There was very artistic movie making the rounds a couple of
years ago, aptly shot in Winnipeg, about a contest for the saddest music in the
world. The movie itself was heavy going, and no matter now worthy, I did not make
it to the end. Nonetheless, the concept itself was quite intriguing.
Of course, everyone has an immediate contender - generally
some song that they associate with a sad time of their life; i.e. the favourite
song of a couple now split, or the hymn played at a friend’s funeral. Fair
enough, we all have these, but what really interests me are those songs that
stand up for themselves, songs that carry their own heavy bag of ennui along
with the verses and chorus. Admittedly, this is a topic I have addressed
before, but one to which I am strangely drawn…particularly during the dreary
winter weather to which we here at the end of the world have been afflicted.
I heard the Doors’ Riders of the Storm the other day on the
radio, a song that I find profoundly depressing. There is something really
pathetic about Morrison’s delivery - his booze-ravaged voice barely rises above
a whisper as he recites the aimless lyrics. It’s as if he could hardly be
bothered to interrupt his headlong plunge into a bottle long enough to actually
sing. Even the guitar solo is sad, all drawn out minor chords and dark modes, a
lament just waiting for the wake to start.
The Dream Syndicate was another Los Angeles band, albeit
from a decade later, one who had a very minor hit with a song called Tell Me
When It’s Over. A break-up song, it’s given its true sad weight by the singer.
He can barely handle the melody, wobbling all over the place, moaning and
heaving and sighing the words out. It ends up sounding like the sort of painful
and desperate message you hear the recently dumped leaving on someone’s cell
phone, all misplaced rage and cringing self-pity. It is as agonizing as your
own adolescent poems, without so much as a shred of hope. The music consists of
a grinding, descending riff, distorted in a cheap and unpleasant fashion,
played over and over again until you hate it. Genius, really, in a depressing
kind of way.
My all-time favourite in the sad & sadder category is a
cut from Sweden’s Cardigans. Although they are known in the USA for a handful
of cheery singles, in Europe their later catalogue is as gloomy as it gets.
Long Gone Before Daylight is the kind of album that you hear once, and then buy
a copy for everyone you know. The stand-out song And Then You Kissed Me… is an agonizing
cry for help. Nina Persson’s voice is beautiful, but with a fierce edge, as if
it could fall apart, (and her with it), any second now. The chords and melody
are perfect, so pretty you don’t even realize right away what Perrson is
singing:
“…blue, blue, black and blue
red blood sticks like glue
true love is cruel, love,
sweet love, tasty blood…
and then you hit me,
right in the heart…
love makes you wake up sore,
with fists that are ready for more”
And you know she means every word. Her weary tone of
resignation about the self-destructing violence, of her relationship, whether
physical or emotional, is about as sad as you can get.
Recently, a friend asked me which GBS song is the saddest.
It is an interesting question. All the break-up songs (My Apology, Buying Time,
How Did We Get From Saying I Love You…, Time Brings, etc.) are kind of sad when
you knew the people involved. Fisherman’s Lament is pretty sad too, especially
for those who lived through that era in Newfoundland, when for a while it looked
like we were pretty much done here. If you want to get into context, then the
whole cannon starts to look a bit iffy. Really, when you get right down to it,
nothing is particularly cheery about dead horses, tidal waves, and being a
simpleton with a shitty little green boat. It just all comes done to how you
look at it.