Sunday, March 16, 2014

Songs for Sunday Morning

There is a surprisingly robust sub-genre of songs that address the very specific malaise that can only be felt on a Sunday.  Maybe it's the recovery from Friday and Saturday night; maybe it's having to face the work week again; maybe as a day of new beginnings it makes one take a cold hard look at one's life; maybe as a religious Sabbath it makes one take a cold hard look at one's soul; maybe it's the fact that once again you are not in Church; maybe it's the fact that once again you are in Church; whatever the reason, Sunday is arguably the hardest morning to wake up to.

Granted, this malaise doesn't hit every Sunday, or even most Sundays; but Sunday is still the one day on which it's most likely to hit, and when it does hit, it always hits harder than on any other day of the week.  Simply put, if you're not careful, Sundays can be the worst.  As evidence, I proffer the following selected playlist:

Sunday Morning, by The Velvet Underground.  The first song of their first album, The Velvet Underground announced their arrival not with a bang of psychedelic experimentalism as their reputation suggests, but with a whimper of regretful melancholy, as can only come on a Sunday, singing, "I've got a feeling/I don't want to know..."


A Sunday, by Jimmy Eat World.  Clearly influenced by its Velvet Underground forebear right down to the gentle xylophone intro, Jimmy Eat World's "A Sunday" centers on the drive back after a Saturday night, when "the haze clears from your eyes," and you face the harsh light of a new week with a brutal, "what you wish for won't come true/live with that/with that..."


Sunday Morning Coming Down, by Johnny Cash.  The Man in Black offers the definitive cover of this old Kris Kristofferson song, about a hungover man who has a beer for breakfast and "one more for desert," and his Sunday morning only goes downhill from there. As he himself sings, "there's something in a Sunday/that makes somebody feel alone."


Sunday Sun, by Beck.  Break-ups are bad; they're even worst on a Sunday, as Beck knew full well on his break-up-album of break-up-albums, 2002's Seachange.  No other day of the week gets a break-up song from Beck, cause no other day needs one.


Sunday Morning, by No Doubt.  And as Gwen Stefani knew full well, if you need to turn the tables on a heart-breaker, there's no better/worst day to do it than on a Sunday.


Sunday Girl, by Blondie.  It's hard enough to deal with an ending relationship on a Sunday--but to have Sunday define the whole fling in the first place? That's just kicking a girl while she's down.  Somehow the French verse only adds to the ennui, despite (or because of?) the poppy melody. But then, there is a certain euphoria in melancholy, isn't there.


Sister Golden Hair, by America.  This love-lorn little number makes the list solely for that killer opening line: "Well I tried to make it Sunday/but I got so damned depressed..."  Haven't we all.



Interstate Love Song, by Stone Temple Pilots.  Man, a lot of these are break-up songs, aren't they!  This one at least moves us later into the day, with the opener: "Waiting/On a Sunday afternoon/For what I read between the lines/Your lies..."



Sunday Bloody Sunday, by U2.  But then, being brokenhearted is far from the worst thing that can happen on a Sunday: U2 had an early hit decrying the Bogside Massacre of 1972, wherein 26 unarmed protesters were shot by British troops in Northern Ireland, killing 13.  (And on a Sunday no less!  Here you thought your Sunday was bad.)  "How long must we sing this song" indeed.



Honorary Mention: Jesusland, by Ben Folds.  Now, Sunday is never explicitly named in this song; but c'mon, on what other day of the week is Ben Folds gonna have either the time or the inclination to "take a walk" all day through his native North Carolina, be filled with inexpressible melancholy at the "beautiful McMansions on a hill" and alienation from those "crosses flying high above the malls," and in sadness "hang your head and pray/for Jesus Land"?  There is only one answer.

So as to not leave you on a total bummer: God Only Knows, by the Beach Boys.  A favorite of no less than Sir Paul McCartney himself, this almost-hymn acknowledges the potential sadness present within every joy--indeed, how the former makes the latter possible.  Like on a Sunday.

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