Music has this weird way of acting like a time machine. You know that feeling when a specific chord hits and suddenly you’re smelling salt air or feeling a breeze from twenty years ago? Nat King Cole was the absolute master of that trick. When people talk about Nat King Cole That Sunday That Summer, they aren't just talking about a song that hit the charts in 1963. They're talking about a specific kind of nostalgia that feels almost painful because it's so beautiful.
It’s a deceptively simple track.
Released as the B-side to "Mr. Wishing Well," it eventually outshone its partner to become a Top 20 hit on the Billboard Hot 100. Honestly, it’s one of those rare moments in recording history where the arrangement, the lyrics, and the vocalist aligned so perfectly that the song stopped being "pop music" and started being a mood.
The Anatomy of a Perfect Summer Anthem
What makes "That Sunday, That Summer" stand out from the rest of Nat’s massive discography? It’s the restraint. Joe Sherman and George David Weiss wrote it, and they clearly knew they were writing for a man who could make a whisper sound louder than a shout.
Most summer songs are about the heat. They’re about the beach, the parties, the loud energy of July. This song is the opposite. It’s the "after" picture. It captures the quiet stillness of a memory that refuses to fade. Nat starts the song with that iconic line about if he had to choose just one day to last forever. His phrasing is legendary—he lingers on the consonants just enough to make you feel the weight of the words.
People often forget how much technical skill went into this. It isn't just "crooning." Cole was a jazz pianist first, and his rhythmic timing is impeccable. He plays with the beat, pushing and pulling against the orchestral swell provided by Belford Hendricks. If you listen closely to the original Capitol Records pressing, you can hear the incredible warmth of the analog tape. It gives the whole thing a golden-hour glow.
Why 1963 Was the Right Moment
Context is everything. By 1963, the music world was changing fast. The Beatles were about to explode in America. The grit of Motown was rising. Yet, here was Nat King Cole, still holding the line with sophisticated, lush ballads.
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It felt like a final exhale of a certain era of American elegance.
That year, "That Sunday, That Summer" climbed to number 12 on the Billboard Hot 100. It also hit number 3 on the Middle-Road Singles chart (what we’d call Adult Contemporary today). It was a massive crossover success. It appealed to the parents who grew up on the Nat King Cole Trio and the teenagers who wanted something romantic to slow-dance to at the end of a party.
The Lyrics: A Masterclass in Imagery
The lyrics are basically a short story. They don't rely on clichés. Instead, they use specific, evocative imagery:
- The "day the world was new"
- The "orchard"
- The feeling of a specific "Sunday"
It’s interesting because it never tells you what happened. It focuses entirely on how it felt. That’s the secret sauce. By leaving the details vague, Weiss and Sherman allowed every listener to project their own "Sunday" onto the melody. Maybe for you, it was a drive in the country. For someone else, it was a quiet morning in a city apartment.
Nat’s delivery sells the sincerity. There isn’t a drop of irony in his voice. In an age where everything feels layered in sarcasm or "meta" commentary, hearing someone sang with such pure, unadulterated longing is actually a bit of a shock to the system. It’s refreshing.
The Technical Brilliance of the Arrangement
Let’s talk about Belford Hendricks for a second. He was the arranger on this session, and he deserves way more credit than he usually gets. Hendricks was the guy who helped bridge the gap between R&B and pop (he worked with Dinah Washington and Brook Benton).
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For Nat King Cole That Sunday That Summer, Hendricks used strings that feel like they’re floating. They don’t drown Nat out. They provide a cushion. There’s a specific swell in the violins during the bridge that mimics the feeling of a rising emotion. It’s cinematic. If you’re a hi-fi enthusiast, this is one of those tracks you use to test your speakers’ mid-range. Nat’s voice should sit right in the center, velvety and thick, while the strings shimmer around the edges.
It’s a masterclass in "less is more."
Misconceptions About Nat’s Late Career
A lot of jazz purists like to complain about this era of Nat King Cole’s life. They say he "sold out" by moving away from the piano-heavy jazz of his early trio days to do these big, commercial ballads.
That’s honestly a pretty narrow-minded view.
Nat never lost his jazz sensibilities. You can hear it in his breath control and his pitch. Even on a "pop" record like this, he’s using jazz-inflected phrasing. He wasn't just singing a melody; he was interpreting it. He treated "That Sunday, That Summer" with the same respect he’d give a Duke Ellington standard.
Furthermore, these recordings allowed him to break racial barriers that were still incredibly firm in the early 60s. He was a black man singing universal songs of love and nostalgia that were being played in every household in America. That’s not "selling out." That’s a revolution disguised as a love song.
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The Lasting Legacy in Pop Culture
This song didn't die out when it left the charts. It has this weird, persistent afterlife. You’ve probably heard it in movies or TV shows whenever a director wants to signal "sophisticated nostalgia."
It’s been covered by dozens of artists, from Natalie Cole (who did a beautiful version keeping her father’s legacy alive) to contemporary jazz singers. But nobody quite captures the "sigh" in the voice that Nat had.
There’s a specific melancholy to it. Even though the lyrics are about a happy memory, the fact that it's a memory implies that the day is gone. It’s over. You can’t go back. That’s why it hits harder as you get older. When you’re 20, it’s a nice song. When you’re 50, it’s a gut punch.
How to Truly Appreciate the Track Today
If you want to experience this song the way it was intended, you have to stop multi-tasking. You can't have it on in the background while you're scrolling through your phone.
- Find a high-quality source. Skip the low-bitrate YouTube rips. Find a remastered 24-bit version or, better yet, an original vinyl copy of the album Number Ones or the Dear Lonely Hearts LP.
- Listen for the "air." Listen to the space between the notes. Notice how Nat doesn't rush the ending.
- Compare the Mono vs. Stereo. The mono mix has a punchier, more direct feel, while the stereo mix lets the orchestration breathe. Both are valid, but they offer different emotional experiences.
Actionable Steps for Music Lovers
To get the most out of your exploration of this specific era of music, don't just stop at one song. Use "That Sunday, That Summer" as a gateway into the broader 1963-1965 vocal pop scene.
- Audit the "Dear Lonely Hearts" Album: This song appeared on that record, and the whole album is a masterclass in early 60s production. It’s incredibly cohesive.
- Explore Belford Hendricks’ Catalog: Look up other tracks Hendricks arranged. You’ll start to recognize his "signature" in the way he handles strings and backing vocals.
- Create a "Golden Hour" Playlist: Pair this track with Ray Charles’ "You Don't Know Me" and Dinah Washington’s "What a Diff'rence a Day Made." You’ll see the threads that connect these artists.
- Read "Nathalie King Cole: A Personal Biography": To understand the man behind the voice, look for biographies that detail his struggle with the industry and his commitment to his craft during the height of the Civil Rights movement.
Ultimately, "That Sunday, That Summer" isn't just a hit single. It’s a reminder that beauty doesn't have to be complicated to be profound. It’s a three-minute lesson in how to hold onto a moment before it slips away. If you find yourself needing to slow down the world for a few minutes, there really is no better soundtrack.