There was a song written in 1930 by George and Ira Gershwin called But Not For Me. You might have heard it. Ella Fitzgerald won a Grammy in 1960 for her performance of it. It's a sad tune. The opening line goes, They're writing songs of love, but not for me. The verse continues:
With love to lead the way
I've found more clouds of gray
Than any Russian play could guarantee.
And hence Chekhov's Uncle Vanya. If you don't know it, read the plot summary. These people are severely bummed out (except, perhaps, during the song in this production in praise of vodka. But we know where that gets you.) The Fringe's A Song For Vanya exquisitely portrays the rural bleakness but you don't leave the theater whistling any of its tunes.