Songs for Walking Along a Beach in March

Walking down Rye Beach on a dreary day in March, you might think you were at the end of the world. That’s not to say it’s deserted, or that dead bodies strew the sand, or that a ghost ship is rapidly approaching, but rather that the air feels a certain kind of way. The sky is thick with anticipation. The arcades on the Hampton strip are still closed, the ice cream places are darkened, and a lonely man sits on the shore in a Tommy Bahama chair and stares. Where is he looking? Where does he think he’s going? Could he hear me if I called to him?

Every year my mom drags my sister and I to these New Hampshire beaches to experience the “freshest breeze in the world,” and every year we bitch and moan and run away when she tries to take pictures. It’s become a confusing sort of ritual, one that usually involves eating sandwiches from Panera in the trunk of our car and driving home silently.

It’s one of my favorite things in the world.

Some might say this playlist is a downer, but these songs are too fragile to be depressing. A beach trip on the back-end of winter is an invitation to purgatory, and somewhere in the DNA of this music—beyond the longing melodies and moody guitar strumming—there’s a lovely emptiness that can’t be manufactured. It’s not frigid, and it’s not warm either. It’s a minor apocalypse in the form of long-gone sand castles.

For optimal conditions, I recommend waiting for a day so thick with mist that you can hardly see the road. Drive to the nearest ocean, stare out, and hit play. The greyness will soften.