what a beautiful feeling

The writing is on the wall for the Summer of 2008, "the summer that really wasn't." Already the leaves on the patio cherry tree are staring to fall, and there has been an undeniable crispness to the air these past few nights. Granted this is New England I'm talking about, so the possibility of a suffocating Indian summer shouldn't yet be dismissed, but the present vibe is leaning heavily toward "autumnal."

I suppose I could lament the passing of the season, which came and went without even registering on my consciousness, but this is the first Sunday in a month that hasn't been marked by the violent thunderstorms which have rolled across the Northeast for the past eight weeks. The skies above the highlands are currently a dazzling blue, the sun is shining through the trees out back, and if there is harvest season tang to the air, it only strengthens the urge to enjoy it while it lasts.

With that in mind, here's a mini-mix of psychdelic pop nuggets ideal for lazy Sunday lounging on the patio, fire escape, or wherever the sun is warm and the breezes are cool.

Donovan - Atlantis (from Barabajagal, 1969) - I'd be able to listen to Coast to Coast AM if sounded more like this. A ladle full of dreamy folk-rock makes the paranormal bullshit slide down easier. My question is: Did Donovan's Atlanteans blaze a trail for the little people of Stonehenge?

Tommy James & The Shondells - Crimson and Clover (7" version) (from Anthology, 1989) - Better than "Strawberry Fields Forever"? Yes, it's the greatest pop song ever recorded and nothing you or anyone else might say will change my mind.

The Byrds - Eight Miles High (from Fifth Dimension, 1966) - Maura on the twelve-string guitar wizardy -- an attempt to emulate the style of John Coltrane's saxophone playing -- employed by Roger McGuinn on this track: "It sounds like the flickering of flames." An apt description, even though she really doesn't care for the song, or psychedelia in general. (It's okay, I knew she was a no nonsense punk/pop purist when I proposed to her.)

Vacation 2008: Prologue - No real reason

My vacation has officially begun, so why am I not feeling the joy?

There has been a rushed and unreal quality about the summer of 2008 so far, and isn't due to any concrete concerns or preoccupations -- just a vague but unshakeable sensation of ennui.

The Circles - Summer Nights (from a 1979 single) - The Mod Ideal.

Sex Pistols - Holidays in the Sun (from Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols, 1977) - The Punk Reality.

the shadows ahead barely clearing the roof

Today is Labor Day, an annual holiday in honor of organized labor, but minus the creeping specter of socialism associated with May Day. Like the movement it commemorates, Labor Day has long since gotten away from its original purpose. Cut loose from its class struggle roots, it now serves as the demarcation line marking the spiritual end of the summer.

Sure, the scientists would have us believe that the season doesn't official end until the autumnal equinox on September 23, but scientists also brought us slammable yogurt and hydrogen bombs, and so should not be trusted. Astronomical calendars be damned, the seasons are as much (if not more) states of mind than hard and fast temporal divisions. When I went out onto the patio this morning, it felt like autumn, and that's what matters to me. Our cherry tree out back has already started to shed its leaves, and here and there I've noticed a few of its arboreal cousins trying to beat the rush with pre-season flashes of vermilion and orange foliage peeping through the sea of green.

It won't be that long before it turns dark before five o'clock in the evening. The cold winds will blow down from the north, carrying the of smell of wood smoke and the rattle of fallen leaves as they make the skeletal silhouettes of naked trees on the hillside sway mournfully against the violet twilight sky. The melancholy joys to be had in a New England autumn (and no more fertile ground for Halloween celebrations man be found anywhere else, I would declare) are tempered by the inescapable realization that it inevitably leads into the frost-rimed maw of the cruel beast known as the New England winter.

Crowded House - Don't Dream It's Over (from Crowded House, 1986) - Split-Up Enz? Not a bad bit of melodic pop, despite being a favorite song selection for the folks in charge of the music that gets piped in to supermarkets and department stores.

Gisela & The Spirits - The Summer Is Over (from Beat In Germany - The 60s Anthology: Ruhrgebeat, 2004) - Goethe in go-go boots.

The Dead Milkmen - Labor Day (from Death Rides a Pale Cow, 1997) - Here the band milks one joke until the udders squirt blood.