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July 01, 2008
In Remembrance of June Evenings Passed (and Ones That Never Existed)...
Air France, actually from Sweden, looking actively creepy.
The summer nights this song evokes aren't actually the ones we've just lived through. There's no sense of long, slow sweat, unbearably building until the shock of a thundercrack unleashes the full weight of moisture in a relentless monsoon. Air France's June evenings are a perfect 74, with a hair-tussling breeze--but they aren't idle hammock sways at all. The persistent beats and triumphant horns are alive with possibility. When weather is that ideal, it tricks you into thinking that good fortune must be swimming inside such temperate air. It makes you hop one more cab, meet one more friend, convinced of the destiny imbedded in subsequent destinations. The girl singing here sounds half in dream, confused by the bird chirps encroaching on her magical nightlife. Or perhaps in Sweden, they party in the forest. That's not how we do it here, but clearly their summer is more whimsical than ours. Maybe that's for the best. Maybe we need the bugs and the unbearable humidity, the walks to the store that end with a soaked shirt from an angry God. If our real June evenings were as perfect as this, I don't see how we'd make it through the winter...
Posted by Jeff Klingman at July 1, 2008 11:15 AM
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Comments
well said sirs, this EP is amazing.
Posted by: butter team at July 3, 2008 10:24 PM
