Music is an entirely personal affair. What some people might stow on a pedestal, others might try and bury alive; it's entirely subjective, relevant to our own memories and feelings. We all have favourite artists, tracks and records that we hold close to our hearts: maybe it was a track that soundtracked a first kiss, or maybe a particular LP got you through some tough times. Maybe a certain band reminds you of a simpler time. We've all got opinions on what's the top album of all time, and 99% of the world is just bound to disagree. But that's fine. There are no right answers.

This weekly feature will see the 405 staff contribute their opinions and argue the case for what they think is the best music. It's also a handy way to get some recommendations of music you may not have experienced before - perhaps you'll create some new memories thanks to these delicious noises. It's not just the staff we want to hear from though; we want to know what you think. We'll ask around on Twitter and Facebook for suggestions and whack 'em in for the world to see. There might be a playlist or two as well slotted in for good measure. It's going to be a chunky collaborative periodical where we can all discuss how and why our favourite music is our favourite.

For this week's edition of No Right Answers, the 405 staff were asked to pick a song that made them cry. Grab some tissues folks, we're about to get emotional on your asses.



  • Mike and the Mechanics

    Mike and the Mechanics - 'The Living Years'

    [1988]

    Before you dismiss the suggestion entirely, yes I am aware I am choosing a song by Mike and the sodding Mechanics, and yes I am aware how massively uncool that makes me. In my own defence, I'm not choosing it because I really like it (it's OK) and I have no idea why it brings me to tears. There's just something about a dude singing about his dad dying and how much he regrets not having talked properly to him while he was still alive which makes me blub. A lot of my friends could probably say the same thing about their relationship with their fathers. I suppose you don't know until someone actually does die whether or not you feel like you've communicated sufficiently with them. I suspect there's always more that can be said. I've heard this song in train stations, in cafes, all over the place and it still brings a tear to my eye. Interesting side point: this kind of epic, choir-backed soft rock has now conquered the world again thanks to Mumford & Sons, Bastille and the National. So we can be grateful for that.

    Nicholas Glover.

  • Perfume Genius

    Perfume Genius - 'Awol Marine'

    [2012]

    I may have opted for 'Awol Marine', the fragile opener to Perfume Genius' Put Your Back N 2 It, but, quite frankly, I could have lifted any track for inspection, as well as anything from heart wrenching debut album Learning. Mike Hadreas specialises in subtly unsettling anthems for the lovelorn, that much is clear, but much of his musing feels intensely personal, thus prompting the inevitable whimper from my bubbling lips. Fresh material is imminent, apparently, so expect me to wallow for the remainder of the year as soon as it drops.

    Lee Wakefield.

  • Holy Other

    Holy Other - 'With U'

    [2011]

    It was one of the songs she showed me at the beginning of whatever it was we never had. Like her, it blew me away immediately. I was at university at the time and had developed the habit of really hammering songs she sent which appealed to me. I once listened to it 54 times on the trot. At that time it didn't make me cry although there was always something beautifully tragic about it; the fragility of the song; the repetition of "it starts with you" - at least that's what it sounded like to me. Then when it turned out it we simply could not be this became the soundtrack of the whole damn thing. I have to skip it when it comes on now in case it puts lumps in my throat. I listened to it one more time whilst writing all of the above and I'll tell you now, my throat has never felt lumpier.

    Paul Anon.

  • Red Hot Chili Peppers

    Red Hot Chili Peppers - 'Dosed'

    [2002]

    I get that precious few people have love for the Red Hot Chili Peppers these days, and that they're pretty much the least respected band out there (bar Kasabian), but I love 'em. As one of the first bands I ever got into as a wee lad, they've always got a special place in my heart. From buying Californication on Napster (fucking Napster) to sitting down for a solid three hours to soak in the criminally underrated I'm With You, from choosing to write about Anthony Kiedis for a school presentation to being physically reduced to tears by over half of By The Way, RHCP have been one of my all-time favourite acts since I was about 10.

    This track in particular - 'Dosed' - is a proper tearjerker. I'm well aware that pretty much no one else will feel this way, and there are plenty of other, perhaps greater, tracks that also induce the weepies, but 'Dosed' did it first. It's from a time in my early teens, rekindling memories (isn't that why all music makes us cry? No? Stay tuned for more on that at some point this year) of graduating Middle School (for the majority that didn't do Middle Schools, that's the one from Year 5 to Year 8), sat on the beach with a Walkman and PC speakers shoehorned in, blaring out By The Way and The Darkness' first album. Happy times.

    Larry 'Had A Bad' Day

  • LCD Soundsystem

    LCD Soundsystem - 'New York, I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down (Live)'

    [2013]

    It's not just specifically the song - although as a wispy tearjerker, it does fit the bill - but this version, which quite simply gets me every time. James Murphy, perhaps more than most, made a career out of doing exactly the right thing at the right time and this, the last song of the last encore of their last ever gig, was perfect in every way. From Nancy Wang slowly tracing out the theme from Twin Peaks to Murphy's heartfelt, emotional goodbyes (he almost loses it while saying hello to his nieces & nephews and asking his family if it's ok that he's wearing his dad's watch) to the long drawn out solos I defy anyone to watch this and not feel a twinge of sadness and melancholy for the loss of one of this generations greatest bands. I must have watched this over a hundred times and, by the end, when the balloons are falling and everyone's in tears, I know exactly how they feel - what a way to go.

    Derek Robertson.

  • Simon & Garfunkel

    Simon & Garfunkel - 'The Sound of Silence'

    [1965]

    I know this will probably be a bit of cliché, as this beautiful Simon & Garfunkel track usually leaves people with tears in their eyes no matter how many times it's been played. The thing is, the emotional weight contained in 'The Sound of Silence' comes from both the fatalism of the lyrics, which are a poignant alert to the ever-growing numbness of Western society, and the structure of the music itself, composed mainly via minor chords. Written shortly after the Kennedy assassination, 'The Sound of Silence' portrays the painful awakening of youth, suddenly forced to face adulthood and rethink the values they had been brought up with. I can't help but cry everytime I listen to this track (even sang it live once or twice and had a hard time trying not to break down and make a fool of myself), especially the breathtaking Monterey Pop version that sees the song stripped down to its poetic minimum.

    Ana Leorne

  • Samuel Barber

    Samuel Barber - 'Adagio For Strings'

    [1936]

    Once described as 'the saddest music ever written', this majestic piece of music by the US composer is totally unmatched in its ability to break hearts, freeze time and ultimately, cause our eyes to leak uncontrollably. Its place in many globally historic moments (Adagio For Strings was played at the death announcements or funerals of Roosevelt, JFK, Einstein and Princess Diana) and as a major cultural reference point (featuring on the Platoon and Amelie soundtracks for starters) is well-documented. Strangely, considering its role as the go-to soundtrack for moments of mass solemnity, I find an incredible amount of peace and joy in the work. That said, the strings - either wilting and sorrowful, or uplifting and soaring - can literally tip me in the direction of absolute desolation or sheer euphoria. And not the kind of euphoria that Ferry Corsten or Armin Van Buren were seeking to create in their trashy remixes either.

    Pass the tissues, we've arrived at weep central.

    Lyle Bignon.

  • The Antlers

    The Antlers - 'Corsicana'

    [2011]

    Picking a song centred around the dynamics of a failed relationship is hardly a shocking choice for this particular No Right Answers, but there's something so striking about the simplicity of 'Corsicana' that it's impossible to overlook its eligibility. The sonic palette that the band pluck from involves none of the warmer textures you can find elsewhere on Burst Apart; instead, there's lonely guitars and walls of elegant, shimmering feedback. The clincher, though, is Peter Silberman's gorgeous vocal; it's not so much the desperate resignation of the lyrics - "we should shut that window we both left open now" - as it is the broken fragility of his delivery; the hardiest of souls will do well to hold it together as the track fades out through his cooed falsetto.

    Joe Goggins

  • Drake ft. Sampha

    Drake ft. Sampha - 'Too Much'

    [2013]

    Brooding, silky-voiced heart string-tugger Sampha said of his fellow collaborator that his ability to articulate fine details is somewhat similar to Mike Skinner's. With Original Pirate Material being in all time top five, perhaps this is the reason I've finally come round to Aubrey's "soft" style. Sure, this sometimes makes his threats feel empty in songs like 'Worst Behaviour', "I'm liable to do anything when it comes to that you-owe-me" (what, are you going to forget to wipe your shoes on my doormat?!). However, cometh 'Too Much' and the man takes it to a whole new level. To use Sampha's words again, it's so real and raw it's not even pleasurable. When he talks about his mum being cooped up in her apartment, telling herself she's too sick to get dressed up and go do shit, that's where it gets me. Not a tear, but an embarrassing realisation that the man's a human being who couldn't care less about a gif of him fannying around in a scoop neck, tie-die top with Bacardi Breezer, just as long as mum's got him the right sandwich.

    But to be serious, Drake's lyrics in this track are just so god-damn relatable you'd have to be some sort of an ogre to not feel for him. Spilling his heart out on prime-time national television to debut the song, it's like this is the only way he can think of to truly get a message across to his family. Now turn the lights out, pour yourself a large one, watch this on your own and feel a creeping, solitary tear seep through.

    Mike Walmsley

  • Blur

    Blur - 'No Distance Left To Run'

    [1999]

    'No Distance Left to Run' by Blur is quite possibly the perfect self-indulgent break-up song and should be on every guy's recovery playlist post heartbreak - when we all need a good cry.

    From the moment Graham's distorted melancholy guitar accompanied by Damon's pained lyric "It's over..." enters your lug holes, it is literally game over. That resolve you held when your (former) other half was making a dog's dinner of your heart is washed away by an unsurmountable flood that soaks your face. As grief consumes and the odd but appropriate post break-up actions take over, such as collapsing into a heap on the floor or burying your damp head into a pillow, or even smashing your fist into a wall, you must remember that feeling sorry for yourself is what this song is all about.

    Even now when I listen to the genius that is Albarn, sing the lines, "I hope you're with someone who makes you feel safe in your sleeping tonight" and "I won't kill myself trying to stay in your life," I know that the waterworks on my face, in memory of past relationships, are actually liquid representations of saying "fuck it, you won't do better than me."

    Jake Wright.