Dick Dale
Misirlou

THE REVIEW

I'm already preparing for summer. The mosquitoes and various annoying little insects, which I fear and inevitably deal with despite my love for animals, torment me and remind me that the season is changing. Under the bright, artificial light of my equally artificial room, I whistle a tune in my head and automatically think of "Pulp Fiction." And to think, when I first heard "Misirlou," I mentally connected it to the Black Eyed Peas, who had used a sample for their horrendous hit I was crazy about back in 2005!? Dick Dale's immortal guitar solo fills my ears, and I let myself be intoxicated by the unseen but so present, so real sounds. I prepare for summer this way, pretending only that guitar solo exists, and recognizing that, after all, it's worth enduring a season of tacky hits that everyone dances to, when deep down I know summer means something else and not that mass-produced trash. I imagine the surf and the early '60s and the tanned breasts and sculpted chests of Americans proud to be—and to be American—. As for me, I feel cosmopolitan and bring "Misirlou" here into my confined space, contextualizing it, setting it as the ideal backdrop to the image of a provincial public pool, where the only surfers are the little insects clinging to swimsuits inflated by water. Regarding America, a clarification is necessary: "Misirlou" is actually a Greek folk song, so dear Dick Dale himself adopted the song, like a good cosmopolitan.