Memorial Day week-end!  Fire up the grill, break out the bathing suits and slather on the sunscreen, right? And what kick-off week-end to summer would be complete without some bass thumping beats coming out of the speakers?

Too bad I haven’t found one yet.  SN: When you’re running carpool five most of the week, it’s hard to get the windows rattling to “Witchdoctor” by Alvin and the Chipmunks on Kid’s Place Live.

There’s always one song that sets the tone for the entire summer.   Last summer, you go couldn’t go more than three minutes without having Katy Perry’s “California Gurls” reach your eardrums from some venue.  Grocery stores, malls, sporty rag top convertibles flying down the street: all of them had Mrs. Russell Brand on repeat.

Some may argue the qualifications of a summer anthem.  Was it on the Billboard Hot 100?  Is it constantly on the radio, and by constantly, I mean, you hear it so much, the commercials are a welcome distraction to the repetitiveness of the verses. Did they sing it on Glee?   I’m going with the latter, but in truth, it’s all relative. My song of summer is usually one or two that unwittingly become the soundtrack to significant experiences of my life at that time.

For instance, summer of 1996?  I had just graduated from high school, my toes curling on the edge of adulthood.  I graduated on a Saturday and moved to Massachusetts that Sunday. Really, those highly anticipated eight weeks between senior cut days and the freshmen fifteen, the time in a young persons life that John Hughes made a career out of, I was packing and unpacking. I was following my father’s car up 95, paying tolls, and gliding down the Merritt Parkway.  The highway sign welcoming us into Massachusetts hung from an overpass just past the Rhode Island border.  When my co-pilot mother and I drove underneath it, we both said, “Oh shit.”  No Doubt was killing the airwaves with “Don’t Speak” and Tony Kanal was kissing himself for breaking up with Gwen Stefani, laughing all the way to the bank.

Fast forward to summer of 2000.  Nelly Furtado was like a bird and had us turning out the lights day after day. I remember riding shot-gun in my friend Hannah’s bread box of a Chevrolet, windows down and our hands diving and rising through the air as we left work for parts unknown.  That summer was so rich, so full of foolishness and great music.  My recollection of driving around, inhaling my future into my powerfully young lungs is still so sharp.  You know how a dog looks when they’ve got their head out the window of a speedily moving car? Wind in the face, tongue lolling back, canine equivalent of a big ass smile on their face? Yeah. . .that was that summer for me with Nelly Furtado on vocals.

Last summer, I’ll admit, I got caught up on the groundswell that was the “California Gurls” phenomenon.  It was catchy, it was bubble-gum, and beat heavy.  It didn’t require anything of me except nodding my head along in all the right places.  Certainly, by the time August rolled around,  the first notes floating through the radio had me flicking through stations so fast, the knob came off in my hand.

Here we are, on the cusp of Summer of 2011.  I recently re-discovered Amy Winhouse’s  “Tears Dry on their Own” which lead me to Adele’s “Rollin’ in the Deep” and “Far Away” by Marsha Ambrosius.  Definitely avail yourself.  I know it came out way before summer, but “What’s My Name” by Rihanna has potential with that beat, that simmer. Based on TV and radio play, it’s looking like Beyonce is in the lead with “Run the World“, but Lady Gaga’s little monsters may push their Fame Monster into the lead.

Truthfully, I’m kind tired of those three broads.  That’s okay, though. The summer is young and there are many, many stations on the radio.