Who needs love songs?

Once upon a time – longer ago than is comfortable to enumerate – I was a head banger. Long hair, faded jeans, jacket covered in band-logo patches, ghetto blaster annoying old ladies on the Stephen Ave Mall. One of my favourite bands back then – who unfortunately never had much success outside Britain – was a trio called Tank. On their debut album Filth Hounds of Hades there was a song I remember called ‘Who Needs Love Songs?’ And the answer, both in the song, and in life, was and is: ‘Well, I do.’

I mention all this by way of introducing my theme, appropriate to today’s date: viz. love.

It’s fashionable among those who consider themselves ‘intellectuals’ to feign disdain of love, as if it were a bourgeois affectation, and thus beneath them. Poets, from Sappho to Shakespeare to E.E. Cummings have all known better. Singers, actors, playwrights, composers, sculptors and painters. Even you have known it, whether you admit it or not.

So, happy Valentine’s Day – or Tuesday, if you like. I’m going to turn my attention now to the love of my life.

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