HAIM SUMMER

Essay: Life, Music, and the Sound of HAIM

HAIM “Relationships” cover art. Photo Credit: Paul Thomas Anderson

It was a mild night in the desert, a brisk 60-something degrees. My brother and I wore our day clothes throughout the evening—he in a white tee with a sun hat, and I in a floral button-down. The light colors kept us cool while the Indio Valley sun beat down on us. At Coachella, you get in where you fit in at most stages, especially the main stage. There are numerous misconceptions surrounding the infamous music festival. The experience is not cozy or comfortable, despite how much social media romanticizes the three-day festival. We made the most of what we had, and we did it the right way. We slept on cots, I didn’t shower, and we bartered for beer. By Saturday afternoon, I missed home. But Saturday night’s headliner kept the home calling from reaching my ears. Another home was calling at the main stage, and as the day turned to night, we drew near to experience the homecoming, because we weren’t just attending Coachella; we were witnessing Beychella. Just like a tale from Greek mythology, three sirens appeared to enchant the crowd. The moon was out, a waxing crescent.

A shredder, a bard, and a bassist introduced Beyonce as “Queen” before they left the Coachella stage, nearly on fire from performing their catalog of anthems. It was 2018, and the three sisters I once called “H-aym” were two albums deep, with hardly any misses in their discography. After their Coachella set, I subconsciously vowed never to mispronounce their name again—HAIM (“HY-im”).

Please don’t get me wrong, I had heard about HAIM before their 2018 Coachella set. Like many of the alternative rock acts I listen to, my wife introduced me to their debut album, Days Are Gone, and I was hooked. Her music taste has been stuck in the 90s since her early 90s birth year, so her suggestion of any 21st-century music surprised me.

HAIM puts out certified bangers, the type of music millennial aunties would snap their fingers to. The band’s music is not quite Lisa Stanfield at the Apollo, but the equivalent of Cameron Brink driving to the hole and kicking it out to Kelsey Plum for a three-pointer at Crypto Arena. American record producer, Julius Tunstall, describes HAIM’s music as “Pop sensibilities with some R&B backdrop.” My basketball analogy still makes sense.

Alana, Danielle, and Este comprise the illustrious band's three members. Hailing from the San Fernando Valley in Los Angeles, CA, they have been credited with shaping and perfecting what the music industry calls the “California Sound,” a term they’ve embraced but also humbly steered clear of. In a 2017 interview with the LA Times, Alana told Mikael Wood, “It’s hard not to feel like we’re representing California when we play other places.” With some of their influences being other California-based artists such as Fleetwood Mac and Joni Mitchell (both artists not originally from California, but much of their most famous work was recorded during their residency in Southern California), it’s no surprise that HAIM is recognized for this association.

But with HAIM, their Californication feels more permanent because it is. They sing about it on “Los Angeles,” the opening track of their third album Women In Music Pt. III. “While they love L.A., it’s bringing them down and they’re mulling what to make of their disappointment and disillusionment,” says Brittany Spanos of Rolling Stone Magazine. The band's adoration for Los Angeles is also prevalent throughout its music videos, as they regularly collaborate with fellow L.A. native and director Paul Thomas Anderson.

They put on for their city, on, on, for their city—EASTSIDE; well, more like Northwest L.A., where the San Fernando Valley is home to a concentrated Jewish population. And if I’m being honest, we’ve been rocking with Jewish trios since Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. My dad grew up watching The Three Stooges. Older cousins wouldn’t dare admit to listening to The Beastie Boys, but they pressed play on Paul’s Boutique.

HAIM isn’t just their band name but their namesake. Haim means life in Hebrew, and life is what they give with their anthemic bops. It’s been this way since childhood. Rockinhaim was the family band name before the sisters dropped “Rockin” and simultaneously dropped their parents as band members. They were just kids when Rockinhaim played its first show at Canter’s Deli in Fairfax, L.A. Rockinhaim, which in my interpretation means rockin' life, is a far superior band name than just their surname, but also a far cry from The Bagel Bitches, a name they cheekily considered to show pride in their Jewish heritage.

Black pride is my heritage, and with pride comes prejudice. We have minded our own business, for the most part. It’s detailed in our epigenetics because our ancestors witnessed terror, experienced horrors, and knew the ramifications of what it meant to pick up their heads to confront harm. And we, too, pick and choose which horrors to confront, but we’re rarely silent either way. And that’s not all of us, but we know which side to pick when witnessing horrors like, for example, genocide.

bell hooks has been quoted as saying, “How do we hold people accountable for wrongdoing and yet at the same time remain in touch with their humanity enough to believe in their capacity to be transformed?” So with a last name that means life, I can only assume through the silence that HAIM knows which side of history they want to be on, because their ancestors on their dad’s side also knew the ramifications of what it meant to pick their heads up to confront harm.

We’ve also been taught to stand on business, especially when it comes to family. Siblings should stick together. When I was small, the matriarch in my family taught all of us, including my first cousins, to never leave without the other when we travelled to the park. There was a ‘no man left behind’ mentality when it came to leisurely outings. I don’t know HAIM personally to say they also stand on business, but what is ironically clear from their LA-centric music videos is that they walk on business (trust me, that’s a thing for them). They have revolutionized the art of walking. In 2020, Rodger Sherman from The Ringer took time to rank all of HAIM’s walking music videos. “When the Haim sisters walk, they are an unstoppable force, and everything else is a movable object,” Sherman adds, “They walk, and the rest of the world parts before them. Haim is not a Marching Band, but they’re a marching band.” Their walking is a powerful symbol, showing they will be together side-by-side through every journey each sister embarks on.

Siblings continue to grow, either closer or further apart, depending on different variables. My brother, born to my dad through his first marriage, is eight years older than I and was raised in a separate household. We look alike. And up until the Coachella trip, that was the strongest trait we had going for us relationally. But that changed when he extended his trip to Coachella in 2018. It was my first time in California, and the first time my brother and I spent more than 12 hours together.

My brother took this time in California to get to know me. He examined my eating habits and even diagnosed the reason I was a slow eater—I apparently get bored with my food. He paid for my meals. He stood in silence with me during times that craved dialogue. It became clear to me that our age difference and half-bloodedness never stopped him from being the best big brother to me. We chose to grow closer in our relationship, in our siblinghood.

“Relationships”, HAIM’s lead single from their fourth album, is not necessarily about sibling relationships, but about romantic twosomes having a hard time with commitment. The song instead highlights the messiness of what it means to be devoted to a partner in 2025’s popular craze of situationships. “Baby, how can I explain// When an innocent mistake //Turns into seventeen days? Fuckin' relationships,” the chorus sings.

Furthermore, their fourth album, I Quit, sounds like something a partner would say to their current fling after witnessing a bombshell walk through the door. “But it’s not as angsty as that sounds—I Quit is about a sense of release, or an 'exhale,' as Danielle refers to it,” Ben Allen writes for GQ. “It’s the post-quitting high, rather than relitigating the shit that led to the quitting.” And there’s no better time to exhale than in the summer.

There are many measures of summer coming. When moms say, come home when the streetlights turn on, knowing the buzz from the lamp won’t reverberate until roughly 8:31 pm. When you walk into the air-conditioned Popeyes and walk out, only to have your glasses fog up. When the crickets call out to the fireflies to put on a light show in the front yard.

When the song of the summer is on repeat for your morning shower.

There may not be a more coveted non-promotional title for an artist than claiming Song of the Summer. Sure, that artist might have a Grammy, but was their song played at max volume everywhere you traversed in June 2008? These songs live forever, soaking up nostalgia you never thought you’d have. The choruses become calling cards to “simpler times.” Besides the fact that the period was stressful and emotionally taxing, the song of that particular summer allows you to harness sunshine and smiles. Amerie’s “Why Don’t We Fall in Love” was my first song of the summer. During my freshman year of high school, it was “Paper Planes” by M.I.A. Last year, it was “Not Like Us.”

It’s important to note these songs are never released during the dog days of summer, but well before the summer for which the song is intended. There’s a formula to this, a formula HAIM has down pat. All albums, except for their first, have been released during the summer (which I’m sure label bigwigs had more control over the release of their debut project). Can you blame a trio of California girls for wanting to share their art during the best time of the year? As I swiped through Instagram stories, my dear friend, Koku Asamoah, posted a screenshot of the song “Falling” from HAIM’s debut album. The caption read: “You know summer is here when this track is playing.” I couldn’t agree more.

I’m anticipating my song of the summer to be different this year. The music to my ears will be baby cries, and the song was planned well before our August due date. My daughter’s coos will be my summer anthem, my HAIM (life) of sorts.

As my brother and I waited for HAIM’s set to start, he checked a few work emails on his phone. Earlier in the day, unsure if I was having a good time, he told me, Coachella is something you do with a bigger group than two people. I didn’t disagree, but I also knew that if my brother weren’t a part of that group, I wouldn’t have as much fun. Siblings should stick together. As life takes us on different journeys, I do not doubt that my brother and I will continue to walk side by side. He’ll be an uncle now. Uncle Jay is what my daughter shall call him.

Paul Thomas Anderson’s visuals shone brightly from the stage onto the crowd, while the first song on the setlist mesmerized us: “Don't stop, no, I'll never give up// And I'll never look back, just hold your head up //And if it gets rough, it's time to get rough.” The moon was out, a waxing crescent.

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©Cole Henderson. All Rights Reserved.