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Daydream Nation: Summer Album Essentials

The clearest proof of musicians' inherent optimism may be that "summer records" are released year-round. Naturally, though, there do tend to be more of them beginning around March, and by May they're everywhere—songs start to feel either indulgently languid or especially upbeat, guitars and keyboards glow luxuriantly as if they know something you don't, vocalists bask in reverb as greedily as lizards soaking up the sun, and music fans are best advised to join them.

NYC's Music Related label knows all about dreamy indulgence, specializing in bedroom-tronic records from Japanese and Scandinavian artists that put equal emphasis on pop hooks and spaced-out creativity. Label owner Pandatone's sophomore full-length, Happy Together, may be his imprint's finest release yet. It layered, slow-burn mistiness recalls Múm's best work—most of all when graced with the impossible, bell-like tones of Julianna Warwick's voice. Those interested in the roots of such blissed-out electronic splendor should pick up the reissue of Seefeel's 1993 Quique (due Stateside mid-summer). Its programmed beats, sequenced keyboards and totally disembodied female vocals reveal an album as submerged and swoon-inducing as Loveless, and one that should be equally celebrated.

In-demand remixer Matthew Dear (also the face behind ace techno project Audion) looks to a moodier past on Asa Breed, his official follow-up to 2004's much-loved Leave Luck to Heaven. The retro keyboard atmospheres are as beautiful and bottomless as anyone's, while the cryptic lyrics express a pointed dissatisfaction with human relationships. Dear's singing recalls the angsty cool of Davids Bowie and Byrne—and many of the nervy rhythmic details could have come straight out of Brian Eno's work with either. The tone is ideal for long summer nights spent in dissipation, just as the following morning's hangover meets its musical match in Andrew Pekler's Cue—a whimsical ode to ‘60s library music that abandons song structure for a series of extremely vivid sketches, composed mostly of vintage synth and organ, with occasional appearances of thumb piano and fuzz guitar. It's warm-weather background fodder that's refreshing and fun.

A more focused example of sheer musical enjoyment, Au Revoir Simone's superb The Bird of Music comes off like a textbook marriage of the celestial escapism of Stereolab or Broadcast with conventional indie rock. It's hooky and sentimental enough to be soundtrack music, yet miraculously never feels sappy or cheap. Equally comfortable in the realm of unashamed pop is The Clientele's latest, and easily career-best, God Save the Clientele. The UK band's unflawed worship of '60s guitar-pop and forgotten (also '60s worshipping) '80s guitar-pop bands like The Razorcuts and The House of Love results in an album as familiar as your own hazy memories, and as pleasurable to lose oneself in.

Halcyon pop meets abstract folk insight on Jana Hunter's second full-length for Devendra Banhart's Gnomonsong label, There's No Home. A major advance from her debut, this self-produced and largely self-played affair features better everything: melodies, lyrics and textures. The album's slide-guitar shadings and vocal harmonies hang in the air so palpably you'll be hearing them in quiet rooms for days.

On her solo debut, Dear Companion, Espers member Meg Baird makes equally entrancing use of double-tracked vocals, but at the service of a much more traditional vision—she plays mostly standards and '70s covers, adding in a couple of fine original songs that are scarcely distinguishable from the older tunes. Baird needs little more than acoustic guitar, dulcimer, and her rich (but fallible) voice to make every song resonate with a lonely humility that finds the perfect balance between easygoing and austere. Nevertheless, I can't help wishing this one was released in August or September, as its unstudied introspection would make ideal accompaniment for the muted regret that often looms over the end of summer.

—Nate Cunningham
05.23.07