I need your help. I want to do my own Extremely Scientific Survey of the saddest songs you’ve ever heard. Bonus points if they make you cry.
Why do we enjoy songs that make us cry? It seems like the more heartbreaking the song, the more we love it. Even if a song could win the prize for Most Annoying Musical Endeavor Ever, (“Having My Baby” by Paul Anka comes to mind), it can still sometimes bring unwelcome tears to my eyes.
Call me crazy, but this seems counterintuitive, like some of the aggravating functions on my smart phone. Why do I always turn up the sound on the radio when I hear Patsy Cline sing “Crazy,” even though I know by the end I’ll have a lump in my throat. There should be a special lumpectomy tool for certain songs that grab you and won’t let go.
When a tune comes on the jukebox at my favorite dive bar that reminds me of a particular heartbreak, I feel that familiar clutch at my heart and — for a few moments at least — I’m thrust back into the throes of the dramatic breakup and its aftermath, even if it took place back when dinosaurs roamed the earth.
The hot tears, the angry words, the clenched fists and the sleepless nights. The indecision and its wavering back-and-forth. Did I do the right thing? When he told me to go to hell, should I actually go there? Can I make him jealous? Can I make him change? (The answer to the latter question is “No, you can’t.” It’s like the joke. How many psychologists does it take to change a lightbulb? Only one, but he has to want to change.’)
Whenever I hear Don Henley’s “The Heart of the Matter,” I’m immediately thrown back into the drama surrounding my worst breakup, even though it occurred 40 years ago. And the object of my affections is dead. Even though I suspect he’s residing in the hot place down there, that doesn’t seem to to disqualify him from invading my thoughts when this little ditty starts playing overhead in the supermarket.
On the rare occasions when I hear the Beatles’ song “We Can Work It Out,” I’m instantly transported to a Caribbean beach in Puerto Rico late on a sultry tropical night, where my teenage boyfriend and I sat in his car and argued, while the song played on the radio. (I lived on Ramey Air Force Base in Puerto Rico when I was in my teens.) It didn’t work, by the way. We still broke up.
So, here’s my question. What is the saddest song you ever heard, and why do you find it so sad? Tell me who sang it, if there are numerous covers. What happens to you when you hear it? Email me at [email protected].
I will collect your email addresses and sell them to spammers who specialize in erectile dysfunction. OK, that’s a lie — I’m not organized enough to do that.
In case you actually want an answer to my earlier question, real actual scientists theorize that one reason we like to cry is because it releases a pituitary hormone called prolactin, which helps to rid the body of stress and anxiety hormones. Apparently, people who produce estrogen, also known as women, also produce more prolactin, while testosterone-laden men produce less. This may be why many men can sit stony-eyed as Rick and Elsa say goodbye at the end of “Casablanca,” while I always need a hanky.
Additionally, eggheads like Aristotle have talked for thousands of years about something called the “tragedy paradox,” meaning that we avoid sadness in real life, but find catharsis in experiencing it in art. Ponder that next time you hear “Leader of the Pack.”
Philosopher-type eggheads can’t even agree about whether the emotions stirred up by sad songs are “real” emotions, with some claiming that “music sadness” is not the same thing as “life sadness.”
This is the kind of talk that makes me glad I’m not smart enough to be in their company. And contemplate this: There are even sad songs about sad songs. Just ask Elton John.
OK, cut to the chase: Send me your list of saddest songs ever, ranked. Let’s see what we think. I did a brief unscientific survey (I wasn’t wearing a white lab coat) among readers on my Facebook page, and their list included “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” by Hank Williams, “Honey” written by Bobby Russell and made a hit by Bobby Goldsboro, “Puff the Magic Dragon” by Peter Yarrow of Peter, Paul and Mary based on a poem by Leonard Lipton and “Tears In Heaven” by Eric Clapton. (Incidentally, the schmaltzy “Honey” was a huge chart-topper when it was released, but later made numerous lists of the worst songs ever written.)
I’m at [email protected] or find me on my Facebook page at facebook.com/FrumpyMiddleagedMom. You should join my page anyway. We have fun on there.
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