Perfect 10: Forever Autumn 

“One day you turn around and it’s summer. Next day you turn around and it’s fall,” sang someone with the blues we’ll come to in due course. Because we’ve come to the fourth and final seasonal Perfect 10. “And the springs and the winters of a lifetime. Whatever happened to them all?” 

Traditionally, autumn (or fall if you’re yankee) is a time of transition – a colourful bridge between the sunny skies of summer and the icy grip of winter. However, this singular season has elusive qualities of its own. It may be darker and cooler, but as this selection of enduring autumnal classics proves, plenty of equally cool songs have been inspired by its shifting landscapes and ever-changing moods.

This particular P10 has been carefully chosen and sequenced to reflect the sweet sand passage of time from September to November. Not all of them even mention the season by name but you can be certain they encapsulate the feel of a quintessential autumn night. Take flight.

Dusty Springfield — Summer Is Over (1964)

Kicking off our countdown in suitably melancholic style, we have the B-side of Dusty Springfield’s seventh solo single Losing You — with both sides being penned by her brother Tom Springfield and Clive Westlake. Well, in the UK at least, because despite the 45 being released in the bleak mid-October of ’64 (concurrently with Frank Ifield’s less lovely A-side attempt) her US label chose a different flip, saving Summer Is Over for their laconically titled cherry-picker compilation, Dusty. 

With Ivor Raymonde’s evocative orchestration adjusting the tonalities for Springfield’s specifications, the Cricklewood-born chanteuse’s mezzo-soprano appears an octave lower than the yodelling Aussie’s original, creating a subtle feeling of extra depth and downbeat psychologism as she displays a circular sense of foreboding that the nights are drawing in. 

Although Johnny Franz’s production tips a wink to Phil Spector’s wall-of-sound stylistics, the song’s pretty minor key melody has more of a Françoise Hardy-style French pop ring than the gritty Americanised soul power of much of the singer’s 60s oeuvre. Which is probably why a Gallic redo — L’Été Est Fini — was included on her Mademoiselle Dusty EP in 1965. Talking of which…

Frank Sinatra — It Was A Very Good Year (1965) 

C’est bien. From Autumn Leaves to Indian Summer and September In The Rain, if you’re looking for Ol’ Blue Eyes highfalutin about fall then you’re rather spoilt for choice. 

September Of My Years was Sinatra’s 50th birthday concept album, and saw the coruscating crooner sounding splendidly mature, which only benefits a performer of his stature, since vocal jazz sounds more resonant when the act can draw on years of experience. Thus, the LP is infused with a theme of aging, reflection, and regret as it explores the “who am I?” perspectives that someone, particularly a man, faces upon entering middle age. 

The raw and reflective vibe is extremely effective at achieving a melancholy mood, and none more so than on its lead single, It Was A Very Good Year. We witness the narrator looking back upon his life at various ages from teens to thirties as he settles into his personal September. And while Frankie can evoke the feelings of a season better than any other artist I have heard, here it’s a metaphorical allegory as the fellow’s “in the autumn of the year” as he compares his maturing age to vintage wine. 

The song’s and wistfully bittersweet lyrics hit their target with precision, amply assisted by conductor Gordon Jenkins’ rich, stately arrangements. Alas, with Beatlemania in full flow, neither single or album did anything in the British charts though across the pond both records bagged Team Sinatra a clutch of Grammys, which then kickstarted something of of a commercial renaissance for the singer, who went on to score huge hits with Strangers In The Night, That’s Life and Summer Wind, the latter of which we assessed in our previous periodic feature. 

Donna Summer — Autumn Changes (1976)

As punk blazed an angry trail in Blighty, Donna Summer and Giorgio Moroder’s magnificent Munich machine were largely oblivious as they crafted Four Seasons Of Love, a concept album exploring the peak and demise of a love affair through, yep, you’ve guessed it: spring, summer, autumn, and winter. Helpfully, we covered the LP’s two singles Spring Affair and Winter Melody as well as the delicious deep cut Summer Fever already. That makes the much missed Queen of Disco and much more the only act to feature in all four of our season specials. And how. 

That leaves Autumn Changes, where things cool down to mid-paced melancholia, because, if anything, this lady knew her brief. Donna’s warm and breathy soprano is dreamy, graceful and incredibly soothing, while the electronic sonic tapestry is possibly even better — funky, vibrant, and full of life. Listening to this in the 2020s feels like you’re floating, as the squelchy drums and bass, shimmering strings, and an awesome flair for imagination fuse spectacularly. There’s even an atypically tropical reggaeish bridge which makes me think of Boney M. but better. Much, much better. 

Indeed, almost half a century later, it’s evident how much the Four Seasons project solidified Summer and Moroder’s reputation as one of the most adventurous teams in pop. The next time they returned, it would be with the masterpiece that defined an entire era, I Feel Love. 

Justin Hayward — Forever Autumn (1978)

The titular centrepiece of this listicle, Forever Autumn started life in the summer of ’69 as a Simon & Garfunkel-esque radio jingle for Lego (I kid you not) before being transformed into a pretty if twee curio with lyrics and performance by a British folk duo called Vigrass & Osborne in 1972, plus guest guitar by session supremo Chris Spedding. 

Fluttering along like a song whisked through a gale, its composer-producer Jeff Wayne clearly thought the tune had yet to reach its full potential and tapped The Moody Blues’ Justin Hayward for the version that went on to become the lead single of Wayne’s musical version of HG Wells’ The War Of The Worlds. Justin is also one of my mother’s favourite vocalists for good reason. So everyone says ‘Hi Mum’!

Striking and dramatic, Forever Autumn is a beautiful ballad of post-romance angst that captures the anguish of aching regret. The lyrics’ repetitive invocation of love, loss and longing creates a cyclical sense of doom, mirroring the cycles of the seasons, and reflecting the inexorable passage of time — a common theme in science fiction which resonates with the melancholy of the autumnal equinox as it sums up the turmoil of a relationship’s end.

The song’s extended instrumental passages, featuring flying flutes and shimmering guitar parts, convey a narrative of despair and resignation in all its bittersweet, reflective glory. And like many of the other cuts on this list, Forever Autumn is a meditation on time’s inevitable progression and the emotional weight it carries.

Ian McCulloch — September Song (1984)

Such is autumns’s evocative association with falling leaves and the brownish landscapes that conjures, several earthy odes to ochre were featured in a draft iteration of this article, including songs that mention Cinnamon (Stone Roses, Lana Del Rey) or Rust, the latter lead single by Echo & The Bunnymen in 1999 having a particular personal resonance but made the listing somewhat nineties-heavy.

As frontman of Liverpool’s premier post-punk doomsayers, much of Ian McCulloch’s more poignant and reflective balladeering evokes the world of Sinatra the saloon singer as seen through a cracked glass of Jack Daniel’s, a favourite tipple of both men. Mac’s music is best experienced under a grey autumn sky as a chill breeze penetrates your even greyer overcoat. His evocative atmospheric lyrics are often populated with forlorn characters existing on the fringes of a Kerouacian universe where the nirvana might be a late night drive with one last fagbutt before you hop over the wall to the land of milk and cutter. 

Which makes his first solo single all the more surprising in that it was a cover of a very old chestnut. Interpreted by countless crooners — Willie Nelson, Lou Reed, Bryan Ferry and, of course, Frankie to name just four — McCulloch’s version of Kurt Weill and Maxwell Anderson’s standout for the 1938 Broadway musical Knickerbocker Holiday offers a uniquely sombre and introspective take on one of the 20th century’s most enduring standards.

On September Song, Mac the Mouth paints a skulker picture of a couple in a lovers’ story, growing old together and emphasising the reflective lyrics that ponder the fleeting nature of time and the inevitability of aging. In Ian’s hands it becomes less about nostalgic longing and more about existential resignation. 

Recorded almost simultaneously, Reed’s version stripped the track back with a sparse minimalist arrangement while Ian’s went for every bit of the hog roast, boasting a lush orchestration by half of Madness’ production cohorts, plus avant garde arranger David Bedford, fresh from the Nutty Boys’ own One Better Day. With his rich raffish Scouse burr centre stage, Mac contemplates love’s complexities while channeling gothic despair.

Moreover, his world weary delivery adds a haunting quality that transforms the song into a stark meditation on time, highlighting the song’s inherent melancholy with lines such as “Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few: September, November. And these few precious days I’ll spend with you.”

Missing the Top 50 and indeed an autumn release entirely, September Song was completely sidelined in Britain’s festive “hit parade” of December ’84 as Band Aid’s Do They Know It’s Christmas? hogged the top spot with George Michael’s Wham! bringing up the rear. No fear.

Eurythmics — Julia (1985)

With its musical mastermind Dave Stewart describing its parent album as “Kraftwerk meets African tribal meets Booker T & The MGs”, Eurythmics’ dark and ethereal Julia is something of a misunderstood masterpiece. This brooding, beautifully haunting ballad was extracted from their soundtrack set 1984 (For The Love Of Big Brother), while acting as the main recurring theme used in Michael Radford’s adaption of the George Orwell novel, serving as not only the highlight of the movie’s musical score but one of the duo’s pre-eminent highpoints in an already storied career. 

The otherworldly ode paints a sonic soundscape with its atmospheric unification of synths and acoustic guitar, though it’s Annie Lennox’s heavily processed voice that’s the star of the show, so distraught, so despairing. Devoid of beat and percussion, it’s all shimmering, shifting phases, as though she’s been turned into a synth itself: “When the leaves turn from green to brown, and autumn shades come tumbling down /To leave a carpet on the ground where we have laid / When winter leaves and branches bare … My darling, will we still be there?” 

Sadly, the hoo-ha over the director publicly complaining Dave and Annie’s music was “foisted” on his film fed into the lack of chart worthiness of both LP and its secondary single, which slipped out, almost apologetically, in the post-Crimbo lull of January ’85. Stalling at 44, it was the first Eurythmics release to miss the UK Top 40 since their breakthrough. No matter, because far from being a flop 45 on the footnote of a forgotten album, Julia glistens wondrously over four decades on.

Pet Shop Boys — My October Symphony (1990)

With such a deceptively varied catalogue as the Pet Shop Boys’, it would the been too easy to plump for 2002’s The Samurai In The Autumn. A lyrically slight yet atmospheric highlight of off one of their least revered sets, 2002’s downbeat Release. 

Not for the last time, the mood of an album released in spring sounded defiantly autumnal, with 2024’s Nonetheless everything Elysium, from 2012, tried so hard to be. Released as the duo’s fourth LP in October 1990, Behaviour is arguably the best of the Boys’ mellow meisterwerks, and was largely produced in Munich with Harold Faltermeyer of Axel F fame.

Continuing Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe’s penchant for marrying peerless pop with luxuriant lyricism, Behaviour was their most personal set of songs to date, affording the listener a chance to embark on another wondrous journey into the PSB world, a synthesised cityscape of hopes and dreams, pain and loss, life and love. 

Tennant’s professed favourite track on the album, it’s obvious from the title alone that My October Symphony is brimming with class, erudition and a sophistication Sonia could only dream of. 

“So much confusion when autumn comes around”: we’re on political territory as this elegantly crafted gem indulges the singer’s love of Russian history (in this instance the life of Soviet composer Shostakovich and the October Revolution of 1917), in particular reflecting the changes in Russian society since the pre-Putin loosening of the country’s repressive regime all filtered through a beautifully swirling melody with some stunning string work from the Balanescu Quartet, plus a cameo from guitar star Johnny Marr. 

David Bowie — Buddha Of Suburbia (1993)

From revolution to revelation, because eagle-eyed viewers may have already spotted that 1978’s Forever Autumn takes place on the same Sussex beach with the same apocalyptic distortion effects applied to the elements as would appear in Bowie’s Ashes To Ashes two years later — both clips share the same director in David Mallet, who’d shot the Justin Hayward clip for the first series of ITV’s Kenny Everett Video Show. 

Although the Dame’s impermeable influence often filters its way into a fair few of these Perfect 10 pieces, we now arrive at the first time a Bowie song has directly featured in one of these seasonal specials. Dig out your soul love and moonboys because we’ve reached possibly his most autumnal single, and it’s a TV theme to a BBC drama from the 90s yet rooted in the 70s.

With such an opaque impressionistic lyricist like Bowie this wasn’t as obvious choice as it appears. I considered some of the more mediative pieces from Hours and Heathen such as Thursday’s Child or Sunday but they didn’t feel quite the ticket. And to go for the glam stomp of Diamond Dogs just because he mentions a character called Halloween Jack was plain silly. So that sort of leaves The Buddha Of Suburbia, a beautifully wistful 45 fashioned for the Beeb’s adaption of Hanif Kureishi’s semi-autobiographical novel, and the title track of the second DB LP of ’93.

Kureishi and Bowie both attended Bromley Tech, seven years apart, which was enough common ground to have the collaboration get off of it. Containing a plethora of cheeky references to his nascent compositions while he lived in the borough, this is my pick for a cloudy day in the UK. Will it make you feel less melancholy? Probably not, but it’s a rather under-appreciated song that gives the Thin White one the perfect excuse to indulge in a little living nostalgia while subtly shifting his music in a new direction.

Working with multi-instrumentalist Erdal Kızılçay, a little-known band called 3D Echo and guest guitarist Lenny Kravitz, Buddha Of Suburbia is a mini masterclass in recalibrating one’s past, utilising sonic hallmarks from the early 70s (12-string acoustic, orotund split-octave vocals) while weaving in melodic references (most notably the two-bar guitar break from Space Oddity – originally C-F-G-A-A, here E-G-A-B-B) and lyrical throwbacks from All The Madmen “Day after day…” and the closing chant “Zane, zane, zane, ouvre le chien” ultimately building towards a wonderful circularity. 

Buddha Of Suburbia was Bowie at his evocative best, and  the return to a more conventional style of songwriting wasn’t lost on Neil Tennant, who named it one of the best singles of 1993. By the time of my first interview with the Pet Shop Boys frontman in 1996, he’d incorporated the line “I who studied make-up, mime and Buddha” into his own PSB ‘tribute’ to Bowie (it’s a lovely understated B-side called Friendly Fire) and seemed keen to point out that how Bowie is often best when he’s not being too pretentious or desperate to appear clever:

“It’s a really good song. One of the best things he’s done in the last few years, and I noticed that it touches on sort of gay themes again, doesn’t it? “Sometimes I fear that the whole world is queer,” that line. Actually, I get slightly bored with the cut-up lyric thing and I think David should relax a bit more. 

“On the Buddha Of Suburbia song he’s writing about where he was brought up in South London and it sounds like it’s not a big deal. He just relaxes in to this really good song that seems to say something about himself. Sometimes I feel he strives for importance, whereas in the past importance just used to arrive after the event.” 

The BOS video was directed by Roger Michell (a rarer fag-free edit was demanded by The ITV Chart Show) with Bowie’s scenes shot on a chilly November day among the autumnal leaf drop in Bromley. And both the bungalow-lined cul-de-sac St Matthew’s Drive and the Whitehall recreation ground were appropriately close to his childhood home in Clarence Road.

Incidentally, the single’s B-side was the album track Dead Against It, an exquisite electronic-oriented dream pop song which pointed the way towards where the Dame would be heading for the rest of the decade. Which reminds me, its lovely line “She is the apple in my eye” was to have a dual role in this feature by leading into Fiona Apple’s Pale September.

Alas, we’re going resolutely forward in the calendar, so here’s Damo.

Gorillaz — November Has Come (2005)

Since their animated inception in 2001, Gorillaz has provided Damon Albarn with an outlet to vent his fondness for cartoon kitsch, and satiate his genre-busting need to break free from white boy guitar rock. Together with Jamie Hewlett, the on-off Blur frontman has collaborated with a huge roll-call of artists, and in doing so deserves credit for curating such accessible yet eclectic and occasionally eccentric records – an ever-changing vehicle for his ceaseless curiosity.

Perhaps their most popular album, 2005’s sophomore set Demon Days employs a cornucopia of guest acts as diverse as Neneh Cherry, Shaun Ryder and (oo-er), master misanthropist Ike Turner. What could be an incoherent mess of musical styles on paper, it’s genuinely impressive how, with all the stylistic twists and turns, the end result is a polished mix of electronic, pop and alt.rock elements, all of which blend together into a cohesive aural sculpture.

Though not a single, November Has Come is the hip-hoppish highlight of the LP’s second act, and remains the most satisfying expression of the Gorillaz concept: focused in both its themes (innocence and violence) and personnel (the rap-adjacent culture). Slightly proudly, much of the track and album was recorded in Albarn’s one-room studio setup opposite my then gym studio in Ladbroke Grove.

Metal masked rapper MF DOOM intones insistently while accompanied by Albarn’s ghostly lo-fi chorus and background harmonies. The rapmeister – real name Daniel Dumile – is in no mood to take prisoners as he spits rhymes about the fate of the gangster rapper and how their roads will lead all of them to a similar fate of getting gunned down in cold blood. And there’s the fact that DOOM died on Halloween 2020 gives the title a spooky double meaning. RIP MF.

Diana Krall — Autumn In New York (2020)

A jazz standard written by Vernon Duke during the height of the Great Depression in 1934, we wrap things up with the oldest tune of the ten. Autumn In New York has been recorded by legendary vocalists such as Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan, Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong

Duke could’ve been tempted to write a light-hearted piece about the beauty of NYC in the fall. Instead, he chose to be honest. Yes, life there offers “the thrill of first nighting,” and “the promise of new love.” But it’s also “mingled” with pain and “dreamers with empty hands.” 

The beauty of fall around us contrasts with the lingering pain of the pandemic and wrestling with inflation. Duke recognises these difficulties are all too real, but at the same time, he reminds us … so is love. “Lovers that bless the dark on benches in Central Park.” It’s autumn in New York. Or Woodstock. Or Fire Island. “It’s good to live it again.”

Slow and steady, there’s something especially affecting about the version issued by Canadian chanteuse Diana Krall – Mrs Elvis Costello – during COVID-afflicted 2020.

Accompanied by a stunning monochromatic video created to raise awareness for volunteer organisation New York Cares, Krall’s intimate close-miked take portrays both the promise and positivity (“it lifts you up when you’re run down”) and the inherent melancholy (“dreamers with empty hands/they sigh for exotic lands”) of autumn in the post-war Big Apple and it remains as enchanting as ever today. 

A sentimental journey indeed. 

Steve Pafford