Weekend Music

I'd like to make the argument that this is the greatest pop song ever written, but that's really a little foolish, not because it isn't unquestionably a very great song, but because there are so many great ones. Most of my favorites in this pre-rock-and-roll vein have lyrics by Johnny Mercer, who so often has a wistful melancholy touch, along with a gift for the striking visual image, which seem particularly of the 20th century.

Of the versions I found on YouTube, I couldn't decide whether I preferred Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra, so here are both.  Sinatra's is immaculately somber, a single run through the lyric with a string arrangement. Cole's is warmer, with an excellent quiet jazz accompaniment. Take your pick. Caution: risk of tears, especially with the Sinatra.

For the fascinating history of the song, see this piece by Mark Steyn, sent to me by my friend Robert. In reply to Robert, I said:

To which Robert replied: True alas, alas. At least we spent a part of our youth in its afterglow.

I heard this song when I was ten or twelve years old, I think on one of the few recordings my parents owned, and I was somehow better for it; I recognize now that the experience was of perfect beauty in art. Much has changed since the middle of the 20th century, and much of that has been for the better. Yet unquestionably something in the soul of our culture has been lost.