summer songs, volume 1: ray lamontagne.

On this, the hottest day of the year, let's start a little trip down memory lane to hazy days past, through the glorious lens of the songs that have defined my summers over the years.

1. For the Summer, by Ray LaMontagne and the Pariah Dogs.

Ray LaMontagne has a voice that's both smooth and gravelled, soft and bellowing. He croons. His songs make me pine for things both real and imaginary. I first heard For the Summer on the radio in December, 2010, when CBC was playing songs from their top record picks for that year. I'd been so wrapped up in my own drama over the past few months that I hadn't even bothered to seek his new album out. Yet another thing that suffers at the hand of personal turmoil--a decrease in quality of one's music library. One cold evening in my Kingston house, those opening chords played, and I thought to myself, "Is this a James Taylor cover?" It reminded me of Country Roads, and for a moment I was angry at anyone who would rip off a master. (It should probably be noted that anger as first reaction was my resting state at the end of 2010.) Anyway, that lowgrade rage disappeared when Ray's voice crooned on in, sweet and longing. "I'm tired," he sang. "Can I come home for the summer?" he asked. At a time when I had no idea where home was anymore, this song was a balm. I listened to it a million times over the next few months as I made my own way home, uncertain and unsettled, hoping that, like Ray promised, I could slow down for a little while. I moved, but I wasn't entirely convinced that home was actually home. I missed my people, my life, my old world. I soldiered on, but I didn't really slow down.

Last August, I saw Ray LaMontagne play at the Harvest Picnic in Dundas, an incredible day-long festival at Christie Conservation Area. My best friend Freya and her family came down for the occasion, mostly to see Gord Downie (Freya's husband Greg would probably go to an antique car rally in a parking lot in Denbigh if Gord Downie was playing). The actual process of getting to Harvest Picnic was a horrifying, hilarious-in-hindsight sort of affair. It included a visit from the emergency plumbers ("the 600-dollar flush," as Greg put it), a trip to the emergency room (the elbows of toddlers are shockingly easy to dislocate), a dinged up truck (to protect the victims I shall not elaborate), and a baby who cried all the way to the picnic. When we finally got ourselves through the gates and opened up the first tailgate tall cans that afternoon, the whole lot of us breathed a collective sigh of relief. The day improved significantly after that.

Ray didn't go on till after dark. I'd never heard him live before, and he didn't disappoint. He had a quiet presence on stage, and his voice was as beautiful live as it is on his records. He opened with a solo song (I forget which), and then the Pariah Dogs joined him for the next number. As he played the beginning of For The Summer, I felt my whole body get warm, my heart nearly beating out of my chest, butterflies in my belly. I looked around as he sang, and I saw the park I used to visit as a child, the lake I swam in every summer. I saw my best friends in the world at my side, and their babies sleeping tight on the blanket nearby. I saw the moon rising over the countryside on the edge of my city. I realized then that I was home, for the summer and forever. "Have I been away so long?" Ray asked. What a difference a few months can make.