I'll admit right away to being less-than-sober as I write this blurb, so I'll also apologize in this sentence if any of the following turns me to ramble:
I made the mistake of discovering this band the very day I met an absolutely vivacious (now ex-)girl(friend), as well as spinning Public Cemetary Party on the drive to-and-from the last lunch I had with her, and as such, this album, to me, will forever be associated with a shortlived and probably prematurely exhausted flame. Without delving into my personal life any further, I feel like drawing a comparison between this album and the aformentioned girl is valid in this case: Think of the most blisteringly hot Summer you can, whether that image comes from true experience or pure imagination, and try to imbue the feelings you felt during that time, minus anything negative, into a Saturday morning cartoon show that plays with the themes of childhood, growing adulthood and consequent responsibility, and love and loss. If I haven't lost you yet, hopefully you've got some general feeling brewing in your head that you, depending on how old you are, probably lost some time ago--something that that timeless innocence prevalent only on playgrounds can ever truly touch. That, right there, is what both Public Cemetary Party and my reminiscings of my one-that-got-away bring me back to: some space lost in a love letter that a third-grader never finished writing.
If you ever read this, Chelsea, this isn't for you--it's for anyone who still thinks that music can be one of many keys to unlocking our happiest moments. But bye anyway, kiddo.