“Sunday, sweet Sunday, with nothing to do,” goes a song in both versions of Flower Drum Song. That wasn’t true of me, though, this past Sunday, Dec. 17; I had one show in the afternoon and one in the evening – each of which proved that Sunday can be a bittersweet day, too.

Not that That Time of the Year isn’t a terrific little show at the York. It most certainly is, and much of the credit goes to Laurence Holzman and Felicia Needleman, who had the idea to create a revue about the holiday season (and farm out the lyrics they co-wrote to seven different composers). I sat there pleased, knowing that from now on, I’m going to see this show each and every December; it’s that good, and somebody, someplace is going to be smart enough to do it.

But what was bittersweet is that while Holzman and Needleman celebrated Hanukah and Christmas, they haven’t yet found a way to include Kwanzaa. They really must, and, needless to say, if they hire a black performer, they wouldn’t have to relegate him or her to just the Kwanzaa-themed numbers; there are, after all, African-American Christians and Jews. And if people have trouble accepting the blacks in the latter category, well, then they can just chalk up those moments to non-traditional casting.

On the other hand, I’d hate to see any of the current cast members replaced. All five were marvelous, but I was especially taken with Erin Maguire – though I don’t know why director Annette Jolles gave her a song about how much weight she’d gained over the holidays, given that the attractive stick-figured redhead can’t weigh more than 90 pounds.

Maguire, who must been seen, reminds me of a young Carole Shelley with a little Elaine Stritch and Mary Martin mixed in. Like those ladies, she really knows how to sell a lyric. How amusing she was in one song where she played a forlorn fruitcake that can’t see why it’s unloved. I loved the priceless expressions on her face when she noted, “Everybody likes fruit. Everybody likes cake” – before wondering why when you add the two together, everyone passes.

Though most of That Time of Year was out to amuse – and was wildly successful at it – I was most impressed by a song that was – yes – bittersweet. Maguire got this one, too, and scored wonderfully with it. This was no mean feat, given that she's a young woman, and had to have a sense of experience to play a grandmother who appreciated that during the holidays, "They All Come Home.” The empty-nester told (to Nicholas Levin’s excellent music) how she looked forward to her grown children returning for the holidays, along with their own children; this way, for a little while, she felt useful again. Holzman and Needleman made sure that it didn’t get sappy, and Maguire showed great savvy in keeping it honest, tender, and sentimental in the best sense of the word.

Then it was off to the final performance of High Fidelity. Closings are always bittersweet; you hate to see any show shutter, be it from the emotional viewpoint that you absolutely love the property, or from the financial standpoint that “Every time a Broadway show dies, Broadway dies a little more,” as Joseph Kipness said in 1973 when he was trying to entice Michael Bennett to take over the direction and choreography of Seesaw.

As it turned out, High Fidelity wasn’t quite one of those religious experiences that closings can be. How could it have been? With only 19 previews and 13 regular performances, it hadn’t time to pick up enough fans to have non-stop cheers ring from the rafters. There was, however, a sufficent fan base to give entrance applause and cheers to Will Chase as Rob, the record store owner; Jenn Colella as his on-again, off-again girlfriend Laura; Rachel Stern as their friend Liz; and Christian Anderson as Rob’s shy employee Dick.

Those who saw the show but weren’t there Sunday night may be surprised that entrance applause was denied Jay Klaitz as Barry, the ultimate obsessive fan. That wasn’t because the returnees didn’t find him worthy; Klaitz simply didn’t have a clean enough entrance to allow for an applause break. In retrospect, the authors and director Walter Bobbie should have given him one. .

Literally two weeks to the minute had passed since I first attended High Fidelity, and once again I learned that if one sees a show twice in a short period of time, one gets four to eight times as much out of it. This time around, I realized something about High Fidelity I’d missed on my initial viewing. You know how Fiddler is said to be about Tradition? High Fidelity turned out to be about Compromise, in that almost every character conceded something important to him or her. Midway through the first act, Marie LaSalle, the entertainer to whom Rob was attracted, sang “Ready to Settle,” a love song she delivered to on-the-rebound Rob: “You’re just like me, alone and sad … why should we go on searching for something we won’t find? … and in the dark, you don’t look so bad.”

Much more compromise showed up near show’s end. Laura and Rob, together again, each noted that the other had “weakened.” Dick ameliorated his original feelings that he couldn’t possibly love a woman who didn’t like the same music he liked; now, the guy was even willing and able to go to a Josh Tesh concert. Even Barry compromised, for while he was always talking about starting a band that would appeal to only a certain learned coterie, he and his two cohorts wound up in a sleek-looking suits, not unlike a trio of “Blues Brothers,” and singing a soulful song. (That Liz wound up with Barry, struck me as a compromise on her part, too.)

And, you know, maybe that’s a reason that High Fidelity failed? Musicals have traditionally given us more optimistic messages than “It’s good to compromise.” Let’s face it – we live in an “I want it all” world. La Boheme killed Mimi; Rent doesn’t. The film of The Producers left Bialystock and Bloom in prison; the musical version has them pardoned and triumphant. Michael Bennett always said that Cassie would never get the job in A Chorus Line, but HE compromised so the show would be happier. Roxie Hart becomes a mother in the film of the same name, but she gets her wish to be a vaudeville star in Chicago. See a trend here, one that doesn't involve compromise?

Of course, some of you will say that the real problem with High Fidelity was that it wasn’t good enough. I will say that I saw a way I thought it would have been better, and I’m surprised that no one thought of it.

First, let’s look at the end of the first act, where Laura, pressed by Rob who wanted to know what chance that they had of getting back together, said, “Nine Percent.” Rob – miserable the whole act long – then excitedly sang, “I’ve got a nine percent chance of your love,” for he looked at the glass as nine percent full rather than 91 percent empty. Given that it was such an important moment for him – worthy of a first-act closer — then he should have returned to that theme, both musically and lyrically, at the end of the show – for that nine percent had greatly increased, hadn’t it?

Or how about my buddy Jason Flum's suggestion: Considering that Rob starts out  ranking his Top Five Break-Ups with Women -- and deciding whether or not Laura should make the cut -- why not have him at the end of the show tell us where Laura ranks (first, of course) on his Top Five List of Make-Ups?

Hmmm, now I’m wondering if some of the creative staff did think of these ideas, but were voted down by others – and had to agree to a bittersweet compromises.