QotD: Summer CD something-or-other

Hey. Remember that Question of the Day when the Vox bunch asked us all what our emblematic Summer 2006 CD was? Remember? Yesterday? I didn't answer in time and now it's lost. I know I can still answer the question - hell, I can stand on my head naked and take a photo if I want, although that's likely not what you want - but it doesn't feel quite right if I don't click on the 'Answer' button.

What is wrong with me?

I'm just going to ignore my neurosis, which is more likely a genetic tic of compliance, and take a stab at the question. I really wanted to answer it last night, but I had something to do. And I had to watch Rock Star: Supernova. Holy God, what a crap show. Over the last five years I've made my peace with all the Idol shows and their imitators, learned to ignore the smarmy over-the-top presentation, the addled Paula Abdul comments and the general vapidity of the affair. But Rock Star - my God. You can put on the costume of a soft rock balladeer and get away with it, but pretending to 'rock out' and really 'bring it' for the approval of mannequins like Dave Navarro, please no. Plus if you can't fucking sing 'White Rabbit,' then don't. Just back away from the microphone. Of the sad faker's dozen who went onstage, only one struck me as a performer. He looked like a deformed weasel in a purple suit, but he was the only one who seemed to notice the audience (as opposed to the camera). And he was really good. The only other entertaining aspect was Tommy Lee's scripted drooling over the women.

Wait. There was a CD-related question here. Right: Summer 2006 isn't over yet. It isn't even my birthday yet (coming up on Sunday) and already department stores and Vox are moving into clearance mode. When the vernal equinox rotates into place and the trees are all about the bare ruined choirs, then I'll be able to say for sure which CD stamped itself onto my brain most indelibly. But I can make a few guesses.

When we moved on July 1st, I played Gnarls Barkley, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and Art Brut repeatedly. Having Eddie Argos scream "I've seen her naked... TWICE!" is now my mantra for relocation. And nothing jolts your nerves into action like the controlled jet-engine explosion of 'Go Go Gadget Gospel'. It's true. And nothing makes you want to finish your cleaning fast like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah so you can sit down and draw up plans for hunting down the lead singer and slapping him for that nasal drone of his. And yet I like that album so much. What's wrong with me?