Love song blog

Jorge Ben – Taj Mahal

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Taj Mahal might not be considered a traditional love song, but it is still about love. The lyrics are very simple, an explanation rather than a narrative. To paraphrase: I’ll now tell this pretty story of love I was told, the love of the prince Shah-Jahan toward the princess Mumtaz Mahal. But where is the story, if this is more or less what’s said?

Instead, it’s all told by means of music. The simple lyrics contribute to a sense of lightness and humor. The version posted here is the second recording Jorge Ben did, and compared to the first one this is faster, with more complex rhythms that make you want to dance, much like the whole album, África Brasil, which successfully combined samba with rhythms from African music and funk.

The song itself is hard to explain because it’s an experience of rhythm and a couple of melodic hooks that repeat several times, much like thoughts of the loved one may enter your consciousness repeatedly, no matter what you are concentrating on: Tê Tê Tê, Têtêretê! It’s simple, uplifting, and it sounds like love, the joy of just thinking that such feelings exist and we are capable of feeling them, even if there’s nothing like that currently happening. It’s the thought that love can break us apart and rebuild into better versions of ourselves, even if the flip side is that when unrequited it can also break us without any glue of affection to make us stronger.

As lovely as ballads may be when trying to capture that feeling of tenderness, maybe this music captures better the excitement, the jubilation when discovering how wonderful the world can be. It could be all projection, even when mutual, but it is about the realization that you don’t have to see the world like you normally do, with relative indifference. It’s like suddenly discovering new sounds and colours never heard or seen before. It makes you want to dance and sing even if you can do no such things in a controlled manner, to jump around the flat, climb the trees and feel the wind as if you are a part of the forest, a part of everything, one with the world.

Loving just one person feels like loving the whole world more. Even if the lovers concentrate on each other, it feels greater than focusing on one body, simple sensations. The whole world is contained in this one touch, one moment. Everything disappears, yet everything is present. There are no words that could express the complexity of these feelings, the elation when nothing bad could happen, though vaguely you might be aware of such things happening. Trying to explain love, it seems that you end up in an endless cycle of reiterating everything, infinite variations that never capture the true feeling. Yet it’s all here: Têtêretê. What more could we say? I love you, maybe it’s all that’s said, but much more is present, the darkness and the light both part of the same joyous delirium, the delusion that may be the only reality that matters.

Neil Sedaka – Laughter in the Rain

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Laughter in the Rain is a song that revels in its innocence. At the time of its release in 1974 Neil Sedaka had been largely forgotten; he had major hits in the early 60s, when the times and music were altogether different. While I do not know how people might have heard it in the 70s, I imagine the song was to many people a reminder of simpler times. And it still feels like that today, only now the 70s themselves have an image of innocence and simplicity. This shift in the perception of innocence is indicative of how people tend to see earlier times, their youth and time before we were born, in contrast with the adult responsibilities.

Reportedly Phil Cody, who wrote the lyrics, penned them in just 5 minutes after taking a walk. He had just fallen in love and didn’t really want to spend time with Sedaka to write the song. Maybe the whole situation is reflected in the story: it retains that feeling of first falling in love when life seems so much simpler than other times. And in some ways it really is: when the feeling is overwhelming, everything else becomes insignificant, including all your worries. The rain is sweeter, warmer, or if it’s cold, that too is an opportunity to get close, to feel the support and warmth of the one you love. The world may not be reduced to laughter and gentle kisses, but nothing else matters anymore, not even the task of writing a love song.

And that’s just where the song receives its strength from, although the pentatonic melody also contributes to the feeling of innocence and simplicity. In that sense the lyrics and the melody support each other nicely. There’s a sense of ease similar to just walking with someone and feeling like everything is understood, everything is interesting.

What is especially lovely about the song is that there are absolutely no hints of complications. Listening to this I’m struck by the realization how rare that is in a love song. Even if there aren’t any current bumps in the relationship described in a song, doubts and insecurities are often present, whether they are about the narrator, the loved one, or obstacles set by other people. Falling in love we get a glimpse of this presence that could be a reality even without the loved one: the rain is beating on the leaves, but the sky is not furious. There is just love of raindrops, the understanding of how we can laugh. “Sharing our love under stormy skies” could mean that the love is already there within each person. It’s just that finding that special someone we can finally share it, reveal it, and discover our own happiness when seeing each other and laughing together, no matter what the weather is like.

Thus the song is a nice reminder of what matters, walking hand in hand with someone, and just remembering that is enough to make you happy. Remembering the rain, the myriad possibilities present in a kiss, all of them wonderful. The light shines through, the woods have a fresh scent. We shiver; we are warm. We want the same thing, to feel intimate. And in that wish we are never alone, but a part of the same humanity, same possibility to love and be loved.

Johnny Mathis – Misty

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It’s strange how Johnny Mathis isn’t mentioned as often as some other crooners whose repertoire had many love songs. The reason might be because Mathis rose to prominence in the late 50s when the popular taste was changing and would rapidly start to favour rock music. So even though he’s had a long career, the limelight didn’t shine on him quite as many years as the likes of Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra. And yet many original Mathis recordings became well known jazz standards, and his singing style cannot really be compared with anything else.

Misty was first a jazz piano piece by Erroll Garner before Mathis recorded it, arguably his biggest hit. And you can still hear its origins in the gentle dissonant chords and the quirky melody. There’s sweetness and peace in the way it’s sung, and yet the melody has tension. The whole situation seems fragile, just like having a strong infatuation and feeling all the more vulnerable because of it, like a kitten up a tree.

This uncertainty is present from the very first phrase: when Mathis sings “Look at me,” the melody rests on the seventh note of the scale, or the second, if the song is thought to be in the relative minor key. There is some ambiguity in that sense. Not only does the melody rest on a tension, but the song itself seems to hover in that misty area between C minor and Eb major. At least to my ear it largely sounds uncertain whether it’s going to resolve in C or Eb. And as the song ends, we’re given the beginning phrase again, leaving the melody hanging in the mist. This feeling is strengthened throughout the song. Singing “you can say that you’re leading me on, but that’s just what I want you to do” the melody goes even deeper into dissonance. You can hear it as the song going to a different key (Db) for two bars, or just resting in b9 or b7 for a moment.

Perhaps the music theory perspective means nothing to the average listener, but the gist of it is this: the lyrics in themselves are naive, but because the music goes to such unusual places, the naivety sounds fresh and intriguing. And in the first grip of love our thoughts are usually idealizing and naive, so it fits the mood perfectly.

We also have the arrangement and the voice to enhance the mood: the sweeping violins, which were a feature of so many love songs of the time, and the first violins enter just when he’s singing “and a thousand violins begin to play”. There’s also a harp in the background, enhancing that heavenly feeling. And then the oboe solo which ends with a subtle fade-in of Mathis singing in falsetto. Apparently that was an accident – he simply came in at the wrong time, and yet it fit the arrangement perfectly

And this combination of sweetness and tension, infatuation and uncertainty, has raised the song to be one of the classics. To hear music when your lover says hello, to be confused about your right and left foot, so in love that you’re completely misty. It works both as a fantasy and as a description of what love does feel like, when you can’t believe your luck that something like this has happened. That all this time somewhere there was this person so wonderful, and now just thinking of her it seems like the whole world has been transformed because you are so different feeling that way, so much in love. There’s the longing to be seen in the hope that both could share that feeling, make it even more intense perhaps by the mutual recognition. It’s like Misty is not even a song, but one of the greatest dreams written, just under 4 minutes of bliss in uncertainty.

Charles Aznavour – For Me… Formidable

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Sometimes I’ve seen Aznavour called the French Morrissey, a comparison that would be an injustice to both of them. Aznavour’s first album came out in 1952 and the last one in 2015 when he was already 90 years old. A lot of his songs deal with love one way or another, and many of the more famous ones are about loss or recalling past happiness, which is probably the reason for the comparison in the first place.

For Me… Formidable, however, is an example of a humorous song in which the music is a part of the joke. It plays on the clichés of love songs but also on the similarities and differences between the French and English language. Both have adjectives formed with -able, though the meaning is often slightly different. As the song begins, we’re led to think that it’s in English, and then it turns out it’s only a few phrases, with -able words functioning as transitions. If you only understand the English lyrics, the song appears to be a tune listing the good qualities of the loved one, the chorus being an emphatic confession of love like the peak of excitement in cinematic musical numbers, the melody ascending from the verse to the chorus.

However, the French text is at the same time affirming and subverting the message. It is still a love song, but one that is poking fun at the English statements. Just before Aznavour sings “Darling I love you, love you, darling I want you,” he’s lamenting that he doesn’t have the eloquence or vocabulary of Shakespeare or Molière, but only has these kinds of words to offer. He only wants to be close to his lover, and as the chorus booms we’re led to think that surely the statement has to be sincere, since he’s sad that these simple words are the best he has. Yet, at the same time it’s the moment when the music is at its most bombastic, as if the whole confession has been turned into a show tune, revealing its artificiality. So according to the song the words in English are actually superficial and cannot do justice to the real feeling. It’s not obvious that French would be any better, but since the music sounds like an American show tune, the song seems to poke fun at the ease with which such words are uttered in American movies.

Moreover, at the end of the song, where the final peak is reached musically, he’s actually wondering why he loves her at all since she mocks him and everything else. The final line “How can I love you?” thus has two meanings: ignoring the French lyrics and just listening to the music, it sounds like it could mean the singer is looking for a way to love her properly. But in reality he’s questioning the love itself. A good example of how the context changes the meaning of a sentence completely. Perhaps if he was more eloquent things could be different, but being in love it seems all words are escaping him. So the ending is yet another reversal of meaning: first the singer has lamented how inadequate these English words are, so superficial, but in the end maybe his love itself is superficial, which would make the statements actually appropriate. It’s the instability of meaning that makes the song brilliant even more than the clever puns when switching between French and English.

Thus the song can have two very different effects. Just listening to the music, it’s fun to dance to it and be swept by the show tune qualities, ecstatic love confessions in which the most bombastic statements suddenly feel sincere because at the height of infatuation all the things that otherwise might sound ridiculous feel very real. But the song also makes me wonder about the relationship of language and the world, and whether we can ever truly express what we feel, and how the gap between words and meanings affects everything.

Napoleon XIV – Let’s Cuddle Up in My Security Blanket

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Napoleon XIV is really only known for his 1966 novelty hit They’re Coming to Take Me Away, Ha-Haaa! An album with the same name followed, filled with songs about mental health issues. The style of the songs is quirky, which makes them somewhat humorous despite the serious topics. The approach is unusual. I remember hearing the hit song as a child and thought it was funny, but as an adult who knows about the suffering people go through, it is difficult to hear the comedic aspect; the artificial strangeness becomes reminiscent of how someone with deep-seated issues sounds unusual when they try to put on a happy face. It is not the same, of course, when done for comic effect, but an adult recognizes that the issues are real, and it’s hard to laugh knowing it.

Let’s Cuddle Up in My Security Blanket is one of the songs that sounds almost normal. It is a plead to stay together even for a moment, hiding from the world. The song is fascinating because if the presence of a security blanket wasn’t mentioned, this could be an ordinary love song. A baby may need a comfort object to fall asleep, but an adult singing about it reveals neuroticism and an obsession. And yet despite the security blanket the song is all about the longing to be loved, to feel safe in a world that seems hostile.

Thus the security blanket in the song sticks out like a sore thumb. It is the only strange aspect of the lyric, and yet it changes the meaning completely. Since the addition of only one element can make the song appear to be about insecurity and obsession, what does that tell about how we perceive love in general? Especially in the early stages of a relationship the feeling may be exactly the same, only the blanket under which the lovers cuddle up is not thought of as a comfort object. Instead, the lovers treat each other as comfort objects, while still wrapped up in a blanket.

There’s also this feeling of camaraderie: “Why should we care if others conform?”. It is mostly an illusion. Just like everyone is from their own viewpoint basically a good person, or at least sees their actions justified, and evil is always somewhere else, conformity is mostly seen to exist outside of ourselves. We are merely individuals forming a secret society of two lovers. We are different, therefore we must be together. Just like every other couple that exists.

This instability in the lyrics is what raises it above ordinary love songs. You’re forced to wonder where the line is drawn between healthy and unhealthy behaviour, since anyone can recognize the yearning for safety, and the presence of the blanket seems like such a small thing compared to that very human need of intimacy and love.

The song itself doesn’t necessarily imply that it’s about romantic love. When I had a cat and she’d meow for some mysterious reason, I sometimes sang to her the opening line “What’s wrong my pet, you seem so upset, tell me what’s bothering you”. And it does fit the song to think of the “pet” label to be literal. The song is about such a basic need that it goes beyond romantic love. It is also love for pets, or love in parenthood.

Yet it is mostly in the context of a new relationship that adults are allowed to indulge in such primal longing. And why state “are allowed” in the passive? Because there usually isn’t anyone saying that it is not allowed, only ourselves, after having grown into a conception of what adults must not do, not feel. And the question the song poses about whether one should conform could be just about that: the beginning of a relationship is a moment when one can see through the need to be an adult. Conformity may simply be the ideas we grow into when trying to define ourselves as adults by ignoring some longing or a need. And in that sense it is indeed significant to ask why we should care about what other people think about our adulthood. Let’s just be safe, snuggle up so cozy and warm. Whether a blanket is deemed necessary or not.

Debbie Reynolds – Tammy

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Written for the romantic comedy Tammy and the Bachelor and sung by its heroine, Tammy captures that moment of sweet melancholy when a relationship is still out of reach, but seems entirely possibly based on the strength of emotion alone.

There are many songs with a woman’s name in the title, but this is the only one I know in which she is singing about herself in third person. Or is she? Her emotion is so overwhelming that it seems like the whole world is singing it. The cottonwoods, the hootie owl, the whippoorwill, the breeze, everything in existence knows that Tammy’s in love… except the man himself. Yet it is the projection of her own dreams, the passion that makes her heart beat so loudly that surely he must hear. Dare she even dream that he might reciprocate her feelings?

Debbie Reynolds who acted the lead role sings the tune sweetly, balancing well the joy of infatuation and the sadness of uncertainty, while the moody violin emphasizes the latter. This song actually has a connection to Sixteen Reasons by Connie Stevens: both singers were actresses who married Eddie Fisher, himself known for romantic songs, though I haven’t heard a song of his that would be as touching as these two. Reynolds and Fisher also had a child who became famous, Carrie Fisher.

Perhaps it is so touching because the song is so tender while love is so powerful that it encompasses everything. In loving him, Tammy is a part of everything. And seen from another perspective, when you are loved by just one person, the whole world seems a bit kinder, and in some ways it is. Perception is changed by loving someone as well as being loved, and never does it feel more complete than when there’s a degree of mutuality, even if just for a moment. Having that experience transforms a person forever. Even if years of solitude would follow, it offers us a glimpse of what is possible, what is the meaning of beauty, what can appear as a purpose emerging from the doubt and ignorance. The night is warm, anything is possible, and this relationship must become real. It is the dream that if we love someone strongly enough, surely we will be loved back. The real world teaches that it isn’t so, but for a moment in romance it seems possible: love alone is enough.

There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, “She is near, she is near;”
And the white rose weeps, “She is late;”
The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;”
And the lily whispers, “I wait.”

She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.

From Maud by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Johnny Mathis – My Funny Valentine

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My Funny Valentine has always disturbed me. The sweet melody of this jazz standard is such a big contrast to the lyrics which are a confession of love, yet profess an absolutely judgmental attitude, even controlling. Yet the lyrics are ambiguous enough so that each singer can change the meaning slightly with lyrical variation and vocal interpretation, which must be one reason why the song has been recorded many times.

Most versions I’ve heard have been sung by men, and most omit the first verse, which Johnny Mathis chose to include with one small change. The song was composed by Richard Rogers, with lyrics by Lorenz Hart, for the musical Babes in Arms, first performed in 1937. It was written for a female character to sing, and the “Valentine” of the title is actually the name of the male protagonist. The belittling of the object of love is reminiscent of Shakespeare’s sonnet 130 (My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun). The sonnet is a parody of 16th century clichés in love poems, how the mistress is compared to beautiful objects in nature. Shakespeare claims that even though his mistress is not pleasant to look at, hear, or even smell, he still loves her. It is an unpleasant statement even while it takes the form of a love confession, much like some other Shakespeare sonnets considered romantic, but which are mainly about the poet’s own greatness in writing love confessions, for example, sonnet 18 (Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?).

So, there is a long history of such love confessions in literature: your looks are laughable, and you aren’t smart, but I love you anyway. The attitude feels like the speaker is above the one who is supposedly loved. Moreover, this song has another romantic cliché that undermines the sincerity of feeling: the plead for the lover not to change at all. What kind of love is so weak that it must tout its own strength by insinuating it does not want change, even in negative qualities, altering when it alteration finds?

The first verse is actually significant in softening the statement. The melody sounds like an English folk song, and use of “thou” gives the song a hint of irony, as if it was also a parody. The Mathis version softens it even more. The last lines in the original verse are:

Thou noble upright truthful sincere,
And slightly dopey gent

But Mathis sings “I’m your noble, upright…”. It makes the singer appear more self-conscious, proud and arrogant, yet admitting it, but also admitting being slightly dopey.

Further, the meaning can be also reversed. I’ve read that Lorenz Hart was possibly writing about his own insecurity, and it is certainly possible. After all, it is more common to disparage oneself in such a way than other people. The lyrics may be an expression of a wish: I see myself this way, unattractive and unlovable, but I am hoping someone could love me as I am anyway. It does sound more sincere that way, and it is striking how the ruthlessness of such self-denigrating thoughts is revealed when sung to another person.

The most famous version of the song is probably the one by Chet Baker. He sings softly, with a pretty voice that has a similar velvet tone as that of Mathis. But the feelings is very different. Despite its softness the delivery is somewhat deadpan; the tone stays the same throughout the song. The more softly he sings, the more disturbing the lyrical content becomes when every hint of irony is stripped from it, creating a mood in which the singer sounds like he’s absolutely believing in himself as a great lover even while putting down the object of his love.

In contrast, the Mathis version has a lot more emotional variation and the range of vocal techniques used reveals it more as a performed gesture. And strangely enough, that makes it sound more sincere, as if all the variation and performance aspects made it clear that the singer is actually vulnerable, having to hide behind the mask of performance. That is one of the fascinating aspects of performance: the more we try to perform technically perfectly, the more we are revealing vulnerability behind it all. And the performance that actually sounds vulnerable may be just as much for show. It is not always easy to determine who is being more sincere: those who most bravely appear to confess their love may only be brave not out of strength of feeling, but because of indifference. And they who have the least to lose when rejected can sound very convincing, turning a confession into a performance without shyness.

Marie Laforêt – L’amour qu’il fera demain

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The same song as a scratchy recording in case the video above is blocked in your country:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhwOw-yAwfQ

A song that is at the same time sweet and sad, L’amour qu’il fera demain feels like an antidote to cynicism. This is a rare type of song, admitting the impermanence of love without a hint of numbness or anger. It starts by stating that love changes quickly like good weather, and ends by an exhortation to not waste any moment because we cannot know what will happen tomorrow, or even tonight.

The refrain varies confessions of love from the romantic notion of eternity to a more pragmatic attitude. It uses anaphora, the rhetorical device of repeating a phrase at the beginning of each sentence, to drive home the idea that we convince ourselves and each other that love still exists even while it’s crumbling:

“You will love me, you will always love me
You will love me until the next love
You will love me as many days as you can love me”

Yet it doesn’t feel cynical. Instead Laforêt’s voice sounds thin and fragile. It is sadness without despair, for there is strength and determination to keep on believing as long as the two people can somehow make it through until the next day, the next spring, as long as possible. The melody and the waltz time also bring out the beauty in impermanence, softening the blow.

I mention the absence of anger or numbness because nowadays such songs much more commonly express one of those attitudes whose function is to disguise sorrow. Sadness is difficult to control, and two common ways to hide our vulnerability is to deny it altogether or to claim agency and strength through anger. Another way is to give in to the sorrow too much and to give up altogether. And there are many songs that express only hopelessness in the face of adversity. This song is special because it admits the sorrow without falling into it completely, and also avoids emotional diversions.

Love is here and now, so let’s enjoy it while we can. It is an age-old notion, and yet each generation must find it anew. Even when it sounds like wisdom, staying with that feeling of vague melancholy is not wise in itself. The sadness of impermanence is itself impermanent. We love, we grieve, we lament. And then we move on to love again, even if more laments would follow.