I’m ready for Beyoncé’s summer for parties

Is it just me, or is summer ripening nicely? There’s something about the heat and that first breeze that just slaps – and around this time of year, it starts pounding like a drum from four to the floor. You start salting for the sea. Panic over your spoken Greek. You start wearing shoes that you don’t have to bend down to put on. People are still a bit in favor of summer bodies, of course, but the great amnesty of Peloton after Mr. Biga unfortunate death put an end to many regimes. So loosen your belt a bit and enjoy the daylight. Yes, summer days are great — but, oh that summer night.

Summer nights are drugs. It could be thick. Wet and coconut. Everything is sticky to the touch, like lip gloss. And as soon as the sun goes down, it’s usually “Macarena” that spins in my head – but pop lioness Beyonce made a decent offer for a summer song with “Break My Soul”. The carefully thought-out presentation seemed refreshing in itself, as we had a fair warning of the fall instead of her newer tactic of a sudden (and somewhat stressful) cavalcade of a zillion songs and videos. There is purity in “Break My Soul” as a standalone, multiple bite of the upcoming album.

Summer bops come in all shapes and sizes. (I’m still spinning from the song “One Kiss” by Dua Lipe, tbh.) In the years to come, they will capture the taste of that specific summer in your memory. I’m not a music writer, but I love bops, clean and simple, and Beyoncé’s latest song is bop, clean and simple. A band of medium tempo pours the hot sauce from the anthem of the house over our sunlit tricks. It’s been so long since we took a sip Lemonadeand “Break My Soul” is crazy for ages, whether you remember House of Deréon or not.

Speaking of which, we are experiencing something like a summer backwards, returning to the musical goliaths of the past. Beyonce tried out for the certified singer from the 1990s “Show Me Love”. Thanks for Stranger Things, essentially British and truly fantastic music madman Kate Bush is at the top of the charts after a 40-year vacation. (I prefer the Placebo version of “Running Up That Hill,” but I’m splitting up here.) Justin Timberlake is back on stage in Washington, DC, even if his attempt at a “beat ya feet” dance was more like an Irish dance on a river than the movements he intended to recreate. There is a pleasant familiarity and a sense of something soothing in the not-so-new news of these faces (and voices) as they return.

We are entering a crazy season — a period in which relentless cycles of news rest like fresh breasts from the oven in favor of summer mischief — and there is nothing stupider than dancing. These newly created bops help us facilitate these procedures. Becoming a choir of limbs while the music beats is liberation. So accept the looseness of it all. Let it go a little. Allow the heat to lighten your handles so the gates can open. (Of course, without opening the door completely.) After a few astonishingly soft summers – without disinfection and harassment – this becomes difficult. I hope you are ready.

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