By: Tyler Monroe
The first funny thing about Gary Pratt’s “4th of July” is that it begins in February.
That’s either terrible scheduling or pretty good songwriting.
Fortunately, it’s the latter.
Pratt’s latest single, featuring Kate Szallar, has absolutely nothing to do with declaring independence, grilling questionable hot dogs, or watching your neighbor nearly remove a finger with an illegally purchased firework. Instead, Pratt hijacks America’s loudest holiday for his own considerably more intimate purposes. His Fourth of July takes place indoors, requires only two participants, and apparently produces enough sparks to violate several municipal fire codes.
In other words: This is a love song with fireworks.
And Pratt knows exactly how much fun that idea can be.
“4th of July” opens on an “ordinary February night,” with the couple safely inside while winter does whatever winter is doing beyond the walls. Within a few lines, though, the temperature has risen dramatically. A slow kiss leads somewhere “hotter than the summertime,” and Pratt establishes the central conceit before the first chorus even arrives: the right person can turn any random Tuesday into a national holiday.
Then the chorus goes boom.
Pratt compares the rush of attraction to celebrating the Fourth every night, complete with a knowingly unsubtle “boom boom boom” as the metaphor reaches its logical conclusion.
Could that hook have become unbearably corny?
Absolutely.
Does it?
Not really.
The reason is simple: Pratt commits.
There’s no ironic distance here, no attempt to convince listeners that he’s somehow above the pleasures of a big, dumb, enormously catchy chorus. “4th of July” wants you singing along. It wants windows down. It wants volume up. It probably wants somebody embarrassing themselves on TikTok.
That’s pop music doing its job.
Pratt’s vocal is particularly suited to the assignment. He has the slightly weathered quality of someone who has lived enough life to understand that having fun doesn’t require pretending to be 22. He doesn’t attack the melody or turn the chorus into a vocal obstacle course. Instead, he delivers the song with an easy confidence that makes the flirtation feel playful rather than desperate.
Kate Szallar provides the necessary second half of the equation.
Her appearance gives the record more than additional vocal texture. It changes the story. Without her, Pratt could sound like a guy bragging about his romantic pyrotechnics. With Szallar in the mix, the attraction becomes mutual. There’s another person at the party.
And apparently it’s a pretty good party.
The production comes courtesy of Adam Ernst, who also performs every instrument on the recording. Ernst has played on records by Bailey Zimmerman, Mickey Guyton and Chase Matthew, which means he understands the increasingly blurry line separating contemporary country, pop and rock.
That experience pays off.
“4th of July” sounds modern without feeling algorithmically assembled. The guitars have enough bite to keep things moving, the rhythm section gives the chorus its lift, and the production has the polished punch expected of contemporary country without sanding away every trace of personality.
More importantly, Ernst knows when to stay out of the song’s way.
Because nobody is coming to “4th of July” for an eight-minute instrumental exploration of the human condition.
They’re coming for the hook.
Pratt gives it to them repeatedly.
By the final stretch, “keeps gettin’ better and better than the Fourth of July” becomes less a lyric than a mantra, cycling around until the song’s entire premise has been permanently lodged somewhere between your frontal lobe and whatever part of the brain controls involuntary humming.
Annoying?
Possibly.
Effective?
Completely.
There’s also something pleasantly rebellious about how uncomplicated the song is.
We’re living through an era in which popular music often treats happiness like an intellectually suspicious condition. Everyone is processing trauma, weaponizing therapy vocabulary, dissecting toxic relationships or turning emotional collapse into deluxe-edition content.
Pratt has another proposition:
What if two people just really like each other?
Radical stuff.
There’s no breakup lurking in the bridge. Nobody discovers an old text message. Nobody drives away crying in the rain. The couch remains occupied. The party continues.
That straightforward joy is precisely what makes “4th of July” work.
And despite the title, the single isn’t chained to Independence Day. Pratt makes that clear by beginning in February. July Fourth isn’t the setting; it’s the measuring stick. He’s searching for the biggest, brightest, loudest metaphor for romantic chemistry and settles on exploding objects in the sky.
Fair enough.
That distinction gives the track a life beyond holiday playlists. You can play it in July, February or whenever somebody makes an otherwise ordinary night feel ridiculous enough to deserve fireworks.
Is “4th of July” reinventing country music?
No.
It doesn’t need to.
Gary Pratt, Kate Szallar and Adam Ernst have made something much more immediately useful: a smartly produced, shamelessly catchy country-pop record about attraction, optimism and the miraculous discovery that staying home can occasionally beat going anywhere.
The fireworks display lasts about 20 minutes.
A good hook sticks around considerably longer.
On “4th of July,” Pratt has one that goes boom.
