Simon & Garfunkel's "Wednesday Morning, 3 a.m."
Matchbox 20's 3:00 a.m. exists a parallel universe away from this ballad. This bedside portrait depicts a criminal gazing at his sleeping love in the gathering pre-dawn before he must flee. It's tender and poignant, with the softness of the scene and the hour readily apparent in the sweet, gentle harmonies.

Rialto's "Monday Morning 5:19"
Rialto, wherefore art thou? Thou hast gone and left me with but this tale of suspected infidelity -- but that's okay, since it's a damn rockin' song. A clockwatching boyfriend deduces that his lady friend is hitching her horse to another post, so to speak -- yet he keeps thinking up what-if scenarios to explain her absence, afraid to believe the worst. "If she's still not back / well heaven knows what then / Is this the end?"

Dolly Parton's "9 to 5"
The song of the same name was one of the big movies of the 1980s, and also served to introduce Dolly Parton to a new generation of fans. That said, while it's a silly, twangy ditty, it has a certain charm that I suppose can be particularly appreciated by children of the '80s. Funny, because weren't the '80s all about working 7:00 to 10:00 or later in order to afford a big fancy car to do lines off of? Hmm, maybe not.

Incubus' "11 a.m."
Like most Incubus songs, "11 a.m." whines a lot but never really gets anywhere. Brandon Boyd's voice is pretty and pleading, choruses like "You're always first when no one's on your side" sound profound but mean little, and the dependable stock theme of loneliness is exploited to a reasonable degree. At least Boyd is so kind as to lay out a detailed timeline of this morning-long mopefest.

U2's "11 o'clock Tick Tock"
This track never appeared on a U2 studio album, but it has been a live staple and shows up on the band's live EP Under a Blood Red Sky. It's classic early U2, performed with a liveliness whose era I feared, in the wake of the "Beautiful Day" era, had lapsed. I may be proven wrong, but I still yearn for the days when Bono seemed to be able to write songs like this in his sleep.

Rufus Wainwright's "11:11"
Of all the songs to emerge from the ashes of September 11th, this is my favorite. Wainwright captures a moment of awareness, not only of the present but of the forever altered past and future, in a beautiful, pensive portrait. The line "But I was alive / and kicking through this cruel world" perfectly embodies the mindset so many of Wainwright's fellow New Yorkers had to adopt after the Towers fell.

Yo La Tengo's "It's 1 p.m. Again"
This song captures a snapshot of what is apparently a continuing cycle of torpor and hesitation. "Let's not make any sudden moves," Ira Kaplan woefully intones. "Let's make sure we're sure." The track foretells an interminable future of 1:00 p.m.s with starting lines uncrossed, first steps untaken.

They Might Be Giants' "Four of Two"
This Rip Van Winkle tale of a date that never arrives and a clock that never budges is a fun, accordion-driven tune that ended up on TMBG's children's album No!, though the earlier versions from Dial-A-Song that you can find floating around the 'Net are slightly darker.

Spin Doctors' "What Time Is It (4:30)"
Okay, so technically the time reference isn't in the title, but it might as well be. When I was training to be a college radio DJ, the DJ I was working with would always play this song at 4:30 (our show was 3:00 to 5:00 p.m.). Anyhow, I think that that's really the only thing you can do with song, because it doesn't make any sense. It's trying to be all groovin' and jivin', but then it spits out lines like "Ayatollah, he’s hopping mad / Jibber about some damn jihad." I got no time for the jibber jabber -- I pity the Spin Doctors.

Alan Jackson and Jimmy Buffett's "It's 5 o'clock Somewhere"
Country superstar Jackson scored a smash thanks a healthy dose of tropical breeze. This workaday lament is boilerplate Buffett, and you can just envision Fred Flintstone skating down a brontosaurus's neck as the whistle calls for quittin' time. While the banter between Messrs. Jackson and Buffett and the end of the track is a bit awkward, the two singers' collaboration, oddly enough, isn't.

Simon & Garfunkel's "7 o'clock News/Silent Night"
Given the time of year and the political environment in which we live, listening to this song was a good kick in the shins. As the classic Christmas carol is gently sung, a rather stoic, depressing news account of Lenny Bruce's death, Richard Nixon's warnings about a prolonged war in Vietnam, and a planned march by Rev. Martin Luther King is read. The braiding of the two is stark and haunting.

The Cure's "10:15 Saturday Night"
The first song on the Cure's debut album sets the tone of urgent lament that would pervade the body of their work. Robert Smith's short, staccato lines lend this song a melancholy immediacy. 10:15 on a Saturday night really is one of the more depressing times in a week. Unfortunately, I can't help but also be reminded of the old Disney cartoon with the dripping sink keeping Donald Duck awake. I think Smith may be paler than Donald, though.

Weird Al Yankovic's "Midnight Star"
I rank this among the best of Weird Al's original songs. Maybe it's just because I'm a journalist by trade, but this hilarious appraisal of tabloid headlines and phenomena is a fantastic listen. And okay, yeah, Midnight Star is the name of the tabloid and not really a reference to the hour, but this is Weird Al, right? We can make an exception.

Dukes of Stratosphear's "25 O'Clock"
My first exposure to this song was They Might Be Giants' demented, stalkerish cover of this tune on an XTC tribute disc. When I finally got the Dukes' album, I saw that the TMBG cover had been true to the original -- a manic, crazed declaration of affection. It's a shame that XTC doesn't perform concerts anymore, as I can only imagine how intense this song would be live.