Fall means at least two things to me: football and listening to music at a different temperature. Walking outside first thing in the morning and hearing Zola Jesus when it’s 57 degrees out is entirely different than when it’s a milky 93 degrees. (Sorry, southern California. Ya’ll got blackouts and heat waves now?). Where warm weather lifts the burden of a song, cold weather adds gravity to it. Summer songs are trickling off now, and whilst I enjoy that fiscal freedom where there’s no heat or air conditioning bills, I’m beginning to dust off those droning, foreboding bummer jams to keep me company for the winter ahead. Summery pop sounds especially frivolous against the fall breeze; everything is more serious. Even these intros, apparently.
-Jeremy D. Larson