When Sufjan Stevens sings with raw vulnerability about “Death with Dignity,” or Alex G warbles about “Thorns,” or Frankie Cosmos draws you in with “Sad 2,” or King Krule weeps with deep-voiced, buttery droning through “Bleak Bake,” you are being sold an emotion just as much as a song. Naturally, a degree of sadness can be a fuel for inspiration, pushing artists into more creative realms, donating their hurting to public consumption—offering a source of relatability for the general populace, giving us solace in melancholy solidarity. Sad songs, then, are incredibly important: sobbing in the depths of the saddest song you can find on your Spotify playlist is often an unmatched catharsis. Sadness sells, and often is mutually beneficial for consumer and producer alike.