Meg Ryan, Guy Lombardo, and the Midnight Drama Behind “Auld Lang Syne”

Mia Reynolds, 1/1/2026Explore the rich history behind "Auld Lang Syne," from its roots in 18th-century Scotland to its iconic status as a New Year's Eve anthem. Discover how this song captures nostalgia, hope, and the essence of communal gatherings, making it a timeless ritual as we step into 2025.

There’s a temptation, especially as 2025 makes its entrance, to latch onto this tune like it’s an heirloom, a relic from times before yearly countdowns played out on Instagram. Peel back the layers and you’ll arrive at late 18th century Scotland, with poet Robert Burns scribbling phrases salvaged from the oral traditions he grew up with. “Auld lang syne” loosely means “for old times’ sake”—as poetic as a faded photograph and just as unreliable, stirring up nostalgia and longing in equal measure. Some sources—Scotland.org, for one—say it’s about keeping old bonds alive, while The Morgan Library claims it’s “time gone by.” Probably safe to say these interpretations are two hands wrapped around the same, battered mug.

Of course, true to Scottish form, those original lyrics are thick with regional dialect—not the easiest to belt out after a glass or two. The melody we know didn’t even get formally attached until 1799, which, these days, almost feels like a blink ago. If you ever find yourself in Edinburgh for Hogmanay (the local stand-in for New Year’s), the ritual gets pretty distinctive: everyone circles up, links hands, crosses arms—and in the final verse, the whole lot surges toward the center. Scottish poet Michael Pedersen memorably described the tradition as a glacier of song, melting through time and place, finding its way into the New Year’s bloodstream. Odd, though, that nothing in the lyrics directly points to a midnight singalong; for all anyone knows, the crowd-sourced emotional compass sorted that out on its own.

Credit for “Auld Lang Syne” going global, especially in the U.S. and Canada, lands squarely with Guy Lombardo—a name probably more familiar to your grandparents than to Gen Z TikTokers. Starting in 1929, his New Year’s Eve radio broadcast embedded the song in America’s collective memory, and for decades, his orchestra’s arrangement marked midnight at Times Square. What began as a local custom became a coast-to-coast ritual, stitched into the fabric of celebration and, frankly, marketing. Even now, Lombardo’s ghost lingers in every televised New Year countdown, whether spoken or not.

Yet the odd thing is—most people miss the song’s paradox. As the clock strikes twelve and confetti weaves through the air, “Auld Lang Syne” isn’t just about farewells. Burns scholar Thomas Keith suggests it’s a reunification song, not a lament. The tune surfaces at graduations, retirements, weddings, funerals—any crossroads, really. In each setting, it sounds a bit like both a benediction and a reunion anthem, the lyrics hinting not just at days gone by but at the hope of one more gathering, someday, somewhere.

That hope shows up in the oddest places. The song’s found its way into the set lists of artists as diverse as Mariah Carey and B.B. King—Mariah giving it that glitter-drenched power ballad treatment, B.B. wringing blues gold out of the melody. Let’s not skip the cinematic appearances, either. It floats through “It’s a Wonderful Life,” punctuates “Forrest Gump,” adds a wry note to “Phantom Thread,” and even makes a cameo in that ensemble flick “New Year’s Eve.” Each rendition, whether lush or lilting, smears another layer onto the cultural memory of the song.

But where “Auld Lang Syne” does its best work is in the shadows between memory and resolve. When that clock hits midnight, and people grab the nearest hand—be it friend, relative, or the stranger getting spritzed with noisemaker confetti—there’s a flicker of recognition: life is a collection of such moments. Maybe nobody’s ever truly spent a long day “paddling in a stream from morning sun till dine,” but anyone can relate to an exhausting (or exhilarating) trip through the shifting terrain of another year.

The final lyric—“And there’s a hand, my trusty friend!”—calls everyone back to the circle, a reassuring reminder that the past deserves its due, and the future waits to be toasted, preferably with something bubbly. Perhaps—especially as we step into 2025, blinking and a little unsteady—the real magic is in the act itself: singing without a care for pitch or forgotten verses, trusting that the ritual binds us for a brief, meaningful moment.

So, whether it’s sung in full-throated harmony or half-muttered through the haze of midnight, “Auld Lang Syne” endures. Not because it’s about perfect memory, but because it dares everyone to remember—just for an instant—how good it feels to gather, reminisce, and reach, hand in hand, for whatever’s next. And maybe, just maybe, that’s all any year’s finale can offer.

At the stroke of midnight—be it the dance club’s pulsing floor or that faded rug in a grandmother’s living room—the opening bars of “Auld Lang Syne” slip in, and the room transforms. It rarely matters if anyone’s got the lyrics down. That melody is enough, casting its shimmer over strangers and relatives alike, yanking everyone in for a communal pause. Think of that scene in “When Harry Met Sally”—Sally, searching for the right explanation, lands on old friends. She’s not wrong, exactly, but the story of “Auld Lang Syne” hums with even knottier sentiment.There’s a temptation, especially as 2025 makes its entrance, to latch onto this tune like it’s an heirloom, a relic from times before yearly countdowns played out on Instagram. Peel back the layers and you’ll arrive at late 18th century Scotland, with poet Robert Burns scribbling phrases salvaged from the oral traditions he grew up with. “Auld lang syne” loosely means “for old times’ sake”—as poetic as a faded photograph and just as unreliable, stirring up nostalgia and longing in equal measure. Some sources—Scotland.org, for one—say it’s about keeping old bonds alive, while The Morgan Library claims it’s “time gone by.” Probably safe to say these interpretations are two hands wrapped around the same, battered mug.Of course, true to Scottish form, those original lyrics are thick with regional dialect—not the easiest to belt out after a glass or two. The melody we know didn’t even get formally attached until 1799, which, these days, almost feels like a blink ago. If you ever find yourself in Edinburgh for Hogmanay (the local stand-in for New Year’s), the ritual gets pretty distinctive: everyone circles up, links hands, crosses arms—and in the final verse, the whole lot surges toward the center. Scottish poet Michael Pedersen memorably described the tradition as a glacier of song, melting through time and place, finding its way into the New Year’s bloodstream. Odd, though, that nothing in the lyrics directly points to a midnight singalong; for all anyone knows, the crowd-sourced emotional compass sorted that out on its own.Credit for “Auld Lang Syne” going global, especially in the U.S. and Canada, lands squarely with Guy Lombardo—a name probably more familiar to your grandparents than to Gen Z TikTokers. Starting in 1929, his New Year’s Eve radio broadcast embedded the song in America’s collective memory, and for decades, his orchestra’s arrangement marked midnight at Times Square. What began as a local custom became a coast-to-coast ritual, stitched into the fabric of celebration and, frankly, marketing. Even now, Lombardo’s ghost lingers in every televised New Year countdown, whether spoken or not.Yet the odd thing is—most people miss the song’s paradox. As the clock strikes twelve and confetti weaves through the air, “Auld Lang Syne” isn’t just about farewells. Burns scholar Thomas Keith suggests it’s a reunification song, not a lament. The tune surfaces at graduations, retirements, weddings, funerals—any crossroads, really. In each setting, it sounds a bit like both a benediction and a reunion anthem, the lyrics hinting not just at days gone by but at the hope of one more gathering, someday, somewhere.That hope shows up in the oddest places. The song’s found its way into the set lists of artists as diverse as Mariah Carey and B.B. King—Mariah giving it that glitter-drenched power ballad treatment, B.B. wringing blues gold out of the melody. Let’s not skip the cinematic appearances, either. It floats through “It’s a Wonderful Life,” punctuates “Forrest Gump,” adds a wry note to “Phantom Thread,” and even makes a cameo in that ensemble flick “New Year’s Eve.” Each rendition, whether lush or lilting, smears another layer onto the cultural memory of the song.But where “Auld Lang Syne” does its best work is in the shadows between memory and resolve. When that clock hits midnight, and people grab the nearest hand—be it friend, relative, or the stranger getting spritzed with noisemaker confetti—there’s a flicker of recognition: life is a collection of such moments. Maybe nobody’s ever truly spent a long day “paddling in a stream from morning sun till dine,” but anyone can relate to an exhausting (or exhilarating) trip through the shifting terrain of another year.The final lyric—“And there’s a hand, my trusty friend!”—calls everyone back to the circle, a reassuring reminder that the past deserves its due, and the future waits to be toasted, preferably with something bubbly. Perhaps—especially as we step into 2025, blinking and a little unsteady—the real magic is in the act itself: singing without a care for pitch or forgotten verses, trusting that the ritual binds us for a brief, meaningful moment.So, whether it’s sung in full-throated harmony or half-muttered through the haze of midnight, “Auld Lang Syne” endures. Not because it’s about perfect memory, but because it dares everyone to remember—just for an instant—how good it feels to gather, reminisce, and reach, hand in hand, for whatever’s next. And maybe, just maybe, that’s all any year’s finale can offer.