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The songs that soundtrack summer The songs that soundtrack summer
(about 1 hour later)
Like a lot of people my age, my first real memories are of the summer of 1976. We went on holiday for the first time, to a hotel in Bournemouth. The thing I most clearly remember about it is the nights when my parents would go out and leave me in the hotel room. I would lie awake, with the windows open, listening to music wafting up from what must have been a bar or a disco downstairs. Later in the evening, when the action or whatever passed for action in a three-star hotel in Bournemouth in 1976 hotted up, they'd play Don't Go Breaking My Heart and the Four Seasons' December 1963 and S-S-S-Single Bed by Fox. But it was the slow stuff they played earlier on that made a real impression on me: Heart on My Sleeve by Gallagher and Lyle, Fool to Cry by the Rolling Stones, You Are My Love by Liverpool Express. I suppose it was one of the first times that I heard music that seemed to fit the circumstances in which I heard it. No one's ever going to hold up the charts from the summer of 1976 as evidence of a truly vintage era for pop, but they were full of music that sounded as if it had been made specifically to float out of an open window on a really hot night. Alexis Petridis Alexis Petridis
Like a lot of people my age, my first real memories are of the summer of 1976. We went on holiday for the first time, to a hotel in Bournemouth. The thing I most clearly remember about it is the nights when my parents would go out and leave me in the hotel room. I would lie awake, with the windows open, listening to music wafting up from what must have been a bar or a disco downstairs. Later in the evening, when the action or whatever passed for action in a three-star hotel in Bournemouth in 1976 hotted up, they'd play Don't Go Breaking My Heart and the Four Seasons' December 1963 and S-S-S-Single Bed by Fox. But it was the slow stuff they played earlier on that made a real impression on me: Heart on My Sleeve by Gallagher and Lyle, Fool to Cry by the Rolling Stones, You Are My Love by Liverpool Express. I suppose it was one of the first times that I heard music that seemed to fit the circumstances in which I heard it. No one's ever going to hold up the charts from the summer of 1976 as evidence of a truly vintage era for pop, but they were full of music that sounded as if it had been made specifically to float out of an open window on a really hot night.
Alexis's top fiveAlexis's top five
Gayngs The Gaudy Side of Town Gayngs The Gaudy Side of TownJohn & Beverley Martyn Auntie AviatorDonna Summer LuckyThis Mortal Coil You and Your SisterRachel Sweet It's So Different Here
John & Beverley Martyn Auntie Aviator Reading on mobile? Watch here
Donna Summer Lucky Rebecca Nicholson
This Mortal Coil You and Your Sister I kept in touch with my old friend Matt through mix CDs, which we sent between London and Los Angeles every few months with letters and news. At the start of a summer I had gone to see a band called Semifinalists in a small basement club, and as we suffocated in the close heat of it all, the girl who had brought me there pulled me to her and called me her girlfriend for the first time. I put their song Show the Way on a CD and posted it to America. "You sound like you're in love," he wrote back. Show the Way starts tentatively before exploding into life; what had been an ordinary year was about to become magical. That summer was new parties with new friends, picnics that strayed into the early hours of the morning, kisses on nightbuses to a soon-to-be familiar house. Of course I was in love. The air was thick with it. I listened to that song on repeat, its sudden-stop ending catching me out every time. Love crumbled in the summer, too, years later, smothered by a chill the weather could not lift. I no longer listened to Semifinalists, a band that seemed to vanish just as they arrived. But time is a wonder. Now, in the sunshine, as I hear it again, I don't think of a girl. I think of the thrill of youth and sticky romance, and I think of making mixtapes for friends on the other side of the world.
Rachel Sweet It's So Different Here
I kept in touch with my old friend Matt through mix CDs, which we sent between London and Los Angeles every few months with letters and news. At the start of a summer I had gone to see a band called Semifinalists in a small basement club, and as we suffocated in the close heat of it all, the girl who had brought me there pulled me to her and called me her girlfriend for the first time. I put their song Show the Way on a CD and posted it to America. "You sound like you're in love," he wrote back. Show the Way starts tentatively before exploding into life; what had been an ordinary year was about to become magical. That summer was new parties with new friends, picnics that strayed into the early hours of the morning, kisses on nightbuses to a soon-to-be familiar house. Of course I was in love. The air was thick with it. I listened to that song on repeat, its sudden-stop ending catching me out every time. Love crumbled in the summer, too, years later, smothered by a chill the weather could not lift. I no longer listened to Semifinalists, a band that seemed to vanish just as they arrived. But time is a wonder. Now, in the sunshine, as I hear it again, I don't think of a girl. I think of the thrill of youth and sticky romance, and I think of making mixtapes for friends on the other side of the world. Rebecca Nicholson
Rebecca's top fiveRebecca's top five
Semifinalists Show the Way Semifinalists Show the WayGyptian Feat Nicki Minaj Hold YuhMIA GalangNatasha Bedingfield These WordsSolange Losing You
Gyptian Feat Nicki Minaj Hold Yuh Reading on mobile? Watch here
MIA Galang Michael Hann
Natasha Bedingfield These Words Summer music is not the time for bangers or anthems. It's the time for music that is a journey, not a destination. It's the sound of something slightly strung-out, hazy around the edges; the sound of the glorious tiredness of the start of a holiday, when you've been up all night to get an early flight or got up in the dark to begin your journey. I think of a sleepless night on a 24-hour coach journey across Europe to Prague in my early 20s, and dawn breaking over the Czech countryside as Draft Morning by the Byrds came on my Walkman, Roger McGuinn's gentle arpeggios heightening the almost hallucinatory feeling you get when you haven't slept for the best part of two days, without any artificial stimulant to keep you awake. Summer and music share something: the sense of promise. I think that's why they come together in the mornings for me. A summer morning, travel in store, is the most promising thing of all. More than the hot nights that blend into each other in a miasma of sweat and sleeplessness, it's the mornings that are best: when you're feeling a way through your thoughts, when the world is not yet submerging you, that's when music can make the profoundest connection.
Solange Losing You
Summer music is not the time for bangers or anthems. It's the time for music that is a journey, not a destination. It's the sound of something slightly strung-out, hazy around the edges; the sound of the glorious tiredness of the start of a holiday, when you've been up all night to get an early flight or got up in the dark to begin your journey. I think of a sleepless night on a 24-hour coach journey across Europe to Prague in my early 20s, and dawn breaking over the Czech countryside as Draft Morning by the Byrds came on my Walkman, Roger McGuinn's gentle arpeggios heightening the almost hallucinatory feeling you get when you haven't slept for the best part of two days, without any artificial stimulant to keep you awake. Summer and music share something: the sense of promise. I think that's why they come together in the mornings for me. A summer morning, travel in store, is the most promising thing of all. More than the hot nights that blend into each other in a miasma of sweat and sleeplessness, it's the mornings that are best: when you're feeling a way through your thoughts, when the world is not yet submerging you, that's when music can make the profoundest connection. Michael Hann
Michael's top fiveMichael's top five
Fred Neil The Dolphins Fred Neil The DolphinsThe Left Banke Pretty BallerinaMiracle Legion All for the BestTimmy Thomas Why Can't We Live Together?Blitzen Trapper Summer Twin
The Left Banke Pretty Ballerina Reading on mobile? Watch here
Miracle Legion All for the Best Lanre Bakare
Timmy Thomas Why Can't We Live Together? The vast majority of the music I associate with summer comes from my teenage years. It's a time when the six-week holiday gave me the chance to completely wear out a song or an album until it became deeply engrained in my subconscious. The first summery song I can really remember is Dodgy's Good Enough. It became the unofficial anthem for our under-12 football tour to Blackpool and was everywhere; from the minibus to the chip shop to the ice-cream van to the pleasure beach. It was like another member of the team, cheering us up as we took another battering (we lost every game). It has the happy-go-lucky, have-a-banana feel that seems to permeate so much "summery" music (Happy, for example, is the perfect summer song even though it came out in November). My ultimate summer song is perhaps the least summery sounding song ever: Neil Young's Everybody's Alone. One of my friends played it non-stop during what is still my favourite summer; one where I worked at a toilet factory, swam in rich people's swimming pools and generally felt like I was in a Jack Kerouac novel.
Blitzen Trapper Summer Twin
The vast majority of the music I associate with summer comes from my teenage years. It's a time when the six-week holiday gave me the chance to completely wear out a song or an album until it became deeply engrained in my subconscious. The first summery song I can really remember is Dodgy's Good Enough. It became the unofficial anthem for our under-12 football tour to Blackpool and was everywhere; from the minibus to the chip shop to the ice-cream van to the pleasure beach. It was like another member of the team, cheering us up as we took another battering (we lost every game). It has the happy-go-lucky, have-a-banana feel that seems to permeate so much "summery" music (Happy, for example, is the perfect summer song even though it came out in November). My ultimate summer song is perhaps the least summery sounding song ever: Neil Young's Everybody's Alone. One of my friends played it non-stop during what is still my favourite summer; one where I worked at a toilet factory, swam in rich people's swimming pools and generally felt like I was in a Jack Kerouac novel. Lanre Bakare
Lanre's top fiveLanre's top five
Dodgy Good Enough Dodgy Good EnoughNew Order Age of ConsentNeil Young Everybody's AlonePixies Letter to Memphis (BBC session)Massive Attack Hymn of the Big Wheel
New Order Age of Consent Reading on mobile? Watch here
Neil Young Everybody's Alone Harriet Gibsone
Pixies Letter to Memphis (BBC session) The songs on my dad's car compilations send me back to childhood summers trapped on the motorway. Every June, the Gibsones made an eight-hour pilgrimage from Essex to Edinburgh to see our extended relatives, the family Ford hurtling up the A1 like a jukebox on wheels. These meticulously crafted tapes were planned weeks in advance. To steady his nerves for the mammoth drive, Dad would ease into a mix of 50s and 60s rock'n'roll featuring Del Shannon, Bobby Vee and Buddy Holly, before the haunting girl group ballads of the Shirelles and the Crystals chimed as the first pangs of boredom set in. He specifically chose music to get lost in; we daydreamed to Roy Orbison's In Dreams and Jeff Buckley's Lilac Wine. The one band that most potently evokes these summers is Crowded House. Each of their hits is a glorious burst of melody and unexpected melancholy. I remember Four Seasons In One Day ("Worlds above and worlds below/ The sun shines on the black clouds hanging over the domain") ringing in my ears as I ate Babybels and glared at the north-of-the-border skies. These are all songs that recall not the white sand of a tropical beach but a hot, stuffy car, feeling the dull ache of a full bladder, yet happy in the gentle safety of the back seat.
Massive Attack Hymn of the Big Wheel
The songs on my dad's car compilations send me back to childhood summers trapped on the motorway. Every June, the Gibsones made an eight-hour pilgrimage from Essex to Edinburgh to see our extended relatives, the family Ford hurtling up the A1 like a jukebox on wheels. These meticulously crafted tapes were planned weeks in advance. To steady his nerves for the mammoth drive, Dad would ease into a mix of 50s and 60s rock'n'roll featuring Del Shannon, Bobby Vee and Buddy Holly, before the haunting girl group ballads of the Shirelles and the Crystals chimed as the first pangs of boredom set in. He specifically chose music to get lost in; we daydreamed to Roy Orbison's In Dreams and Jeff Buckley's Lilac Wine. The one band that most potently evokes these summers is Crowded House. Each of their hits is a glorious burst of melody and unexpected melancholy. I remember Four Seasons In One Day ("Worlds above and worlds below/ The sun shines on the black clouds hanging over the domain") ringing in my ears as I ate Babybels and glared at the north-of-the-border skies. These are all songs that recall not the white sand of a tropical beach but a hot, stuffy car, feeling the dull ache of a full bladder, yet happy in the gentle safety of the back seat. Harriet Gibsone
Harriet's top fiveHarriet's top five
Crowded House Four Seasons In One Day Crowded House Four Seasons In One DayArrested Development People EverydayRoy Orbison In DreamsMJ Cole SincereThe Cranberries Linger
Arrested Development People Everyday Reading on mobile? Watch here
Roy Orbison In Dreams Dorian Lynskey
MJ Cole Sincere I fondly remember the freedom of my last month at university. I finished my final exams before anyone else, just in time for my 21st birthday. My friends, still revising, couldn't join me until the evening, so I spent most of the day alone, reading, getting stoned and listening to Isaac Hayes. I felt weightless, as if the world had paused to allow me one exquisitely inconsequential day at the very start of summer. The rest of June was an unbroken string of parties, picnics and blissful indolence: the world has never felt so firmly on my side. For me, the quintessential summer sound is loose-limbed, unhurried and casually self-assured. It could be the sparkle and flow of the Byrds' Rickenbackers, the golden glow of a soul horn section, the lazy swagger of West Coast hip-hop or the leisurely extravagance of Isaac Hayes's cover versions, which feel like they could roll on for ever. If the lyrics are a litany of simple pleasures, like the classic Summertime by Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince, then that's even better. In that song's final verse, the Fresh Prince evokes a strange sense of pre-nostalgia, as if on an idyllic summer's day part of you is already looking back on the moment you're enjoying, recognising that ideals are elusive and life is rarely cloudless, but that occasionally it can be as simple and perfect as a pop song.
The Cranberries Linger
I fondly remember the freedom of my last month at university. I finished my final exams before anyone else, just in time for my 21st birthday. My friends, still revising, couldn't join me until the evening, so I spent most of the day alone, reading, getting stoned and listening to Isaac Hayes. I felt weightless, as if the world had paused to allow me one exquisitely inconsequential day at the very start of summer. The rest of June was an unbroken string of parties, picnics and blissful indolence: the world has never felt so firmly on my side. For me, the quintessential summer sound is loose-limbed, unhurried and casually self-assured. It could be the sparkle and flow of the Byrds' Rickenbackers, the golden glow of a soul horn section, the lazy swagger of West Coast hip-hop or the leisurely extravagance of Isaac Hayes's cover versions, which feel like they could roll on for ever. If the lyrics are a litany of simple pleasures, like the classic Summertime by Jazzy Jeff & the Fresh Prince, then that's even better. In that song's final verse, the Fresh Prince evokes a strange sense of pre-nostalgia, as if on an idyllic summer's day part of you is already looking back on the moment you're enjoying, recognising that ideals are elusive and life is rarely cloudless, but that occasionally it can be as simple and perfect as a pop song. Dorian Lynksey
Dorian's top fiveDorian's top five
Sly & the Family Stone Hot Fun in the Summertime Sly & the Family Stone Hot Fun in the SummertimeMarlena Shaw California SoulIce Cube It Was a Good DaySaint Etienne London Belongs to MeThe Zombies Beechwood Park
Marlena Shaw California Soul Reading on mobile? Watch here
Ice Cube It Was a Good Day Erica Jeal
Saint Etienne London Belongs to Me Pop music has the in-the-moment summer experience pretty much sewn up: the Beach Boys, George Harrison and whatever is this year's Get Lucky should cover it. Chasing that same feeling in classical music is more subjective, and isn't helped by the fact that classical composers have tended to treat spring as the happy season and summer as something more complicated. As a child listening to Vivaldi's Four Seasons I could never understand why Summer was all ferocious storms; even Winter had a pretty tune. Didn't Vivaldi know how great the long school holidays were? But then, summer days were longer and sunnier in my childhood, as I expect they were in yours. Nostalgia translates well into orchestral song: it drives Samuel Barber's Knoxville: Summer of 1915, in which a soprano sings James Agee's words remembering a long-ago boyhood evening. Indeed, something about a solo female voice glancing off full orchestra lends itself to conjuring heat and light: Berlioz harnessed this in Les Nuits d'été, and Ravel's Shéhérazade is full of it. Spain-obsessed Ravel is perhaps the most reliable composer for a summery glow: he will have you mixing sangria in your kitchen before you can stop yourself.
The Zombies Beechwood Park
Pop music has the in-the-moment summer experience pretty much sewn up: the Beach Boys, George Harrison and whatever is this year's Get Lucky should cover it. Chasing that same feeling in classical music is more subjective, and isn't helped by the fact that classical composers have tended to treat spring as the happy season and summer as something more complicated. As a child listening to Vivaldi's Four Seasons I could never understand why Summer was all ferocious storms; even Winter had a pretty tune. Didn't Vivaldi know how great the long school holidays were? But then, summer days were longer and sunnier in my childhood, as I expect they were in yours. Nostalgia translates well into orchestral song: it drives Samuel Barber's Knoxville: Summer of 1915, in which a soprano sings James Agee's words remembering a long-ago boyhood evening. Indeed, something about a solo female voice glancing off full orchestra lends itself to conjuring heat and light: Berlioz harnessed this in Les Nuits d'été, and Ravel's Shéhérazade is full of it. Spain-obsessed Ravel is perhaps the most reliable composer for a summery glow: he will have you mixing sangria in your kitchen before you can stop yourself. Erica Jeal
Erica's top fiveErica's top five
Barber Knoxville: Summer of 1915 Barber Knoxville: Summer of 1915Ravel ShéhérazadeSchubert Piano Quintet in A major, "The Trout"Dvorák Symphony No 8 in G majorTippett Concerto for Double String Orchestra
Ravel Shéhérazade Reading on mobile? Watch here
Schubert Piano Quintet in A major, "The Trout" Alex Macpherson
Dvorák Symphony No 8 in G major The best summer jams evoke specific sensual experiences. Sometimes they're tied to actual memories. A history of parties, festivals and friends stretching back years could be told via the music that brought us together: sharing headphones to listen to Dizzee Rascal on the tube, dancing to Tomas Andersson at afterparties, Bunji Garlin constantly hoving into earshot at carnival. To emphasise nostalgia is to miss the point of summer, though, which demands your attention here and now – especially living in a country where you never know how brief its window will be. Many of the idealised visions elicited by summer jams aren't so much memories of events that never happened quite like that, but pure, sensory anticipation for what could be imminent. Some are communal: roof terrace parties with soundsystems blaring, rum cocktail in hand and sweat pouring down my back as the crowd reacts to the biggest tunes with the dance moves they deserve. But summer is also a wonderful time to be solo: to drift through the city, shielded by sunglasses and dazed by the sun, wrapped up in thoughts and feelings but contentedly so, because right now is the best time to be alive. My very favourite summer jams aren't necessarily party anthems, but gently drifting songs which convey real intensity of feeling via a casual, relaxed shrug.
Tippett Concerto for Double String Orchestra
The best summer jams evoke specific sensual experiences. Sometimes they're tied to actual memories. A history of parties, festivals and friends stretching back years could be told via the music that brought us together: sharing headphones to listen to Dizzee Rascal on the tube, dancing to Tomas Andersson at afterparties, Bunji Garlin constantly hoving into earshot at carnival. To emphasise nostalgia is to miss the point of summer, though, which demands your attention here and now – especially living in a country where you never know how brief its window will be. Many of the idealised visions elicited by summer jams aren't so much memories of events that never happened quite like that, but pure, sensory anticipation for what could be imminent. Some are communal: roof terrace parties with soundsystems blaring, rum cocktail in hand and sweat pouring down my back as the crowd reacts to the biggest tunes with the dance moves they deserve. But summer is also a wonderful time to be solo: to drift through the city, shielded by sunglasses and dazed by the sun, wrapped up in thoughts and feelings but contentedly so, because right now is the best time to be alive. My very favourite summer jams aren't necessarily party anthems, but gently drifting songs which convey real intensity of feeling via a casual, relaxed shrug. Alex Macpherson
Alex's top fiveAlex's top five
NORE Feat Nina Sky & Daddy Yankee Oye Mi Canto NORE Feat Nina Sky & Daddy Yankee Oye Mi CantoCrazy Cousinz Feat Kyla Do You MindLumidee Never Leave You (Uh Oooh, Uh Oooh)Ciara EchoVistoso Bosses Delirious
Crazy Cousinz Feat Kyla Do You Mind Reading on mobile? Watch here
Lumidee Never Leave You (Uh Oooh, Uh Oooh) Kate Hutchinson
Ciara Echo During the summer of 1999, I really wanted to close my eyes and wake up in an American high school. I was 13, three of the most important US teen movies ever She's All That, Never Been Kissed and 10 Things I Hate About You had come out in the cinema, and the allure of prom nights and out-of-control Hollywood house parties had reached the Medway suburbs. The school break, it seemed, was for hooking up with bad boys with frosted tips and tinted wraparound shades who drove vintage Chevrolets. It was for taking a pick-up truck with your girlfriends to the beach. It was for, I'll be honest, listening to bands like Sugar Ray and Smash Mouth. Their tracks Every Morning and All Star preempted a string of breezy alt-pop songs often with dodgy rap bits that appeared to encapsulate Californian funtimes and make growing up anywhere else seem bollocks. The best of these was Len's Steal My Sunshine which, incidentally, is being re-released this week. It was the perfect soundtrack to lazing around in braided bun bunches and, with its lyrics about something that "impaired my tribal lunar speak", probably getting seriously baked. Sweeter was Sixpence None the Richer's swooning Kiss Me, which rang out as sensitive frat boy Freddie Prinze Jr snogged Rachael Leigh Cook and gave hope to nerdy girls everywhere. And by late-summer, there was Bran Van 3000's sombre Drinking In LA, which, I imagined, represented the flailing feeling after graduation when you're not sure what to do next; in other words, getting so drunk you can't see your face.
Vistoso Bosses Delirious
During the summer of 1999, I really wanted to close my eyes and wake up in an American high school. I was 13, three of the most important US teen movies ever She's All That, Never Been Kissed and 10 Things I Hate About You had come out in the cinema, and the allure of prom nights and out-of-control Hollywood house parties had reached the Medway suburbs. The school break, it seemed, was for hooking up with bad boys with frosted tips and tinted wraparound shades who drove vintage Chevrolets. It was for taking a pick-up truck with your girlfriends to the beach. It was for, I'll be honest, listening to bands like Sugar Ray and Smash Mouth. Their tracks Every Morning and All Star preempted a string of breezy alt-pop songs often with dodgy rap bits that appeared to encapsulate Californian funtimes and make growing up anywhere else seem bollocks. The best of these was Len's Steal My Sunshine which, incidentally, is being re-released this week. It was the perfect soundtrack to lazing around in braided bun bunches and, with its lyrics about something that "impaired my tribal lunar speak", probably getting seriously baked. Sweeter was Sixpence None the Richer's swooning Kiss Me, which rang out as sensitive frat boy Freddie Prinze Jr snogged Rachael Leigh Cook and gave hope to nerdy girls everywhere. And by late-summer, there was Bran Van 3000's sombre Drinking In LA, which, I imagined, represented the flailing feeling after graduation when you're not sure what to do next; in other words, getting so drunk you can't see your face. Kate Hutchinson
Kate's top fiveKate's top five
The Wannadies You And Me Song The Wannadies You And Me SongThe Cardigans LovefoolOMC How BizarreLen Steal My SunshineSixpence None The Richer Kiss Me
The Cardigans Lovefool Reading on mobile? Watch here
OMC How Bizarre Nosheen Iqbal
Len Steal My Sunshine Nostalgia doesn't get a look-in in the autumn – too many new albums being churned out – but high summer is a different ballgame. For one, I reckon it's the only legit time to play one song on repeat to its tragic death (my preferred default position). Mainly though, it's the season of friendship. Endless Mariah Carey – Fantasy, Dreamlover, #Beautiful – on holiday; it's the opening bars of All My Friends at the fag-end of all-nighters before squinting home in the sunshine; it's the stupid grin I have every time I hear Robot Rock and remember my friend Tom, desperately needing a wee but trying to dance, when Daft Punk finally came onstage at Hyde Park in 2007. Summer is also the time when living in London is at its most ideal: the city looks and feels much better when you're walking through it all the time with your headphones on, or driving back in after a weekend in your hometown, having mastered the ideal playlist for Sunday at sunset on the M11.
Sixpence None The Richer Kiss Me
Nostalgia doesn't get a look-in in the autumn – too many new albums being churned out – but high summer is a different ballgame. For one, I reckon it's the only legit time to play one song on repeat to its tragic death (my preferred default position). Mainly though, it's the season of friendship. Endless Mariah Carey – Fantasy, Dreamlover, #Beautiful – on holiday; it's the opening bars of All My Friends at the fag-end of all-nighters before squinting home in the sunshine; it's the stupid grin I have every time I hear Robot Rock and remember my friend Tom, desperately needing a wee but trying to dance, when Daft Punk finally came onstage at Hyde Park in 2007. Summer is also the time when living in London is at its most ideal: the city looks and feels much better when you're walking through it all the time with your headphones on, or driving back in after a weekend in your hometown, having mastered the ideal playlist for Sunday at sunset on the M11. Nosheen Iqbal
Nosheen's top fiveNosheen's top five
The Staple Singers Respect Yourself The Staple Singers Respect YourselfA Tribe Called Quest Bonita ApplebumMariah CareyDreamloverLCD Soundsystem All My FriendsThe Chambers Brothers Time Has Come Today
A Tribe Called Quest Bonita Applebum Reading on mobile? Watch here
Mariah CareyDreamlover
LCD Soundsystem All My Friends
The Chambers Brothers Time Has Come Today
What are the songs that soundtrack your summers? Let us know your top five in the comment thread belowWhat are the songs that soundtrack your summers? Let us know your top five in the comment thread below