Love songs and those left in their wake

I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

Tennyson was a quack. Of course, I have the right to say that, at least for a while. Loving and losing is the worst feeling, and although that famous quote has been with me since my teenage years, I never put much thought into it. Most of my life was filled with "not loving," and I was fine. So I guess I thought he was a quack then as well.

I glossed over a lot of thoughts and words about love during my life. They didn't mean anything. I had good reason since I grew up in the era of the power ballad, the most cliched of all love songs. Seriously, "Every Rose Has Its Thorn?" Tennyson may be a quack when it comes to love, but at least he could craft a better line than that.

Music has been a driving force in my life, but I must admit that it has always been the music rather than the lyrics that has fueled my passion. Only now in these last few months have I gone back and listened to every single word of the songs playing in my head and in my iPod. Life can do that to you — make you revisit old places and gain new perspective. It may not help, but it shows you that you are not the same person you were. I was always told that you cannot watch a movie like "Diner" or a musical like "Company" until you are married. That's definitely true.

I cannot listen to any song on the radio or at home anymore without pushing past the notes and dissecting every last word. The bad songs, the good songs, the immortal songs. They mean so much more to me now, if only because the person that wrote them possibly was feeling the way I feel now.

When I got married, a gift to those in attendance were CDs with songs that meant something to my bride and myself. I remember that the most joyous song about love that I have ever encountered was James Taylor's "Your Smiling Face." So simple, so innocent, so pure. It is the absolute perfect song for new love. It brings no baggage, sets no expectations. It lives in the present. "No one can tell me that I'm doing wrong ... today." This man doesn't care about the past. This love is now. Only once does he speak of the future, and it is only in the most optimistic terms. "Tell me how much longer. It will grow stronger every day." Oh, James. If only that were true.

In my mind, that was always the greatest love song because it was the most "blind" love song. No troubles. Only joy. And maybe that's what I always wanted.

Another song on that CD dealt slightly more with maintaining love through bad times. "Steady As We Go" seems to be a perfect song for a wedding couple, but only if they both really listen. Most of the song deals with everything that the singer will do for his mate. But he still has this reminder that bad times will come. The only problem is that if the bad times haven't come yet, it's hard to believe they ever will, despite all evidence to the contrary. One thing to sing about it. Another to live it.

I have 43,000 songs on my iTunes, more than I will ever listen to completely. Sometimes I will have them shuffled up, and I will listen to something that I have never heard before, usually a song given from a friend years before, but now I listen intently, searching for any nugget of knowledge. If anyone ever got it right in terms of being in love and losing love, it was those songwriters from the 1930s and 40s and 50s. Listening to Ella Fitzgerald or Billie Holiday or Frank Sinatra belt out songs of loneliness and despair, you had to wonder if Cole Poter, Jerome Kern or Irving Berlin had lived through these times or if they were just that good.

Ella probably recorded that song and went out to lunch at The Four Seasons afterwards, but man, at least there was someone you could bond with. Randy Newman did the same thing years later, summing up how everyone feels when they lose love. To the outside world, things may not look as drab and dreary. Words only go so far, even if their intentions are good. No one can make you feel better, at least not in the short term.

And although no one wants to admit it, this kind of hurt can really do a number on you. I never listened to "Losing My Mind" by Stephen Sondheim as intently as I have in the past few months, and although it does tend to lean toward the melodramatic, inside we are all a little melodramatic, and at least for a small while, we all feel this way .... at least those of us who have been left.

Toward the end of the song, the singer asks, "You said you loved me, or were you just being kind?" That's what many of us feel. If love goes away, was it ever there in the first place? In my case, it was. At least I think so. I did things that diminished it until it was gone, but like Dave Matthews sang earlier, "Troubles they may come and go." If the troubles are self-inflicted, can anyone blame the person who left?

Still, when you are alone, it's easy to play over scenarios in your mind. One song that has emerged in these days was one that have loved for years, "Break Your Heart" by the Barenaked Ladies. I knew every word, but it dealt with people that weren't in my life, so I never gave it a second thought, singing loud and proud in my car, unaware that this song would mean so much more to me later in life. It is sung from the perspective of the person who leaves. It is a person who cares for, but no longer loves, the person he is leaving. He explains that it is brave to leave and weak to stay. He even throws in that cutting remark toward the end. "It's not cause I'll be missing you that makes me fall apart. It's just that I didn't mean to break your heart." Now I know what he means.

So now every song is a puzzle to me, something to analyzed, taken apart and pieced back together. That's not a great place to be, especially when most pop songs deal with love found and love lost. The music lover in me may be better off listening to something instrumental.

But what about hope? What about the future? I tried that. It doesn't work until you get there yourself. You need to make your way through the valley, and only then will music like this actually have meaning.

Tennyson may be a quack today, but I'm sure I'll change my mind somewhere down the line. I'll let you know when that happens.