[songs] songs that have made me cry or at least made me consider it

i would classify these songs into how they make me want to cry (i.e., sadness, fond memory, joy), but I think that's getting too clinical, even for me.

note: I'm gonna classify 'em.

here's a few. it's hard to write this down in a way that makes sense, so if you haven't heard the song, please bear with me. if you have heard the song, please forgive me...

The voices:

Robert Johnson has such a mournful voice, in particular, his sung moan "mmmmm, Willie Mae...". It betrays such helpless regret that it floored me the first time I heard it as a freshman in college.

The bootleg version I downloaded of "You Never Give Me Your Money" a couple years ago is notable for Paul's "oh"s after the "oh, the magic feeling..." bridge. I love imperfect human voices managed well, and while Paul has an excellent voice, the roughness of the run-through gives it an even more poignant quality.

The unassuming cello in "Butterfly" contrasted with an ethereal female voice singing "la"s. I feel suspended over everything when I hear this song.

Catharsis gets me too. Not the empty-heart beating of most metal or the poor-suburban-me whine of the new punk boys. But real conflicts exorcised through song. Yes. Corin Tucker of Sleater-Kinney has such an enthralling wail of a voice. Over a stutter-step rock and roll beat layered with two-guitar punk, she sings, "It's just that when you touch me/I can't stand up". Words don't do it justice. I was bored in the library one day when I went to listen to a CD in the media room. Surprised that they had a Sleater-Kinney CD, I popped it in the player and was blown apart, start to finish. "Turn It On" was such a revelation to me, I listened to it three times in a row. Also, the chant "Turn it on, turn it on, turn it on/You can turn it on..." are a kind of anguished dare. Catchy and gripping.

In his prime, no one could compete with the emoting of Van Morrison. "Cyprus Avenue", his little tale of a love from afar befenits greatly from Van's uncontrolled bursts of passion. His sense of frustration is palpable, as is his desire for this unattainable girl. Pretty much all of "Astral Weeks" overwhelms me with swriling, driving passages and associative, evocative lyrics.

"Sweet Jane"'s "la la la" passage at the end just gets me. distilled joy.

The lyrics:

"Red Velvet Cake" is such a simple song, but it's my favorite of all-time. Over a cyclical guitar strum, Mr. Lawson recites all the things he and his old flame will never experience. The tone is resigned with a touch of hurt: "No more cards, no goldfish; you said we were made to kiss." The coda is a fade-out with Mr. Lawson singing "all gone" in colder and colder tones. Killer.

"Waitin' For a Superman" is a new classic. Gotta be. A simple acoustic setup rides under the aching words: "Tell everybody waitin' for Superman/That they should hold on/Best they can/He hasn't dropped them/Forgot them/Or anything/It's just too heavy/For Superman to lift." Coyne's voice, while technically deficient, carries a vivid feeling of helplessness here. His quiet acknowledgement of his inability to carry the day for the ones he loves is gorgeous, and a sentiment I see too rarely in music.

It's "Thirteen", for crying out loud! The words are perfectly suited to the adolescent speaker. Nearly everyone remembers some childhood crush, and in the space of two minutes Big Star takes it all head-on: the excitement, the fleeting moments, the disapproval of parents, the emotional confusion, the not knowing what you're doing. Jeez, I was a messed-up little kid. Thanks, Big Star...

I know, the Buzzcocks? The faith in this song's lyrics struck me powerfully. Here's an all-time great punk band saying "I believe in the Immaculate Conception, I believe in the Resurrection...I believe in the things I never had, and I believe in my mum and my dad." It's more inspiring than most worship music today. Same thing for "Honor Your Father and Mother". Mr. Dekker is so earnest in his plea, it tugs at me.

The instruments:

"Section 2" has a horn-filled mini-orchestra. Combined with a soaring choir singing joyfully simple lyrics. Beautiful.

"Can't Make a Sound" also has a horn section, enveloping the accusatory crescendo: "Why should you want any other, when you're a world within a world?" It overwhelms me, the fierce acoustic chopping, the swirling keyboards and layered vocals.

"Viðrar Vel Til Loftárása". Wow. From Jon's fragile voice to the gates-of-heaven string arrangement, this is a monumental song.

evocations:

"What Is the Light?" and "Lonely Planet" were songs on a mix I made to commemorate, in some tiny way, my recently deceased grandfather.

"Leather Jacket" was what I listened to in high school when I had a crush on one girl for a year.