Fats Domino’s “Blue Monday”: A Soulful Sigh from the ’50s
Cast your mind back to 1956, when the jukebox was king and the rhythm of life pulsed through every corner diner. Fats Domino’s “Blue Monday” rolled onto the Billboard R&B chart, hitting No. 1 in January 1957, while climbing to No. 5 on the pop chart—a crossover gem from the New Orleans maestro’s album This Is Fats Domino!. For those of us who grew up with its mournful piano chords, it’s a bittersweet echo of simpler days, when the radio was a lifeline and Fats was the gentle giant who gave voice to our struggles. Released in late 1956 on Imperial Records, it sold over a million copies, earning a gold disc and cementing its place as a cornerstone of early rock ’n’ roll.
The song’s birth was a collaboration steeped in Crescent City magic. Written by Fats Domino and his longtime producer-arranger Dave Bartholomew, “Blue Monday” came together in the steamy confines of Cosimo Matassa’s J&M Studio. With Bartholomew’s sharp ear and Domino’s rolling piano—backed by a crack band including drummer Earl Palmer and saxophonist Herbert Hardesty—it was recorded in a single take, raw and real. The track was a B-side that flipped the script, outshining its A-side “What’s the Reason I’m Not Pleasing You” to become a sleeper hit. Fats, ever the humble craftsman, didn’t chase fame—he let it find him, and find him it did, with this weary anthem that spoke to anyone who’d ever clocked in on a Monday morning.
At its heart, “Blue Monday” is a lament for the working stiff—a soulful groan about the grind that drags us from weekend joy to weekday woe. “Blue Monday, how I hate Blue Monday,” Fats sings, his molasses-rich voice carrying the weight of every punch card and factory whistle. It’s the story of a man who toils all week—“got to work like a slave all day”—just to taste freedom on Saturday night, only to see it slip away come Sunday’s end. For older listeners, it’s a hymn to the lives we lived or watched our parents live—rising before dawn, coming home bone-tired, yet finding solace in a song that understood.
This wasn’t just music; it was a bridge between R&B and the rock explosion to come. Fats Domino, with his wide grin and boogie-woogie bounce, brought New Orleans to the world, influencing everyone from Elvis to The Beatles. For us, it’s the sound of sock hops and soda fountains, of AM stations crackling through the static on a cold morning. “Blue Monday” is a timeworn Polaroid—faded but vivid—of a ’50s America where the blues weren’t just felt, they were sung. So, spin that 45, let Fats’ fingers dance across the keys, and feel the ache of a Monday long gone. It’s still there, waiting to carry you back.