I grew up by the Atlantic Ocean — 2.8 miles away, to be exact, sharing a zip code with the now extremely hip beach town of Asbury Park, NJ. I’m convinced that there is a certain unspeakable magic embedded into the wooden boardwalk that stretches the length of the shoreline, seemingly unending. I mean, there’s definitely a reason why Springsteen named an album after the place. I’ve spent countless hours frizzle-frying my skin on the beach, allowing my brain to auto-pilot while simultaneously realizing the enormity of the world surrounding me, coming to the realization that my mere existence on this planet is akin to a singular grain of sand on which I rest. Evenings were reserved for sunset strolls accompanied by Wawa-acquired snacks and the company of good friends, which served as a primitive form of therapy for me in my teen years. Some of my fondest memories exist in tandem with sticky, beer-soaked floors of The Saint, The Stone Pony, and Asbury Lanes, the smell of stale cigarette smoke accompanying the musical stylings of that evening’s local band-du-jour. The juxtaposition between the now skeletal structure of the Asbury Casino with the patinaed roof of its Beaux Arts style carousel, and the freshly minted (and 1/3 occupied) luxury condominiums just a stone’s throw from the sand evokes feelings associated with a poignant romance; The gentrification of this shore town draws in the tourists (and the much-needed funds associated with them), but tends to overshadow the historical significance tied to it.
Developed in the 1870’s by brush manufacturer James Bradley, Asbury Park grew into one of the most renowned of the shore towns, with amusements, rides, public changing rooms, and the iconic Convention Hall. As the Garden State Parkway was built and provided access to this summer hotspot at the tail end of the 1940’s, so, too, came the infiltration and development of the surrounding farmlands, which became the suburban residences in which I grew up. With popularity rising throughout the decades, the 1970’s cast a much darker shadow upon the city. Both weekend tourism and residential populations grew along with the increased need for employees across the local businesses and storefronts, resorts, and restaurants. These jobs were often outsourced to white youth in the surrounding towns as opposed to the local African-American youth. This caused an immense amount of friction in an already racially divided time in America’s fractured history. Thus began a series of race riots on July 4th, 1970 which spanned 7 days and left a permanent, resounding blemish on the surface of Asbury Park. During the last decade or so (and with generous state and private funding), Asbury Park has been revitalized and established itself as the crown jewel and cultural hub of Monmouth County; It is known now more for its diversity and political liberalism, and is considered a designated safe space for the LGBTQIA+ community and people of all races and ethnicities. It is a meeting place and point of inspiration for artists of all disciplines, and boasts one of the most incredible music scenes in the tri-state area.
I’m convinced that it is because I spent my formative years living in a Summer-centric town that it is perpetually Summer whenever I visit my parents from my current, more urban residence of Jersey City, NJ, no matter the season. As such, the significance of summer has consistently overshadowed all other seasons in my mind; There is no denying the glory of Spring and the majestic revitalization it brings to all living things (including New Yorkers, providing a renewed sense of purpose). The bittersweet, multi-tonal transitional decay from Autumn into Winter is a visual feast to behold. Pangs of nostalgia for thick, soupy, humid air always hit the hardest during bone-chilling Winter winds. Summer just…HITS different, as the kids say. It’s really the little things about Summer that I find great pleasure in the most; The smell of petrichor after a fleeting Summer downpour that causes the streets to produce an almost mythical steam, the raindrops percussive and steady. The whoosh of the trees, peppered with birdsong as a brisk wind provides temporary relief from the swelter. The creeping bead of condensation that travels along the side of a can or glass of [insert cold beverage here], while ice cubes clink and pop. The orchestral crescendo of a cicada chorus, humming and buzzing by day, while the crickets take over for the night shift.
Are we sensing a theme here? Finding the music and magic in all things has been my consistent state of being. As a professional working in the Music Industry for the last decade plus, music serves as a constant theme in my life…one that extends beyond the boundaries of what is merely recorded, and instead encompasses the feelings and emotions associated with sound. Now, I present to you my definitive playlist to enjoy your favorite Summer beverage to. I raise my glass to you, to perpetual Summer, and to Asbury Park. Cheers to love, to music, to appreciating your roots, and to romanticizing the little things.
