Dominique Dumont
Comme Ca

"Summer,

You are hot like the kisses I have lost,

You are full of a love that has passed,

That my heart would like to erase.

I hate summer."

BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

I Don't Hate Summer.

I like ice creams too much. But what are limited edition ice creams? Why hurt us?

I don't really like the heat of the sun, the beaches, the sand.

The warmth on the skin. The tan like a standard-issue uniform.

Creams, perfumes, coconut, aromas that just a year before were nothing but a perverse spark in the mind of the most visionary cosmetics.

Too many smiles, too many white teeth, the season of fun, a fun like a temporary short-term contract.

Expiring beauties.

Summer is a record spinning, always the same record. Only side "A."

I like this record by Dominique Dumont.

I don't love these sounds, but I like it. The magic of summer.

Digital summer, virtual waves, echoes of Stereolabian Frenchisms in floral shorts. French motifs only in my mind?

Beach electronics, synth-pop splashes bouncing off a scuba mask fogged by salty psychedelia surrounded by colorful jellyfish, sold on the beach by hapless forced smiles.

The invasion of forced smiles. Here is summer for you.

Virtual little fish, jumping and smiling at us on sound waves stirred by a rhythmic wind never too regular, mechanical and natural.

The scent of the French Riviera, not Ibiza, spreads in the fragrance of what once was saltiness.

DJ surfers torn apart by the vinyl jaws of a music that lives off summer. It feeds on summer. Less of a summer in my head.

Here's my Summer record.

Music that gives me my summer.

And let it be clear, I don't hate summer.

And let it be clear, summer not Summer.