the necessity of sad songs

wallowing with a soundtrack

[it’s third anniversary of the newsletter week here and i’m reposting some stuff from three years ago in honor, and for the newer readers]

Tired and wired, we ruin too easy
Sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave
- The National, “Apartment Story”

That was, at one time, a song I’d sing quietly to myself in the dead of winter, a reminder that we tackled everything - even long winter days - together. It was of great comfort to me, a warm blanket on a cold day. Now it feels wistful, like a failure of sorts, a reminder of things lost.

I turn to music when my emotions get the best of me. In order to really feel my feelings, I need a soundtrack. Happiness, sadness, anger, melancholy. It all gets a song or five.

I’ve been enveloped in sadness the last week and my musical choices have reflected that. I’ve been accused of wallowing and, well, it’s a fair accusation. In my defense, wallowing is good for my soul; it allows me to bring my feelings to the surface instead of keeping them deep down where they will fester and manifest themselves as a small ball of despair that sits in my stomach.

Nobody said it was easy

It's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be this hard

Oh, take me back to the start
- Coldplay, “The Scientist”

I listen to this over and over again, choking up at “no one ever said it would be this hard,” collapsing in sobs by the end of the song. And that’s ok. It’s cathartic and catharsis is something I really need right now.

I go through my album collection and pick out the saddest songs, the ones with despondent lyrics and morose melodies. I look for breakup songs, but songs that deal with a vague sadness are good, too. The sadness does not have to be named, it just has to permeate my soul. I prefer to listen to them on my turntable rather than streaming on my computer because the sound fills the living room, laying waste to the emptiness that threatens to envelop me.

I play “I’m Not Ok” by My Chemical Romance at a loud volume while cleaning. I sit down for Brand New’s “Play Crack the Sky,” a song I’ve always felt in my bones. I seek comfort in the music of Kevin Devine, I seek to shed necessary tears during American Football’s “Never Meant.” There’s whole albums by The Wrens and The Weakerthans and Jason Isbell that I take out when I need to weep.

I hope it stays dark forever
I hope the worst isn't over
And I hope you blink before I do
And I hope I never get sober

- Mountain Goats, “No Children”

Some songs just hit different when all of a sudden you’re in the precarious situation defined within. I’ve always loved this song, but held it a safe distance, like with most breakup songs. Now tunes like this come crashing down on me and I sing them with fervor, let them overtake me. I listen to Elliott Smith and Frightened Rabbit and Bright Eyes and let the despondency sink in; I listen to Radiohead’s “Let Down” and sing defiantly about growing wings. Hysterical and useless, indeed.

There’s old songs mixed in with the newer fare. “One Less Bell to Answer” and “You Don’t Have to Say You Love Me” which was the first song I ever cried to. I switch gears and again I sob to the last three minutes of Weezer’s “Only In Dreams.” I almost laugh as the White Stripes sing “I Don’t Know What to Do With Myself” at me.

What if I've been trying to get to where I've always been?
What if we've been trying to get to where we've always been?
Simple math, believe me, all is brilliant
What if we've been trying to kill the noise and silence?

- Manchester Orchestra, “Simple Math”

I need all this. It’s a way of coping, a way of expressing my sorrow, my anger, my despair. I don’t know what else to do. I’ve never known what to do with my feelings besides wallow in them. I almost enjoy the sadness because it’s keeping me from the next stage of relationship grief: the anger. Oh, there’s music for the anger, too. I’ll be taking out the La Dispute and Rammstein records and stomping around the living room to them, driving too fast in my car to them while I pound the steering wheel. But I’m staving off the anger for now; I don’t like it, I don’t do well with it. I know it will come, I know it has to come in order to get on with the process of acceptance, but for now I will settle for the small anger in the scream at the end of Phoebe Bridgers’ “I Know the End” and I will move back to sadness. I own that emotion, it is mine.

My living room once again fills with the music of a Mountain Goats song, about the things we do for love, love, love. I sit on my couch and let it envelop me, let the tears happen, let the catharsis work its way through my body. I’ll be done here eventually, I’ll have let the despair run its course. But until then there’s emotions to be had and music to have them to and I’m going to let it last as long as it has to.

She said, "Why do you play all them sad songs?
Who went and hurt you so badly?"
I just laughed and said, "Baby, them sad songs
Is the only thing that makes me happy"
Yeah, sad songs that make me happy

“Starts With You” - American Aquarium