The last few weeks I’ve seen postings from Platform regulars like this one and this one extolling the virtues of this fairest of seasons. Frankly, neither came close to true horror of summer. Winter might be a bully that kicks the shit out of you six months out of twelve, but at least you know where you stand with it. Summer’s just the guy who says they’re your best mate and then talks shit about you behind your back. Summer’s Lester in Casino – promises the Earth but just lets you down. Summer’s not ‘Summertime‘ by Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince or ‘Summer Breeze‘ by Isley Brothers, it’s just lies, lies, lies.
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Kyuss – Molten Universe
Typical experience: tarmac landscapes become hellish, post-apocalyptic wastelands like Mad Max in a Currys car park; blistered skin drones, staggering around in three-quarter length shorts, one palm slipped inside the waistband, cradling a sweaty ball sack, the other clutching can. Should you happen to live on the leafier sides of town, good luck with all those self-satisfied, straw hat-wearing, papoose-toting motherfuckers.
The Fall – British People In Hot Weather
Dense heat and heaving sweat? Parks filled with drunk, jobless kids who still have more money than you? Traffic jams simmering, restless and brimming with rage? Milk-curdling cunts spouting shit about Glasto and weekends in Newquay? Yep, sounds about right. With any luck, it’ll piss down on the lot.
(Disc 2) 03 – British People In Hot Weather
Guitar Wolf – Summertime Blues
The sun fucks with your head. It makes you think that everyone’s instantly fuckable and that this, in turn, increases your fuckability. Wrong. Whatever the weather, you’re just as ugly in high season as you are at sub zero. Tip: if you manage to encounter summer in a small Midlands city, try not to be one of those bastards who, at the first hint of a UV ray, immediately removes his shirt. Publicly baring an un-cooked chicken torso will not get you laid (at least not by anybody that doesn’t come stickered as ‘AIDS Bin’).
Harlem – South Of France
For most, summer = holiday. But holidays are shite: foreign countries are just places where the drugs are fake and everyone’s so much better-looking than you; dreams of sex and sun-dappled debauchery tend to end up shit, puke and piss splattered; romantic getaways can just as easily amount to you and your beloved toe-to-toe on a busy street, screaming obscenities at one another while some US tourist says “whoah, chill out, dude”. You’d rightly want to smash the smug cunt’s face in, but seeing as you’ve just turned into the worst human alive, I dare say it’d improve the experience. Holidays are shite.
Fucked Up – I Hate Summer
Summer is the reverse-Keyser Soze of UK seasons – the greatest trick it ever pulled was convincing us it exists. The main, spirit-crushing issue is that even if one manages to arrive, summers just don’t last long enough. It’s the ultimate Sisyphean blunder: you hope, save, and suffer the indignities of winter, but only spend a short time at the peak before inevitably tumbling back down into your regular malaise. Still wondering what to do with all that spare time on your hands? Have you ever considered cultivating a class-A drug habit?
The Fat Boys – The Twist (Yo Twist!) (feat. Chubby Checker)
Everyone seems to operate under the misapprehension that summer was great when you were a kid. I guess, in some ways, they’re right: you can get away with being the most obnoxious, hateful, sociopathic shit, all whilst listening to the worst music ever. I got off pretty lightly – I guess my parents liked me enough not to make me endure caravans, holiday camps or the lukewarm welcome of Rhyl. Sadly, God was not so benevolent and saw fit to have me raised during the Jive Bunny craze. As if Checker hadn’t already milked his cow dry with endless revisions of ‘The Twist’ (including ‘Let’s Twist Again [Like We Did Last Summer]’, as well as 80’s New Wave and country versions) Fat Boys beat it into a new age. I thought this was hip hop and, by extension, made me real cool. Summer had lied to me again. Ps. How fat were the Fat Boys? MC Buff Love was so fat that he died aged 28, falling off a chair and drowning in his own spit. Worth noting too that he was fined $10,000 for filming his roadie fucking a 14 year-old girl. Enjoy!
The Beach Boys – Kokomo
Firstly, Kokomo’s nowhere near Florida, Aruba, Jamaica, Bermuda, Bahama, Key Largo or Montego. It’s not even in the Atlantic ocean. It’s in Hawaii, which means Mexico gets in the way. Still, it took four men to write this: 1) Mike Love, the perma-balding, sneaky uncle B-Boy – a man responsible for this; which brings us to 2) John Philips, The Mamas & the Papas guy, who allegedly taught his daughter how to shoot-up and, for good measure, fucked her for ten years straight. Thanks daddy; 3) In comparison, Terry Melcher, son of Doris Day, was slightly more wholesome. That said, he and Dennis Wilson did piss off Charles Manson to the point that Melcher had to give up the house he rented and split. The next tenants? Roman Polanksi and his wife, Sharon Tate. Terry may just be indirectly responsible for the Helter Skelter Murders; 4) I’m not sure who the fourth guy is, but he may as well be the devil himself. This is the just kind of shit summertime expects you to put up with.
Pulp – David’s Last Summer
Okay, so you got lucky and the summer, on the whole, has been kind : you’ve been invited to a few parties, and maybe even once or twice got up close to a girl without having to be physically restrained. Well, tough shit, autumn’s on its way and they’ll all go back to doing stuff that’s 10x > whatever you’ll be doing. But, be joyful for the small mercies: you won’t have to look at fuckwits in three-quarter-length shorts for a while.
