One man's trash is another man's treasure. This is the phrase that comes to mind when listening to Deerhunter's Halcyon Digest. I refer of course not to the content of one of 2010's best-received albums, but instead to the nature of interpretation. Culture, environment, and personality all come together to shape our perception of the world, and so it happens I consider Halcyon Digest to be the definitive summer album, to general bafflement. Digest surfaces memories of summers long forgotten, not from a youth I've ever lived, but decades out of date. It blends cold-war-era melody seamlessly with woozy modern psychedelia. It's lazy and precocious, and delivered under Bradford Cox's childlike vocals.

Digest opens with Earthquake; a touch of dream pop, guitars shimmering like heat on suburban pavement, sluggish and sapped of energy. It's a breeze too hot to dry the beads of sweat on your brow. Faster tracks that follow, such as Don't Cry and Revival bring to mind bicycle gangs, buzzcuts and horn-rimmed glasses. Unsupervised baseball games. Guitars climbs and descend, meandering on Desire Lines. Each song is a painting by Norman Rockwell. It's the sound of white picket fences and porch swings and the American Dream, viewed through a hazy photograph.

Bradford Cox's voice reverberates across generations. It is music capturing a simpler time, tastefully crafted into a current context; a time capsule revealing familiar parallels. Digest appeared to me like a tan, through gradual warm exposure. It's easy to return to, nostalgic during the crisp winter months. A grayscale snapshot of summer to reflect upon free of foolish whimsy.