Fishing

I've spent more evenings in my backyard this summer than the past few summers combined.

Call it cooler than unbearable this year. Call it a reason to inebriate a couple 100 mosquitoes. Call it a pregnant wife and her DVR schedule. Call it suburbia in your mid-thirties is exactly what it sounds like.

Out here where the ants march time narrows. Friends narrow. Opinions narrow. Fuck yous escalate in fresh family photos placed over memories of a more memorable you.

This summer seems about survival and I have never been able to endure backyard activity without music. Those who can are inhospitable monsters called neighbors.

I see 'em through the fences grilling their sausage in silence. Watering weeds in polo shirts and pleated shorts. Yelling at their kids for asking to play catch. They're disgusting pigs. The only thing worse than their inactivity is the all-American brand of dog shit music they would play had they any spirit at all.

The whole scene makes me want to pack my family on the first flight anywhere to erase the listlessness from my kid's conscience before he tunes in then tunes out for good.

For now... I rock this new Fishing album, Shy Glow, every night that we're out back. I don't know dick about this duo besides they're Australian and Aussies are happy as shit and this shit makes me happy.

This music comes from a place where people don't have the incentive nor means to shoot the shit out of their neighbors. It sounds like a neighborhood alive at night for all the right reasons. It sounds like home.