Kenny G’s warbling on seasonal melodies wafted from a neighbor’s open windows on an unseasonably warm Christmas five months ago. I was glad to learn of the household’s apparent admiration of the saxophonist’s interpretations of material like “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” and “Silver Bells.”
It’s going to be 80 degrees at 5 p.m. this Friday evening. As in summers past, I’m likely to hear plenty of classic rock (Journey, Led Zeppelin, REO Speedwagon) and blooze (Joe Bonamassa, Marcus King, Stevie Ray Vaughan) blasting from speakers balanced on coolers in nearby backyards and driveways.
Yet the dominant sound on my suburban block is contemporary country (Jason Aldean, Eric Church, Carrie Underwood). I’ve favored crossover reggaeton on my patio during the pandemic (J Balvin, Bad Bunny, Karol G), so neighbors will likely be surprised when I place Cole Swindell’s new album on repeat tonight.
In no small part because my heart skips a beat every time my life partner sings along with Swindell on radio hits like "Single Saturday Night", I’m unironically enamored with the aptly named Stereotype. Songs including "Heads Carolina" are what I call “White Claw country.“ The formula is delicious. Fitting in rarely felt so good.