Artist colonies are mysterious places. Available only to a select few, supposedly teeming with alcohol, affairs, and creative hoodoo. But the rumors aren’t true—they just lack detail. Scenes and lessons from three residencies.
Each summer, certain songs are unofficially recognized as those that fill dance floors, roll down windows, and in general get this party started. Our staff and readers recall the best music from their best summers.
We vacation to remove ourselves from our everyday experience—but what satisfies the itch more: huddling in a Cold War housing block or lounging poolside at Sandals? A look at the line between far away and too far away.
June 1 dawned humid and hot. The forecast: a high of 84 degrees and possible late-day thunderstorms west of town. But forecasts—for the temperature or for a busy day of work and play—aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.
Come summer, a line is drawn between guys who doff their tops and those dressed in jacket, tie, and sneer.
It may be something in the sunscreen, but funny things happen during summer: dehydration, Lyme disease, brief romantic flings. Collected writings of love lost and won (but mostly lost).
Not stuck in the back of a station wagon, but stuck in a doldrums with cheap hot dogs, hidden popsicles, and a soulmate lost. Kevin Fanning brings the words, Reuben Stanton brings the pictures.
After a weekend of heavy research, our summer expert gives us his survey of music for surviving the heat, and your drunk friends.
You don’t have a house in the Hamptons, you don’t have a pool; hell, you don’t even have central air conditioning. Face it: The only thing that will save you this summer is a miracle, or a superhero.