To paraphrase the (not so young) Shawn Carter, I just read a magazine that effed up my day.
A few days ago, Time.com published a post with an intriguing headline: “The ‘Song of the Summer’ Is Dead. Thank God for That.”
It was quite the coincidence, since I was just lamenting to my wife that it’s Memorial Day weekend and no clear contender for the annual Song of the Summer, that ever-present hit that will be the staple of every summertime event.
Well, if you believe writer Taylor Crumpton, that concept is a thing of the past:
“With the absence of music video programs, such as Total Request Live and 106 & Park, and the decline in relevance of televised award shows, like the MTV Video Music Awards, the idea of a pop monoculture has not only ceased to exist but has also resulted in the loss of shared cultural touch points that connect (or sometimes, some might say, thrust upon) millions of Americans. In its stead, a fragmented culture has come to exist, thanks to the rise of the curated algorithm and our social media feeds perfectly sculpted to fit our interests and experiences.
“Yes, this has made us more—or at least feel more—disconnected. But is it all so bad? Perhaps, in the absence of the so-called “meritocracy” that once dictated culture, this abundance of choice for people to connect with music and pop culture could be a good thing.
“Maybe that’s why the Song of the Summer feels like such a dinosaur. We’ve simply grown out of it.”
No, I’m not going to do my usual evisceration of an Internet writer. Ms. Crumpton’s piece is well-written and researched. But one this is clear: I don’t think she gets it because she hasn’t lived it.
Allow an old head to take the stage.
The magic of the Song of the Summer phenomenon is how it united Black culture, despite our borders. Prior to the Internet, when music was divided into more regional experiences, there always was a song or two each season that shattered those walls down. It didn’t matter if you lived in NY or ATL or LA, DJ Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince’s “Summertime” in 1991, Warren G’s “Regulate” in 1994, or Mariah Carey’s “Honey” in 1997 united us all.
East Coast/West Coast tensions meant nothing when the G-Funk era was riding high. And even Northern hip-hop snobs couldn’t turn up their noses at Outkast’s summer Southern dominance.
Personally speaking, I grew up in Virginia and my wife is from Alabama, yet we both have extensive memories of Aaliyah’s “Are You That Somebody” in summer 1998 – whether it was her memorizing and reenacting the choreography endlessly or me hijacking the sound system at my store in the mall to play the song at work.
We lived 12 hours apart – and didn’t even know the other person existed at the time – but the magic of the Song of the Summer had us tethered together.
To the writer’s point, though, in a digital world where we’re all more connected than ever, our nostalgia rings as quaint and passe. Those borders that once divided music fans have been deleted, so what’s the point?
But allow your boy to keep it a buck – though we’re more connected than we’ve ever been, we also feel more distant than ever.
In the past two years, I’ve had two club experiences.
Yeah, yeah, I was literally the old uncle at the club – hear me out.
But I was shocked at what clubs have become. Though the music is blasting at obscene decibels, none of it seems to register. There is no dancing, no singing along to hits. Everyone is just staring at their phones, taking selfies or attempting to hook up. The music, once a selling point of our cultural experiences, has become an accessory. Literal background noise.
The Song of the Summer was a reflection of a united community. But we’re rapidly losing that community, and that’s heartbreaking.
Sure, there are still summertime moments that unify us. Last year’s war of words between Kendrick Lamar and Drake, for instance, or when stan-bases like the Beyhive get hype over a new album or tour. Fans still are intrigued by drama or gravitate toward massive events, but the actual music itself feels secondary – soulless trending audio for our reels and TikToks.
That’s what sadness me. I miss when music – the actual music, not the antics surrounding it – meant more. And few moments meant more than those summertime experience.
Near the end of her piece, the writer asks: “There has never been a universal summertime experience in America. So how can one song feel right to all of us?”
But see, that’s the power of Black music, where one song WAS powerful enough for all of us. The way Nelly screamed OHHHH before the Neptunes dropped the beat on “Hot in Herre” in 2002, or the way every club, every car stereo, every party, every human being assembled Avengers-style when those opening chords of “Back That Thang Up” were plucked in 1999 and beyond.
It didn’t matter who you were, where you were from, your tax bracket or your follower count – in those moments, we were ONE.
I get it. If music is now just an accessory for social media, then yes, the Song of the Summer concept is passe. But just last summer Sabrina Carpenter had me, a crusty hip-hop head who is more Lady of Rage than Lady Gaga, singing about “Espresso.” A few years before that, I was leaving the door open, as Silk Sonic commanded. And let’s be real, it’s just May. We’re a whole month ahead of the actual start of summer. There’s still hope, still elements of the magic of seasons gone by.
There may be a generation of fans who are ready to move beyond the magic of the one true summer hit, but I guess you can’t miss what you never had.
But if you’re paying attention to the era we now live in, we need the uniting power of music more than ever. In an world defined by division, the summer should be our solace.
Why kill the Song of the Summer? It’s what made us feel the most alive.
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