I don't know if it qualifies as a "sad song" as much as a Blues song (sort of), which by definition is kinda sad, but I was deeply enthralled by all the kids in my kids' generation who could drop anything at any moment and cheerfully sing every single word (loudly! together!) to Old Crow Medicine Show's song Wagon Wheel. Especially here in rural New York, all those little kidlets singing emphatically about escaping to finally and happily die south of the Mason Dixon was bizarre and weirdly charming.
That is the perfect word for it, thank you. I think Blues and spirituals generally bring us together in the way you describe, somewhat by design. They remind us that we all lament. That we all seek comfort when it feels like there is none to be found. That we are all sometimes heartbroken, and that this living business can be a trial. As you say, we don't need to be reminded we're all in this together when things are good, but when they're bad and hard and it feels like there's no hope? Then we need each other. We need to be reminded that someone's been here before and look! They managed to write a song about it, which is a sign of survival.
My "music drops out and the crowd sings a capella" moment was at the 2014 Manchester Road Race. There's always a big ol' American flag hanging over Main St. which you run under on your way to the finish line, and right before the race starts you turn around and face the flag while a talented local person sings the anthem. In 2014 the audio dropped and within half a second there were 10,000+ runners and spectators who picked it up. I was there, it was really cool and there's a video! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJPgskNTifw
Oh this is all so good, Garrett. That last video!!! 🔥
Here’s what it’s got me thinking about: first, hymns. Sometimes I just think, “this thing we do every Sunday, so weird, right?” And yet also, there is something cathartic about it. Saying things, collectively, about God and humanity we might be hard-pressed to say individually, even in the context of church. Last weekend out music minister wanted to start the service with taking requests for carols from the hymnal. I told him it would never work, we are a white, wealthy, Presbyterian Church after all. But I was so wonderfully wrong. Turns out those are hymns people were excited enough about that they broke church taboos so they could sing them!
Second, my family went to see 21 Pilots two years ago. Coming out of the pandemic, being in this huge crowd in a massive stadium with everyone singing together. It was indescribable. Euphoric, cathartic, poignant. But what got me (to your point in this piece) is when they played Car Radio. It’s such a dark song, I was sure I was the only one who finds it so deeply moving and satisfying (it had me at the primal screaming). Turns out, I was not even close to the only one. And it was such a ridiculous revelation that I was not alone - and neither was the songwriter. How about that!
How about that indeed?!? On both counts! It strikes me, from both of these vignettes, just how wonderfully desperate we are to get to express complicated emotions (sorrow and darkness and faith) out loud, such that when we're actually given permission to do so, it just leaps out of us!
I had a really nice real life experience of this at a punk show in a VFW hall as a teenager. Hundreds of kids showed up to this particular show and the neighbors got mad and the cops came, and the promoter, scared of the cops, turned off the breakers and cut the power mid-song. Hundreds of kids finished the song in the dark. I remember the band, and funny that I don't remember the song, but I remember the feeling.
This also reminds me fondly of my favorite scene in one of my favorite movies. In Almost Famous, when everything has broken and everyone kind of hates each other and the whole bus of people are feeling let down and vulnerable, one by one, they start singing along to "Tiny Dancer," until the act of singing together creates a shift. It's so beautiful and makes me cry every damn time (and I have watched that movie A LOT).
As someone who has played in countless bands and organized festivals and tours, I have spent kind of a crazy amount of energy and resources over the course of my adult life chasing the transcendent feeling of a room filled with song. I guess childhood church habits die hard.
I don't know if it qualifies as a "sad song" as much as a Blues song (sort of), which by definition is kinda sad, but I was deeply enthralled by all the kids in my kids' generation who could drop anything at any moment and cheerfully sing every single word (loudly! together!) to Old Crow Medicine Show's song Wagon Wheel. Especially here in rural New York, all those little kidlets singing emphatically about escaping to finally and happily die south of the Mason Dixon was bizarre and weirdly charming.
I think Wagon Wheel 100% counts. It's definitely not triumphant. I'd say, plaintive!
That is the perfect word for it, thank you. I think Blues and spirituals generally bring us together in the way you describe, somewhat by design. They remind us that we all lament. That we all seek comfort when it feels like there is none to be found. That we are all sometimes heartbroken, and that this living business can be a trial. As you say, we don't need to be reminded we're all in this together when things are good, but when they're bad and hard and it feels like there's no hope? Then we need each other. We need to be reminded that someone's been here before and look! They managed to write a song about it, which is a sign of survival.
My "music drops out and the crowd sings a capella" moment was at the 2014 Manchester Road Race. There's always a big ol' American flag hanging over Main St. which you run under on your way to the finish line, and right before the race starts you turn around and face the flag while a talented local person sings the anthem. In 2014 the audio dropped and within half a second there were 10,000+ runners and spectators who picked it up. I was there, it was really cool and there's a video! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJPgskNTifw
that video and description is so cool, Beau!
Oh this is all so good, Garrett. That last video!!! 🔥
Here’s what it’s got me thinking about: first, hymns. Sometimes I just think, “this thing we do every Sunday, so weird, right?” And yet also, there is something cathartic about it. Saying things, collectively, about God and humanity we might be hard-pressed to say individually, even in the context of church. Last weekend out music minister wanted to start the service with taking requests for carols from the hymnal. I told him it would never work, we are a white, wealthy, Presbyterian Church after all. But I was so wonderfully wrong. Turns out those are hymns people were excited enough about that they broke church taboos so they could sing them!
Second, my family went to see 21 Pilots two years ago. Coming out of the pandemic, being in this huge crowd in a massive stadium with everyone singing together. It was indescribable. Euphoric, cathartic, poignant. But what got me (to your point in this piece) is when they played Car Radio. It’s such a dark song, I was sure I was the only one who finds it so deeply moving and satisfying (it had me at the primal screaming). Turns out, I was not even close to the only one. And it was such a ridiculous revelation that I was not alone - and neither was the songwriter. How about that!
How about that indeed?!? On both counts! It strikes me, from both of these vignettes, just how wonderfully desperate we are to get to express complicated emotions (sorrow and darkness and faith) out loud, such that when we're actually given permission to do so, it just leaps out of us!
I enjoyed this so much. And it reminded me instantly of this piece here that I used to assign when I, a non-believer, was teaching music composition to extremely conservative future church musicians. Some churches fear the music, some try to harness it. https://www.patheos.com/blogs/faithgoespop/2011/12/florence-the-machine-faith-and-me-part-1/
I had a really nice real life experience of this at a punk show in a VFW hall as a teenager. Hundreds of kids showed up to this particular show and the neighbors got mad and the cops came, and the promoter, scared of the cops, turned off the breakers and cut the power mid-song. Hundreds of kids finished the song in the dark. I remember the band, and funny that I don't remember the song, but I remember the feeling.
This also reminds me fondly of my favorite scene in one of my favorite movies. In Almost Famous, when everything has broken and everyone kind of hates each other and the whole bus of people are feeling let down and vulnerable, one by one, they start singing along to "Tiny Dancer," until the act of singing together creates a shift. It's so beautiful and makes me cry every damn time (and I have watched that movie A LOT).
As someone who has played in countless bands and organized festivals and tours, I have spent kind of a crazy amount of energy and resources over the course of my adult life chasing the transcendent feeling of a room filled with song. I guess childhood church habits die hard.