Love Ballads

What happened to good old fashioned love songs? You know the ones, the songs you cry to while engaging in a menage a trois with two men named Ben and Jerry after a particularly messy breakup (Let's Stay Together, Al Green)? And you think, "Where did it go wrong? Somewhere out there, people are serenading each other and life is beautiful. Oh, GOD," and you shovel another spoonful of ice cream in. And two days later, you can listen to the same song, sing along with it, and think, "Man, love is awesome." While there's a place for music with a thumping beat and lyrics that compare women to candy, songs poppy and sweet enough to rot your teeth out, and belt-it-out-the-window-of-your-car songs (Freefallin', Tom Petty), there is a glut in terms of good love songs.

They are cleverly hidden on CDs, track 7, you know the one. But they never get any radio play, and I have to search for them. The sad truth is that nothing on the radio makes me want to be in love. Especially not that terrible song, "Beautiful," by James Blunt. It makes me want to deafen myself with a pencil; it would be less painful than listening to that song. I'm going to need a little more than feeling to convince me the song should be added my "Lovers of Loving Love" playlist. Love or the need to sell and idea of love often inspires some pretty shoddy songs, and I'm going to need a little more than that.

I would also like to blame it on how emotional and whiny we are. Case in point: the rise of emo. All the songs about how awesome love can be have been replaced by, "Love sucks, and then you die. I hope YOU die, you selfish whore. WHYYYYYYYYY?! I love you still, though loving you is like getting staple gunned in the eye!" Lord almighty, moderation is key. Ben and Jerry are here for you, so get over it and write me a damn love song. I don't care it you write it about ice cream, because ice cream is deserving of love, too. And make it good.

I know there are still people out there who like being in love and are a little more rational about the magnitude of broken relationships. And I know every fourth person plays guitar; there must be somebody good out there who can get themselves on the radio. So where's my hero, who doesn't seem in need of Prozac, can write lyrics, and wields a guitar? There is a market for you, so SING, boys and girls, SING.