FARA Records · Digital release
Friday Still Rains
Baggy Manc anthems for going out in the rain anyway. Press play. Grab your coat.
- Archive no.
- FARA-015
- Edition
- DRM-free audio
- Delivery
- Instant download
- Issued
- 2026
Friday Still Rains
Baggy Manc anthems for going out in the rain anyway. Press play. Grab your coat.

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- 01 Friday Still Rains 3:39
They told me rainy days and Mondays always get you down. Well somebody forgot to tell the sky round this end of town.
MUSIC TRACK STORY
Friday Still Rains is Sonny's debut single — a defiant, jangly Madchester anthem written as a direct answer-back to The Carpenters, for anyone who's ever queued in the rain outside a venue and had the best night of their life anyway.
Music Track Story
The whole song starts from one specific, wry complaint: The Carpenters got halfway to something true with “Rainy Days and Mondays” and then stopped. Sonny gives Karen the Monday — “rainy days and Mondays, fair enough — I'll give her that one song” — but Friday is where the maths breaks down completely. A rainy Friday in Manchester isn't a reason to stay in. It's the whole city deciding, on principle, to go out anyway.
The verses sit in real Manchester — the Deaf Institute, Oldham Street, a queue with umbrellas held up like flags, lads in shirts with no jackets because that's just what you do — before the chorus opens into the kind of line built specifically for a crowd to sing back at once: “You can't cancel a city just because of the grey / Friday still rains — and we're going out anyway.” No pyrotechnics in the delivery. Just Rickenbacker jangle, a baggy shuffling groove, and a Manc frontman who sounds like he's talking to the whole pub at once.
The bridge is where the joke lands its real point: “Karen sang it sweet and sad, but she got the maths wrong… rainy nights plus Friday? Love, that's a different sum — that's the whole of Manchester singing here we bloody come.” It's funny, and it's also completely sincere — under the swagger, this is a song about civic pride and working-class joy, about a city and its people that a bit of bad weather has never once managed to dim.
It ends the way any proper Madchester record should — cascading Rickenbacker and Hammond organ carrying the chorus out, the whole thing built less to be listened to alone than to be shouted, arms round shoulders, by a queue of people with no jackets on, in the rain, at eleven.
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THE VISUAL RECORD
