Summer Days

Wintry rain is lashing against the windows and the forecast is for blizzard-like conditions with gale force winds. Still, Summer Days was written about Japan rather than NZ, so late June is exactly the time to write this post. As a friend of mine said on Facebook the other day that rainy season was over, meaning that "swamp butt season" had arrived in Japan.  I leave you to reach your own conclusions about exactly he meant but let's just say that the heat and humidity makes it difficult to sit down for long periods.

As it turns out this is the track that receives the most plays on my bandcamp and soundcloud pages. And it is the only tune I chose to put on both my solo albums, so there must be something about it in my mind too. Actually I think of it as one of my simpler tunes, given that it's about, um, summer days. Like many of the other tunes on the Barry Starr concept album, the liner notes by his estranged vibraphonist (hey! - spell checker recognised that word) contain a lot of truth. The opening line - "come on down and sit around some" - was intended to evoke a sense of homely southern hospitality and the Maori-strum a sense of sitting around the barbecue with the acoustic, half-remembering the words to sing-along classics.

But the song is predominantly a homage to summer evenings hosted by our friend Jason, where we annoyed the honest folk in a quiet corner of our Japanese city by drinking and playing music into the wee hours. The garden we hung out in was probably about the size of two car parks, as evidenced by the little circle here.

Again, as suggested by Barry Starr's biographer, the middle ‘rap’ sequence is "made up of actual lines, debates and proclamations verbatim from the barbecues." But actually that's true of all the lyrics, which were inspired by the events of a time I remember with a lot of fondness. Debates about when the meat was cooked to prefection, people getting pissed (in both British and US senses of the term), people who were always really late, mostly because they were getting stoned, debates about whether REM were overrated and ghost stories - you name it. I am still incredulous that anyone could think Andie Macdowall was all that. Each to their own, of course. I particularly remember the ghost stories told by a Canadian guy with first nation ancestry about (if I recall correctly) things he saw the spirit of his grandmother doing in their house, like folding the washing. He was quite convincing and I really felt like he was telling the truth. He was also an alcoholic, of course.

PS The very observant will notice that the Barry Starr version is slightly faster than the Me for a Day Version, sped up by 8% to make it a little more pacey.