At Tooth and Dagger’s last Lecture-oke event, the oration had wound down and attendees were instead giving voice to Hoko’s selection of karaoke. Manning the microphone, I’d worked my way through half of Morrissey’s “The More You Ignore Me, The Closer I Get” when this publication’s dark overlord, Graeme Worthy, decided to sing along. Quite unexpectedly, our conjoined voices provided an impressive approximation of the Mozzer. Left suitably rattled by our shared moment, Graeme and I adjourned to our separate corners of the establishment and haven’t spoken again to this day.

I’d successfully repressed that incident until I heard Stars’ “Take Me to the Riot” (from In Our Bedroom After the War) for the first time. Amidst a swirling arrangement, Torq Campbell caterwauls the chorus – “Pills enough to make me feel ill; Cash enough to make me well; Take me, take me to the riot” – with a blissful anguish that owes its every inflection to Morrissey. Frankly, the diminutive dandy’s vocal paean put my and Graeme’s joint effort to shame.

Resigned to being runner-up (a station celebrated in many a Smiths song), I set iTunes to repeat and let Stars’ riotous rhapsody wash over me again. During this second spin, I recalled two other songs that had recently elicited a similar response from me. The first of these was The National’s “Start a War” with Matt Berninger’s sleepy but sinister invocation of “I’ll get money, I’ll get funny again.” The second being St. Vincent’s “Paris is Burning” which threatens to waltz a listener straight into the inferno.

Observant readers will undoubtedly note the swath of destruction wrought by my high rotation. Notice served: Autumn is upon us and everyone’s parade is about to get rained on. It’s time to shelve the summertime easy listening and dredge up some overcast accompaniment for the bleak months ahead.

Fortunately, the good people at FatCat Records have made this task a little easier for me by supplying my mailbox with some aural sorrow. Which, incidentally, isn’t nearly as unwholesome as it sounds. So, what to my woeful ears should appear?

Tom Brosseau – Cavalier (out Oct. 29)

What initially strikes you about Brosseau is that he sings like a girl. Alas, the lulling falsetto found on “Amory” isn’t a mainstay. The songwriter instead relies on a bluesy warble that ideally colours back porch melodies such as “Committed to Memory,” which features the sublime declaration “I’ve got my favourite scar.” Meanwhile, the dingy, evocative “Instructions to Meet the Devil” would be ideally paired with a whiskey of your choice and a bedroom with curtains drawn.

Nina Nastasia & Jim White – You Follow Me

Any given press photo of Nastasia reveals a woman who isn’t going to be burdened by “smile lines” anytime soon. Paired here with The Dirty Three’s skilful percussionist, the results are suitably spare and raw. Opener “I’ve Been Out Walking” sets both the pace and tone for this half-hour of haunting songcraft. Incisive guitar work and ever-shifting rhythms establish the bleak backdrop for Nastasia’s dreary and dramatic lyrics. Tellingly, some of the album’s more soaring strains can be heard on “The Day I Would Bury You.”

Múm – Go Go Smear the Poison Ivy

Admittedly, these irreverent sonic collage artists seem an odd inclusion for the season’s sorrowful soundtrack. However, I remind you that 1) there’s a Múm record named Finally We Are No One and 2) one must consider the perils of cabin fever. How will the chirping vocals of “They Made Frogs Smoke ‘Til They Exploded” or merry-go-round melody of “School Song Misfortune” strike me once the surplus serotonin is used up? Should that fail to have the desired effect, there’s always the disarming “Marmalade Fires” to provide a backing track for any slow-dance-for-one. (Also not nearly as unwholesome as it sounds.)

Finally, should your autumnal misery desire company, I suggest you check out one of the film festival screenings of Scott Walker: 30 Century Man (Sep. 30, Oct. 2 & 11). The documentary is a fine testament to man with an uncanny knack for making the mournful majestic.

Until next time: Don’t you dare turn that frown upside down. Leave it where I can see it.