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The saddest songs

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This was an argument we had a few times back in college. The perennial champions were "Cat's in the Cradle" by Harry Chapin and 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald" by Gordon Lightfoot.


Of course we also argued about things like "Which pain is worse - getting hit in the balls or biting on aluminum foil with a filling?" or the popular "Who would you do?".

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At least they avoided maudlin dead-teenager songs like Tell Laura I Love Her (they did, didn't they?)


edited to add: or Bobby Goldsboro's Honey.


edited again to add: these could also be cross-posted to the Songs I Hate thread...

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Seems the chemical reaction is based solely on the sound of a song, even if the content is not sad. Otherwise how to explain the inclusion of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful," a song that, whatever its other merits or demerits, has a very positive, uplifting message.

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I once chose to play 'Pale Blue Eyes',by the Velvet Underground on the jukebox at a local bar one night....a customer exclaimed "Why don't we just kill ourselves right now?"Sad for him....merely melancholy for me.Along with 'Devonside' by Richard Thompson, and 'Greenville',by Lucinda Williams...

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There are certain minor musical keys that act like a tuning fork on my sad-center, and any music in those keys (I'm pretty sure it's only one, though; I have yet to identify it) will set me weeping almost before I even realize it. It has been reported by several members of my family that, when I was about three years old, sitting in church, the organist started to play an interlude in a minor key and I started weeping and got up and left the church. My mother followed, only to find my weeping and unconsolable in the church yard.


Recently, when I went for my weekly massage (in prefectly good spirits, I might add, and not with unexamined misery lurking) there was an unfamiliar piece of flute music playing as I was getting undressed. When the masseuse (who happens to be close friend) came in, I was lying on the massage table crying so hard I could barely catch my breath. I managed to blurt out “you need to change this music”, which she did, and still it took me several minutes to compose myself enough to explain what had happened.


It really is the weirdest thing, and sometimes I have to hastily excuse myself from a situation because of the music. I had to make a quick exit from the bookstore recently, to avoid being caught weeping over the newly-released old Joy of Cooking. Some new-age piano thing was playing.

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