75. “Just the Way You Are” – Billy Joel.
I’m not sure what irked me more about the most recent, unrelated song to wind up with this title. There was it’s incessant use of the term “amazing” which has become a generation’s “like,” in that it is used and repeated so much in the culture, the word is rendered meaningless. So what then is really amazing? The first song (I can recall) that owns the title has managed to hang on long enough to be a sort of standard, if not merely a soft-rock standard. Billy Joel throws down some jazziness with a sentiment that is much easier to agree with. He and the subject of the song must be imperfect people, yet perfect for each other. “I need to know that you will always be the same old someone that I knew, but what will it take t’il you believe in me the way that I believe in you?” Somewhere in there lies doubt and uncertainty, the flaws and grace of being human. It is something the slickness of the other “Just The Way You Are” utterly fails to capture, rendering Joel’s tune much more “amazing.” — Dw. Dunphy
74. “Punk Rock Girl” – The Dead Milkmen.
Because punkers need love, too. Most Dead Milkmen songs can be carbon dated to the minute they were conceived, and “Punk Rock Girl” is no exception (“And someone played a Beach Boys song on the jukebox / It was ‘California Dreamin’,’ so we started screamin’, ‘On such a winter’s day.'”). What elevates the song above the timely nature of the lyric is the fact that the punk scene – or whatever you want to call the Dead Milkmen, since they were more snark rockers than true punkers – rarely dealt with matters of the heart in a positive fashion (see: Husker Du). “Punk Rock Girl,” on the other hand, is an unabashed love song for the alterna-set. Dinner and a movie? That’s so square. Let’s go slam dance and dress like Minnie Pearl. At last, lovestruck misfits had a wedding song they could call their own. — David Medsker
73. “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” – Roberta Flack.
As a movie guy I had no idea this song had a folk music history predating the supernova status Flack’s cover bestowed upon it. For me it was always the accompaniment to the beachside interlude that hippie-ish DJ Clint Eastwood and Donna Mills enjoy in Eastwood’s directorial debut “Play Misty for Me” (1971)–the one that slows the movie before crazy Jessica Walter reappears to stalk Clint and rev it up again. Love kills…and the song, in Flack’s sensual rendition, has an obsessive quality that reinforces the movie’s themes. As it happens, Wiki relates, Ewan MacColl wrote it in 1957 amidst his adulterous relationship with singer Peggy Seeger (they would later marry) and, kind of like Walter, he abhorred anyone who took a second glance at “First Time.” Finding its many covers “travesties–bludgeoning, histrionic, and lacking in grace,” his daughter-in-law said, “He hated all of them. He had a special section in his record collection for them, entitled ‘The Chamber of Horrors.'” Love kills… — Bob Cashill
72. “Just the Two of Us” – Grover Washington & Bill Withers.
Let’s just get this out of the way up front: “Just the Two of Us” isn’t really a love song. Well, not the usual kind, anyway — co-writer Ralph MacDonald was thinking of Trinidad and Tobago when he wrote it — but after more than 30 years of people treating it like an ode to romance, it might as well be one. We definitely loved it enough to put it on this list. — Giles
71. “Heroes” – David Bowie.
It comes on like “Young Americans” meeting the Wall of Sound somewhere in … well … in the vicinity of the Berlin Wall, which makes sense. Bowie starts out seductively, going on about dolphins and kings and queens and such, but then leaps an octave to wail about the desperate times in which his lovers find themselves: “And the guns shot above our heads / And we kissed as though nothing could fall.” He sings with a kind of yelping conviction he’s rarely displayed before or since. And that makes sense, too, because sometimes getting through life’s little challenges (like escaping Communism, perhaps?) requires a couple sticking together and being heroes, just for one day. — Cummings
70. “True Companion” – Marc Cohn.
The rise of the singer/songwriter in the early ’70s brought an embarrassment of melodic riches for sensitive types, but by the late ’80s, the genre’s thoughtful acoustic-based promise had been wrung dry and tossed aside on a bed of synths. Then along came Marc Cohn, who at his best distills Van Morrison-style white soul and plaintive Laurel Canyon balladry into a warm, honey-hued ambrosia. Case in point: “True Companion,” a declaration of love so timelessly potent that I ended up singing it at my own wedding, more than 20 years after the first time I heard it. That just about says it all. — Giles
69. “The Luckiest” – Ben Folds.
Self-deprecation is a hallmark of many great love songs, and pop history is chock full of artists who hate themselves as much as they love someone. With “The Luckiest,” Ben Folds captures the occasional self-loathing of anyone who’s ever found the love of someone they’re not quite sure they deserve. Ultimately, the narrator here realizes his great luck and seems to understand how much he deserves it; then again, he never quite escapes the idea that the love of his life is more the product of some kind of cosmic coin flip than any self-worth on his part. He loves her more than he has ever found a way to say to her, and he leaves it at that. Disclaimer: This was the first dance at my wedding. — Springer
68. “A Song for You” – Donny Hathaway.
Leon Russell’s greatest contribution to pop songcraft, covered by everyone from Ray Charles to the Carpenters. But the song is Hathaway’s—is, was, and always shall be. In Hathaway’s hands, it’s a declaration, at once whispered in the ear of one’s beloved and shouted to the heavens, caressed into being by that supple voice. — Rob Smith
67. “She Will Have Her Way” – Neil Finn.
Six years ago, I left Washington D.C. and moved to Los Angeles to start a new career, leaving behind the woman I had chased for ten years, finally caught, and believed to be the love of my life. Our relationship limped along from afar for six months before it eventually fell apart, and I suffered the worst heartbreak I’d ever experienced. I wrote to Jeff Giles in desperation, asking him to find me a copy of this song, because I thought it was one of the only things that could make me feel better. Jeff’s sympathy probably did me more good than the song ever did, but either way, having it in my hands jump-started the healing process. The version posted here is a pretty obscure live recording that features Sheryl Crow on backing vocals. I hadn’t been able to find a copy of it since the Napster days, so it’s a nice treat that it finally resurfaced once again. — Zack Dennis
66. “Nobody Does It Better” – Carly Simon.
James Bond themes had enjoyed chart success before, but “Nobody Does It Better” was something new: the first Bond song with a different name from the film (“the spy who loved me” gets a passing mention in the first verse), it was a mainstream ballad, upbeat and rousing and only vaguely connected to the movie that was its ostensible reason for being. Not so much a love song as a statement of wondering admiration — kind of a non-mawkish “Wind Beneath My Wings” — “Nobody Does It Better” taps into a sentiment rarely expressed in pop songs. For that reason, it’s achieved a healthy identity outside of the Bond franchise (we Chicagoans even remember it as a kind of unofficial theme song for Walter Payton) and is every bit as fresh and moving today as it was in 1977. Some kind of magic, indeed. — Dan Wiencek
65. “Have a Little Faith in Me” – John Hiatt.
John Hiatt was a brat, according to the conventional wisdom of the ’80s — an overgrown adolescent squandering his enormous potential on destructive substances and lyrical frivolity. Then, in 1987, emerged his album Bring the Family … and hidden at the end of Side One (on the LP and cassette) was the song that rendered the conventional wisdom inoperative. “Have a Little Faith in Me” revealed Hiatt as a Serious Man, capable of offering sober comfort as well as one of rock’s most elegiac piano arrangements. The melody and lyric both take advantage of, but don’t abuse, the song’s spiritual implications, as Hiatt entreats a lover to put her troubles on him. Indeed, given Hiatt’s history, “Have a Little Faith” could be heard as a straight-up love song or as gospel, a plea from a consoling God to a wayward soul. Either way, the song has provided manna for vocalists from Joe Cocker to Mandy Moore, and over time has overtaken “Thing Called Love” as Hiatt’s most beloved cover magnet. — Cummings
64. “They Don’t Know” – Kirsty MacColl.
Us against the world – it’s one of the most universal subjects in art, and a rite of passage for all teens. Most of the time, though, the protagonist has a chip on his or her shoulder about their predicament, and this is what sets Kirsty MacColl’s “They Don’t Know” apart from the others. She doesn’t feel as though she has something to prove to the world; instead, she feels sorry for everyone else because they don’t see what she sees, and she says exactly that in the third verse. In the wrong hands, this sentiment would come off as arrogant or defensive, but MacColl is neither of these things – she’s simply confident that she’s right, and everyone else will just have to figure it out for themselves. In a medium known for instant gratification, “They Don’t Know” is one of the most patient love songs ever written. — Medsker
63. “I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles)” – The Proclaimers.
What would you do to prove your love to someone who may not be inclined to take your word for it? Most pop songs of this ilk speak blithely of pulling the stars out of the sky or swimming the ocean, but who’s going to believe that? Hence the Proclaimers’ promise to walk 1,000 miles — “But I would walk 500 miles/And I would walk 500 more” — feels down to earth and refreshingly realistic. The verses are a series of guarantees that whatever the singer does, whether it be going out, coming home, working, getting old or getting drunk, it will be done at her side. All very simple, relatable and irresistibly catchy, which explains why this song has never faded from the scene since its UK release in 1988. Bonus points: it was the subject of one of the awesomest fan videos ever made. — Dan Wiencek
62. “I’ve Been Waiting” – Matthew Sweet.
It’s amazing to think of how many singers and bands only seized their moment in the zeitgeist thanks to a final “Hail Mary” pass deep behind the defensive line of pop culture. Matthew Sweet’s Girlfriend followed on the heels of two well-reviewed but barely-purchased albums, emerging from the classic darkness just before the dawn–a disintegrating marriage, a failed recording contract. It hit big and ensured Sweet’s status as a master of power pop descended from such icons as Alex Chilton and Eric Carmen. Like most great power pop, his best work is songs about girls, and “I’ve Been Waiting” effortlessly captures that breathless early tingle of a love affair newly minted. From the jangly guitar riff that evoke butterflies in a stomach to the soaring harmony beds that soothe the savage beast of self-doubt, it’s new love buried pure in deep vinyl grooves. — Springer
61. “Here and Now” – Luther Vandross.
If nothing else, this list probably proves that love songs are a dime a dozen in modern pop music. More than any other type of song, they’re aural wallpaper, each one ready to serve as accompaniment to eternal bliss or backdrop for the fruit section at your local grocery store. It’s possible you’ve heard “Here And Now” countless times while squeezing the melons or sniffing the lemons, and never given it a second thought. Next time, stop. Set down the bruised tomato and let the singular voice of Luther Vandross remind you about what love truly means. Just because a song like “Here And Now” has entered heavy rotation on lite FM doesn’t mean it deserves to be relegated to the waiting room at your dentist’s office. — Springer
60. “Close to You” – The Carpenters.
It’s been the soundtrack to jokes for as long as I can remember; that airy sweetness that comes without a hint of pretense or subtext. You best believe when Karen Carpenter is singing about love, she means “l-u-v,” but be mindful of when the song came out. Those early 1970s were a minefield of come-ons, pleas for the flesh, and the desire to blot out bitter realities through any drug available, hardcore pheremones included, was a life-or-death mission. And here was Karen with that sweet, Queen Anne’s Lace voice, all shine and filigree, just singing about love, devotion, and a desire to merely be in proximity to that which moves her so. There’s nothing really wrong about that. — Dw. Dunphy
59. “Make You Feel My Love” – Bob Dylan.
Bob Dylan seems to delight in doing the last thing anyone would expect of him — even when that last thing is “write one of the most straightforward, catchy and endearing love songs of the last fifteen years.” Heard from Dylan’s own lips, “Make You Feel My Love” sounds like a weary, shriveled follow-up to “Lay Lady Lay,” and a song very much at home on the crepuscular Time out of Mind album. Happily for Bob and for us, this humble tune has proven eminently coverable, with everyone from Billy Joel and Neil Diamond to Adele and Joan Osborne demonstrating its universal appeal. — Dan Wiencek
58. “Brown-Eyed Girl” – Van Morrison.
I have brown eyes, but that’s not the only reason I like this song. It’s a damn fine piece of work, after all, with the master of Irish soul singing about sunshine, waterfalls, and getting down behind the stadium. With a voice like that, you could get away with a lot of cliches, too. In a world with such a rigid view of beauty that even Beyonce feels the need to wear tinted contacts, Van tells us true. — Annie Logue
57. “Oh Girl” – The Chi-Lites.
Library shelves’ worth of poetry have been written to express the bottomless heartbreak summed up by lead Chi-Lite Eugene Record in the first two (or is that four?) syllables of this 1972 classic. Have you ever loved someone who had one foot out the door? Here’s the timeless echo of your pain. Oh, girl. — Giles
56. “Whenever You’re on My Mind” – Marshall Crenshaw.
The reasons why Crenshaw was never the breakout star that those of us who loved his classic debut album thought he would be are no doubt myriad and complicated, and one could write a whole series of columns detailing them, of that I have no doubt. Still, the decision to deploy bash-and-crash producer du jour Steve Lillywhite on the follow-up arguably had at least a little to do with it. Of all the songs on Field Day, though, this one makes the strongest impression, and unsurprisingly Lillywhite’s heavy hand is least felt here. Featuring a gnarly, yet achingly beautiful riff as its hook and gorgeous harmonies on the choruses, why this wasn’t a huge hit is one of the questions of the ages. Marshall can’t get his girl off his mind, and tells us about it in winning, wistful fashion. Its open, unabashedly genuine sentiment makes it as romantic a torch song as one could ever hope for. — Johnny Bacardi
55. “Layla” – Derek and the Dominos.
The album was called Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs, and that about sums it up, because there’s everything else, and then there’s “Layla.” Eric Clapton’s anguished declaration of love for his best friend’s wife is one of the most impassioned performances in rock, from the slashing riff that opens the song to its extended piano and guitar coda. Clapton’s lead vocal, too, is almost unhinged in its desperation: practically everyone in rock has used the “down on my knees/begging you please” trope, but only Clapton made it sound like the raw confession of a man exposing his emotional core. Add some howling, equally impassioned slide work by Duane Allman, and you have a unique, unsurpassable masterpiece. Eric Clapton wasn’t god, but he did write and sing “Layla,” and that’s more than good enough. — Dan Wiencek
54. “Thunder Road” – Bruce Springsteen.
“The screen door slams, Mary’s dress sways/Like a vision she dances across the porch as the radio plays…” That has to be the most romantic opening couplet in the history of pop music. The image it creates is complete, but evocative; it shows, it tells, it conjures. “Thunder Road” is perhaps best known for its theme of escape, of the top down on a vintage convertible while the radio’s blasting and two not-so-young lovers are tearing out of town down a two-lane blacktop road. But let’s not forget that the narrator isn’t just seeking to escape; he’s hoping to do it with Mary at his side, so that they can leave behind those “ghosts in the eyes of all the boys you sent away.” If it’s a town full of losers and he’s pulling out of there to win, he’s only going to do it with love in the passenger seat. — Springer
53. “Waiting for a Girl Like You” – Foreigner.
Possibly the greatest of all power ballads, sung by the man who at the time possessed the best pipes in AOR. It is seduction incarnate, primo baby-makin’ music that maintains its ethereal touch throughout, without pausing for power chords or diddly guitar solos. For young pups, it’s also the greatest-ever slow dance tune—just hold on tight and sway. — Rob Smith
52. “Best of My Love” – The Emotions.
For every artist lucky enough to reach the cultural saturation point, there comes a time when they’re just so creatively unstoppable that even their castoffs end up becoming hits for other artists. The Bee Gees did it, Prince did it, Stevie Wonder did it — and Earth, Wind & Fire’s Maurice White and Al McKay did it with this ebullient ode to good lovin’, which they handed off to the Emotions, and is still merrily defying you not to shake your ass, 35 years after it topped the charts. — Giles
51. “I Will Always Love You” – Whitney Houston.
Making the case for “I Will Always Love You” as one of the all-time great love songs is tricky. The track emerged to thunderous acclaim during Whitney Houston’s most irrefutable pinnacle of fame. While the movie the song came from, The Bodyguard, could hardly be called cinematic gold, the draw of Houston appearing in her big-screen debut was enough to make the movie a hit, and the song went a very long way in making that happen. As everyone and their grandmother know by now, it is a cover of a song originally performed by Dolly Parton. In recent times it has become something of a punchline, an audio flag that not so subtly shouts “Diva Alert,” a turning point in pop music where “just enough” was demoted to “not nearly enough by half,” and the soundtrack to wanna-bes everywhere who are doomed to make jack-asses of themselves. Yet when you strip all that away and concentrate intently on the tune itself, it holds up. It works, and so does Houston. She sings it without kneading it as much as selective memory wants to believe. It is not, as I often believed, the opening salvo of the melisma wars that would be openly waged by Mariah, X-Tina, and so many American Addled. It’s actually more the end of an era than the beginning, and taken succinctly on its own merits, reminds the listener of just what a singular talent Whitney once was and breaks your heart all over again for all that followed. — Dw. Dunphy
Comments