Start Your Sobbin’

Real men (and real women) cry—especially if the right songs
are playing. While anyone reading the news knows there’s plenty of
sobworthy shit happening every day, the tears inspired by sublime music
consist of much more salubrious stuff. These are tears that console and
cleanse the soul. Songs that can inspire sloppy emotions are essential
at any time, but they’re especially useful now, as the economy circles
the drain with a scariness not seen since the late ’20s. Plus, winter
beckons.

Let’s talk about the songs that make you feel so bad that you exit
from them 180 degrees on the other side of the emotional spectrum into
euphoria. Let’s talk about the songs that make wallowing in self-pity a
most exquisite pleasure. Below are some of the tunes that trigger
cathartic waterworks. (Your soggy-hankied mileage may vary, of course.)
We’re fucked, y’all, so let’s open the ducts.

Let’s begin with a piece that makes this writer eternally grateful
for ears and recorded music: saxophonist Pharoah Sanders’s “The Creator
Has a Master Plan.” Clocking in at nearly 33 minutes, this out-jazz
epic from Sanders’s 1969 Karma LP runs the gamut of feelings,
from meditative gratitude to uncontainable joy to infernal fury. Two
minutes in, Richard Davis’s bass and James Spaulding’s flute sway and
trill with utmost lithe lusciousness, alluding to John Coltrane’s
immortal A Love Supreme (on which Sanders played). But the
composition’s real tear-jerking power comes from vocalist Leon Thomas.
His warm baritone waxes tenderly and forthrightly about the Creator’s
totally unrealistic master plan—”peace and happiness for every
man”—before Thomas launches into one of the most soul-stirring
yodels ever. It’s like a wounded wildebeest choking
up—rhythmically. This song’s made many a staunch atheist
tearfully shout “hallelujah!”—if only for its duration.

The British band Spiritualized trigger similar sentiments with
“Shine a Light,” a shivery space-rock ballad off Lazer Guided
Melodies that’s bathed in a holy glow and that blooms into a
psychedelic-gospel freak-out. Seeing this performed live many times
while on acid, I felt as if I were in the presence of a supreme being
(no, not my dealer). Oh, the misty-eyed memories…. Similarly,
Spiritualized leader Jason Pierce’s previous group, Spacemen 3, eroded
religious skepticism and caused astral weeps with “Walking with Jesus”
from 1987’s The Perfect Prescription. It’s a haunted blues tune
suffused in tidal organ tones, with Pierce’s pathos-laden voice
detailing a momentous saunter with that controversial savior. Even
better from the same album, though, is “Call the Doctor,” a harrowing
twin-guitar meditation on a drug OD.

Another English band, Talk Talk, did their own soul-plumbing,
cautionary heroin tale on “I Believe in You,” the peak duct-prodding
work on 1988’s profoundly moving Spirit of Eden. The slowly
unfurling beauty of this song matches Van Morrison’s highest
accomplishments on Astral Weeks.

Aerosmith’s “Seasons of Wither” proved that these party animals
could get upliftingly downhearted with the best of ’em. This is a
chilling power ballad (you can practically feel those frigid nor’easter
winds blowing through it), and it s chorus contains one of the grandest
descending chord progressions ever.

By contrast, Stevie Wonder’s “I Believe (When I Fall in Love It Will
Be Forever)” induces tears of joy through the elusive possibility of
eternal love. The song boasts one of Wonder’s most infectious, gorgeous
choruses, forcing you to hope against hope that its sentiments can be
fulfilled. Some of us can barely snag ephemeral love, so the lofty
ideal outlined here is unbearably poignant. Tim Buckley’s “Song to the
Siren” is so beautiful and heartrending, it makes me feel both ashamed
and blessed to be alive. It’s the Taj Mahal of folk songs. Buckley’s
supple, trembling voice (superior to his son Jeff’s, I don’t care what
anybody says) conveys an ache that could crack the cold, hard heart of
a Taliban member.

The so-called slowcore movement that flourished in the ’90s offers a
cornucopia of cry-sonics. Low’s 1994 album I Could Live in Hope is definitive mope rock, prompting a smooth stroll down Misery Lane
during which you stop to smell (mo)roses. That a wedded Mormon couple
sing the songs somehow adds a creepier aura to these hushed hymns. Red
House Painters’ early releases also haunt one into choking up with
their spare arrangements, plodding tempos, and Mark Kozelek’s dejected
narratives from the slough of despond. Outfits such as Idaho, Rex,
Damon & Naomi, Tindersticks, Codeine, and Mazzy Star burrow into
similar lachrymose lugubriousness.

Triphop has its share of head-hang-low moments too. Massive Attack’s
“Protection” is a languid, simmering torch song with Tracy Thorn’s
reverse-chivalric lines delivered in an understated, sincere manner: “I
stand in front of you/I’ll take the force of the blow/Protection.”
Those words and the music behind them combine for one of the genre’s
highest low points—or lowest high points. Tricky’s “Makes Me
Wanna Die” also conjures feelings of blunted glumness. And Portishead’s
entire oeuvre has been a boo-hoo boon to the facial-tissue
industry.

Another song that’s swelled many hearts and minds with life’s
profound sadness while simultaneously inflating souls is John Barry’s
theme song to the awesome film Midnight Cowboy. Few pieces of
music pierce more fiercely than this brief paragon of melancholy. You
don’t even need to see Midnight Cowboy to appreciate the special
expression of resignation and longing Barry captures in under three
minutes. In a similar tenor, British vocalist Robert Wyatt’s version of
Hugh Hopper’s “Memories” distills the regret of reflection through his
uniquely soulful, fluty pipes. It’s a mellow, waltz-time wallow in
refracted ruefulness. From the same country and era, the late Nick
Drake’s orchestral, funereal “Way to Blue” is terminal depression’s
(anti)anthem.

For those of us who don’t rely on religion to get through the tough
times, such music is salvation. Songs that inspire tears serve to bond
us in our universal “shit happens/we’re all in this sinking ship
together” condition. And at their best, the waterworks they provoke
manage to keep us afloat. If nothing else, these songs are cheaper than
Prozac and better than Muzak.