtrack for countless important moments in our relationship, expressed things we couldn’t quite say in words and, ultimately, they have brought us closer together. But like Sheffield discusses throughout the book, music builds bridges and bonds between people in so many ways, the obvious and the subtle, and just like him, it never ceases to amaze me just how many ways that can happen: I hope it never does.

*Later, by some strange coincidence, Jimmy Eat World and Jack’s Mannequin would both release songs of alarmingly similar titles. This means that three of my five all time favorite artists have written songs on the subject. There’s only one other song about mixtapes in my library. Now Bruce just needs to write one and I’ll have a conspiracy theory.

My favorite mixtape my girlfriend ever made for me, just for reference:

1. Ian Broudie – “Song For You”
2. Joshua Radin – “I’d Rather Be With You”
3. Gin Blossoms – “Hey Jealousy”
4. Hootie & the Blowfish – “Only Wanna be With You”
5. Ingrid Michaelson – “You & I”
6. David Ford – “Song For the Road”
7. Iron & Wine – “My Lady’s House”
8. Amos Lee – “Keep it Loose, Keep it Tight”
9. Aimee Mann – “Save Me”
10. The Wallflowers – “Closer to You”
11. The Weepies – “Gotta Have You”
12. Calexico and Iron & Wine – “16, Maybe Less”
13. Bell X1 – “Eve, the Apple of My Eye”
14. Grizzly Bear – “Slow Life”
15. Damien Rice – “Grey Room”
16. Ben Harper – “Waiting For You”
17. Alexi Murdoch – “Wait”
18. Switchfoot – “You”

"If you left it up to me, every day would be a holiday from real..."

Jack's Mannequin and Guster

Live at the Frederik Meijer Gardens

Grand Rapids, MI, 8/31/11

Andrew McMahon, the mind and voice behind the project Jack's Mannequin, has been one of my favorite songwriters ever since my brother bought a used copy of Something Corporate's North off Amazon at the end of 2005. I instantly loved that band's emotional brand of piano pop, with it's big hooks and McMahon's soaring vocals, and I quickly picked up their other full length, the even better Leaving Through the Window.  It wasn't until the following summer, however, when I finally checked out Everything in Transit, the first record from McMahon's side project, Jack's Mannequin. The record was born out of a few songs that McMahon had written that he felt didn't fit with the style of SoCo, so he wrote and recorded a complete, semi-autobiographical album apart from his band. That record, to this day, remains my definitive summer album and one of my top five favorites of all time, but until last night, I'd never seen McMahon live, either as a part of Jack's Mannequin or Something Corporate.

Needless to say, finally getting to see one of my favorite bands in concert was a dream come true, and the setting was nearly perfect: the last night of August at an outdoor amphitheater, on a warm night, the perfect way to close out what has been a tremendous summer. McMahon and co. were proceeded by openers Lady Danville, a talented group of musicians with vocal harmonies reminiscent of Band of Horses and a set of killer songs to boot: I hadn't heard of the band before this week, but after their excellent opening set, I will certainly be checking out their EP and watching for them in the future. 

By the time Jack's Mannequin took the stage, I was in high anticipation, and they certainly didn't disappoint. The sound quality in the amphitheater was excellent, and I knew it was going to be a great evening as soon as the synth opening of "My Racing Thoughts", the first single off of McMahon's new album People and Things (due out October 4th) echoed through the summer evening. Next was "Holiday From Real", the anthemic opening track from Everything in Transit, which started off with just McMahon on piano but quickly built into a showstopper. The slow piano lines and soft harmonies of "Annie Use Your Telescope" brought a lovely autumn vibe to the proceedings before McMahon rocketed into a pair of hook-filled, upbeat numbers ("Crashing" and "The Mixed Tape").

Next up was "Amy I", the second and last track McMahon would play from his upcoming record. The song was lovely, sounding even better in it's live setting than it's studio one, and it made me wish he'd delve a little further into his new material, since People and Things is probably my most anticipated release for the remainder of the year, but it's hard to complain with a set of songs as solid as the one the band played. "Last Straw," a b-side from the Everything in Transit sessions, was a concert highlight, and made me wonder once again why the song didn't make that first album, whereas "Swim," a track from 2008's The Glass Passenger, was one of the night's most emotional moments. "Bloodshot" was another highlight, featuring McMahon climbing on top of his piano during the song's intro, only to jump off as it exploded into it's first verse. The song, which has never been a favorite of mine on record, reached exciting new heights in it's live format, justifying it's spot on the setlist in favor of superior songs. 

 

By this point in the night, I was getting a bit restless. McMahon was giving his all onstage, but the setlist wasn't wowing me so far, and the crowd was quite possibly the worst and least responsive group of people I've ever been a part of at a concert, remaining seated in their lawn chairs despite McMahon's best efforts, and getting up to go get more beer every two or three songs. Thankfully, the end of McMahon's set was the highlight of the night: five straight songs from Everything in Transit, and finally, this concert felt like what I had hoped it would be. Hearing these songs that had defined my summers for years at the tail end of a particularly great one felt like a perfect bookend. The two-part track "Made For Each Other" went on for over ten minutes, but not a single one of those was wasted. The song, which functions as the penultimate track on Everything in Transit, used to be my least favorite song on the record, but has grown on me immensely over the years, from the supremely catchy first half to the more subdued "You Can Breathe" section that leads the song out. The segue into the second half also supplied McMahon's best piano playing of the night: the man has a terrific songwriting talent and has a great voice (proven even more so in a live setting), but his piano playing has always been the thing about his musicianship that has set him apart from so many other "pop-punk" or pop-rock bands, and that held true last night, especially on this song.

McMahon forgot the intro and the first words to "Bruised," but recovered in time to deliver the enormous chorus, still one his best, which rang through the theater like almost nothing else did all night. Afterward, he wondered aloud how he could forget the words to a song that he's played "almost every night of his life for the past six years." It didn't matter though, as the gorgeous "Rescued" came next. That song, perhaps the most subdued ballad in his discography, is also one of his very best, and it resonated particularly well with me last night. It's always been a song I associated with the end of summers: something about that line "hiding at the bottom of your swimming pool, some September", and hearing it as the light dimmed on my one last hurrah of the season chilled me to the bone. The stadium-ready "Dark Blue" began to tie up the set, and it brought me to my feet, even if most of the audience did not extend the same courtesy to the band. That song's bridge has always been one of my favorite moments of Everything in Transit, and it was certainly one of the most moving moments of the set. I expected "Dark Blue" would close out the set for Jack's Mannequin, but they remained for one more number: a rousing take on "La La Lie," where members of Lady Danville and Guster joined Andrew and his band onstage to close out the set.

***

Guster, the other co-headliner, is a band that I've known for years, ever since they had a pair of hit singles on the radio back in 2003, and I'd even seen them live before (at Interlochen during my summer there), but I can't say I've ever been a huge fan of theirs the way I am for Jack's Mannequin. Still, I was excited to see them again, and their live show was just as great as I remember it being. They took the stage with "Barrel of a Gun," a catchy track from their 1999 release (and still their best), Lost and Gone Forever. "Architects and Engineers" was the first of six cuts the band played from their latest album, Easy Wonderful, a record that I haven't given much time to yet, but one I plan to listen to a lot more after seeing this concert, as the tracks they played from it were the kind of breezy summer pop this band has been churning out for almost twenty years now. "Demons," one of the band's most well known songs, was a highlight for me, bringing back memories of when I sang it with one of my buddies at a high school back at the end of junior year. Singer Ryan Miller sounded better than I've ever heard him sound on that song, suggesting that he may have gained some vocal range since I last saw the band. "Center of Attention," another track from Lost and Gone Forever and another favorite of mine, was also a welcome addition to the set.

A breezy acoustic guitar and an eerie synth line heralded the arrival of "Satellite," a single from 2006's Ganging Up On the Sun, another great record I haven't given enough time to. The song sounded massive as it cut through the night air, and became one of my favorite moments of the concert. Another cut from Sun, the soaring closer "Hang On" marked the beginning of the best segment of the set, providing a terrific showcase for Miller's vocal prowess before launching into "Come Downstairs and Say Hello," a slow build of a song that sits among my personal favorites from the band, and the song's massive climactic moment was one of my favorite parts of any show I've seen this year. "Do You Love Me," the lead single from Easy Wonderful, has arguably one of the biggest hooks the band has ever written, and was probably the best part of their entire set: my girlfriend and I got on our feet and danced and sang along, and it felt like a perfect summer concert moment.

"Amsterdam," the band's biggest hit from the Keep it Together record from 2003, was a big crowd-pleaser: the chorus remains one of the band's best, and it's no big wonder that the song was a hit, it just makes me wonder why they haven't been able to score any big singles since that record (or why they weren't ever able to break into the mainstream before that, for that matter). "Happier," the last track from Lost that would appear in the setlist, closed the main set, and was undoubtedly a highlight, providing a showcase for the harmonies between Ryan Miller and guitarist Adam Gardner, something that was a cornerstone to the band's sound on the first few albums, but has faded with their most recent work. "Happier" sounded great though, with layered vocal lines and harmonies locking perfectly, and it made me wish for a few more old classic to make an appearance in the encore: "Two Points For Honesty" or "Either Way," perhaps. They didn't.

The band dispensed with the tradition of leaving the stage for the encore, instead opting just to dim the lights so they could switch instruments. They played through "This is How it Feels to Have a Broken Heart," another cut from their latest, where Ryan Miller put a disco ball on his head,  an exercise that seemed rather pointless, but was hilarious nonetheless. Sadly, I wasn't able to get a good picture of it. Andrew McMahon joined the band onstage for "Careful," the band's other hit from Keep it Together, playing piano and singing the choruses. He also joined them for their cover of Peter Bjorn & John's song "Young Folks," the strangest choice for a show closer I've seen at any concert I've ever attended. I was hoping that the band would play "Parachute," the title track and closer from their first album, and probably still their best song. As the band approaches the end of their summer tour, I can't figure out why the idea to play that song hasn't come up: it would be a treat for fans to hear something off the debut (which almost never gets any representation in their live sets), and would work perfectly as an end-of-summer closing track. It would have worked particularly well in the outdoor environment the band was presented with last night, but alas, I was left feeling a little unsatisfied by their encore.

Guster is a band known for their live shows, and despite my gripes over their set encore, it's not at all hard to see why: Miller is a great singer and a charismatic frontman, while Gardner and Luke Reynolds (who recently joined the band) are both multi-instrumentalists who augmented the band's songs with everything from banjo to trumpet last night. And then of course there's drummer Brian Rosenworcel, who's always fun to watch, if only because he plays most of the band's songs with his bare hands. And on top of all of that, the band has six good to great albums to draw material from: it's no wonder that they have so many die hard fans. On the other hand, Jack's Mannequin is essentially Andrew McMahon, who's prowess and a singer, songwriter, frontman and pianist makes the music, and all though he didn't have many die-hard fans in the audience last night, he still, in my opinion, put on the better show. In my perfect world, Guster would have gone first and Jack's Mannequin would have closed things out (and gotten to do a few more songs), but that's a small complaint for what was a great evening of music. Either way, I'm glad I finally got to see Jack's Mannequin, and I'm glad it was with a pair of acts as good as Lady Danville and Guster. Bring on that new album, Andrew.

 

People and Things drops on October 4th.

Jack's Mannequin


1. My Racing Thoughts
2. Holiday From Real
3. Annie Use Your Telescope
4. Crashing
5. The Mixed Tape
6. Amy, I
7. Last Straw
8. Swim
9. Bloodshot
10. Made For Each Other/You Can Breathe
11. Bruised
12. Rescued
13. Dark Blue
14. La La Lie

Guster
1. Barrel of a Gun
2. Architects & Engineers
3. The Captain
4.Center of Attention
5. On the Ocean
6. Airport Song
7.Satellite
8. This Could All Be Yours
9. Hang On
10. Come Downstairs and Say Hello
11. Do You Love Me
12. Ramona
13. Manifest Destiny
14. What You Call Love
15. Amsterdam
16. Happier

Encore
17. This is How it Feels to Have a Broken Heart
18. Careful
19. Young Folks (Peter Bjorn & John Cover)