One more wistful gem from the South Pacific before returning to music with a little more of an edge. Some of my music geek friends wince when I suggest that Crowded House have their moments. I realize that they are a bit corporate-alternative verging on Middle of the Road. Their vibe is very specific to the late 80s, and in most cases I have little interest in bands that do what Crowded House does. But I also try to remain open minded about these things, which is a good thing in this case because Don't Dream it's Over is one of the saddest songs I've ever heard. I don't associate it with any experience in particular, yet I always stop to listen when I hear it playing in a yuppie restaurant or at an upscale 'art house' cinema. The song never fails to make me feel sweet pain. It proves that, under the right circumstances, even the most coldly and rationally market-researched music is capable of creating a haunting atmosphere and can evoke feelings of deep sorrow and loss. Maybe it's just that I have a big place in my heart for melancholy music. This goes back to the first Beatles and Beach Boys albums my parents bought for me when I was five years old. I always connected more with A Day in the Life and In My Room much more so than I Wanna Hold Your Hand and Surfin' USA. Eventually I embraced happy music as well, but it's the sad songs that, even to this day, affect me most deeply. One paradox that's especially interesting to me is that there's actually an element of joy in a great sad song. When I hear the opening guitar chords in Don't Dream it's Over, chiming like church bells at a funeral, along with the mournful organ and the quietly desperate pleading of the singing, I feel like the only thing stopping me from crying is that the whole thing is so sublime...
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