At the intersection of sadness and ultrasadness is where you'll find my vibe for the summer of 2013. I don't own a car because I don't like to covet possessions that may someday let me down, but if I did, you would find me driving down the long, barren stretches of Philadelphia's abandoned textile mile playing “Oceanic Drift” at a barely audible level. It would be barely audible because my windows are up. I prefer air-conditioning to the smothering heat that molts beneath the East Coast's moist air. I smoke cigarettes in my car. My car that I don't have.
In my Song of the Summer bracket, I had several other songs but I had to disqualify a lot of them for reasons that now seem arbitrary or unworthy of my time to point out. The Disintegration Loops reminded me too much of September 11th. The reason that I ultimately chose “Oceanic Drift” by Australian post-modern experimental artist Lawrence English is because it reminded me of the beach. The beach is where I surrendered to the meaninglessness of existence on this earth. I listened to “Oceanic Drift” when floating on the cool, lapping waves once, and opened my eyes to find that I wasn't even on the ocean, I was in my bed and had fitfully tangled myself in my starched top sheet, the only protective covering that I sleep with. The wetness I felt was an existential wetness of spirit, nothing more.
You can stream my song of the summer below. It comes from the album Transit, which is a strong noun despite its inherent mobility.
Congratulations to Mr. English.
