DON’T TRY THIS AT HOME: THE SONGS THAT WILL DO YOU WRONG

ASK ANY OF US VETERANS in the field, there are a lot of things you should never do with music. No, really, a lot.

And I’m not even counting the obvious don’t stand outside the window of someone you desire carrying a boombox to play very loudly a song you know will explain exactly why you are the one for them and they should see it right now and give you more than a pen come on Diane please.

At least not unless you look like a young John Cusack. And the person inside is someone who once would have crossed hot coals, twice, for a young John Cusack and might still now, if she wasn’t simultaneously being tempted by Viggo Mortensen reciting poetry in any one of his six languages, over a strumming guitar, while trailing a thin line of smoke and the faint smell of horse. A person like my wife. (If you’re reading this Viggo, you bastard, thanks for nothing.) Not that I have any issues about this, ok?

Anyway, among the things one might advise against with music is don’t take seriously or personally the votes in a public poll of best/favourite song or artist. It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. And if you get worked up it will only make you look silly or needy. Or angry-without-a-cause silly and needy, as you rail against the state of the world, the intelligence of everyone except you, the future of music, and a cry for the past that is being so traduced by philistines with no taste or music knowledge.

Another solid piece of advice I can offer, for little or no payment, attention or expectation of respect – you know, like a music journalism career – is do not base your work, travel, love or life decisions on information given to you in a song.

Yes, I have written before about how I learnt my first real lessons about adult life through the songs of Hal David and Burt Bacharach, but those are the exceptions that prove the rule. Plus I was 15 or 16. And even then I am not sure that I’m ever going to meet, let alone shoot, a Liberty Valance type for whom the point of a gun is the only law that he understood.

So for your benefit and that of future generations, here are some real life examples to take with a grain of salt, avoid, or actively choose the opposite path. This will help your life. You are most welcome.

Sade – Smooth Operator. Ms Adu sings of going “coast to coast, LA to Chicago” (“western male”, for those enjoying the word play) except Chicago is not on the coast, which is still hours away from the windy city. Your travel plans will go awry if you follow the song. But wait, isn’t Chicago on a lake, I hear you ask. Yes, on the shores of Lake Michigan, but that is not the coast, no matter how you slice it.

Keep going, you have not reached your destination.

And while we have Sade, in her song of intense if thwarted loved, Is It A Crime, after watching her ex take another love (“but it doesn’t feel like mine”)  and taste another kiss (“but surely she can’t give what I’m feeling now”), she declares that “My love is wider, wider than Victoria Lake/My love is taller, taller than the Empire State/It dives, it jumps, and it ripples like the deepest ocean/I can't give you more than that/Surely, you want me back?” Which is all lovely I’m sure, but she adds “Is it a crime I still want you/And I want you to want me too?”, and it behoves me to warn you, reader, that if you were, ala Sade, to persist with your attentions to a putative or past lover who has said no, and said no a few times now, with this level of obsessiveness, then yes it could certainly be a crime: stalking. Don’t be a stalker. Don’t be Sade.

Ross Ryan – Pegasus. The Australian (nee American) troubadour says, among a few quasi-Biblical references, that “I am Pegasus, my name means horse”. Don’t know which ancient scribe he’s been using, but pegasus does not mean horse. This is not Latin, which is equus, or Greek, which is hippos, though yes there was a winged horse in Greek mythology called Pegasus. One. Not a genus. If you were planning on sitting a Classics exam or a pub trivia quiz, Ryan’s claim is not helpful.

Say my name, say my name.

The Go-Betweens – In The Core Of The Flame. While in Australia, about a decade after Ross Ryan made his bold claim, messrs Forster and McLennan were equally certain with their Manichean assertion “There are two kinds of lover in this world/Those who like diamonds and those who like dirt”. But really? No middle ground? No alternatives to this extreme? If you adhered to this in your love life it may make romance messy, at the very least, maybe even brutal. Maybe two bookish boys from ‘70s Queensland are not ideal sources.

U2 – Pride. Bono sings about Martin Luther King’s death when, “early morning, April 4, a shot rings out in the Memphis sky”. Poetic, certainly. The problem is King was killed early evening April 4. And if he is talking about it happening in Dublin time it would have been early morning April 5. Take it as read, Bono can’t be relied on for history.

Kelly Clarkson – What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger. Kelly Clarkson, via Nietzsche or American Idol, is not a doctor. Not an expert in immunochemistry, pathology, pharmacology, or anything else, yes she asserts that “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” This is – and apologies for the medical terminology here - rubbish. Something that doesn’t kill you may make you weaker, it may wreck you, it may yet kill you eventually. Don’t take health advice from Kelly.

Not Kelly Clarkson. Because she's not a scientist.

Fleetwood Mac – Dreams. I would bow to Stevie Nicks’ greater experience with “players” of any sort when she claim that “Players only love you when they’re playing”, especially if they say “women they will come and they will go”. They don’t seem the nicest, these players. However, one must take issue with her assertion that “Thunder only happens when it’s raining”. That’s not true. It may happen prior to rain, it may happen without rain. Choosing your clothing, travel or romantic options based on her idea could leave you shocked. Or overdressed.

Albert Hammond – It Never Rains In California. Further on the weather front, especially on the west coast where Stevie would move and make her mark. Albert Hammond recommends we hop on a westbound 747 as he’s heard that “It never rains in California”, which would certainly avoid the issue of thunder/rain co-existence. But wait, “girl don’t they warn ya/It pours, man, it pours”. So it is either dry-as or bucketing down? In fact California gets drizzle, showers, scattered storms as well as pouring rain. Dress appropriately, don’t listen to Albert.

Elvis Costello – Pidgin English. The bespectacled songwriter describes a difficult, to say the least, relationship which fluctuates between “Your own backyard to the land of exotica/From the truth society to neurotic erotica”. Sounds tricky. But is he being helpful when says “There are ten commandments of love”? He doesn’t tell us what any of them are, except maybe “I believe, I trust, I promise, I wish”, and even those are questionable. If you think as he does that “love’s just a throwaway kiss, in this pidgin English”, so want those commandments, you’re out of luck kid. Don’t wait on Elvis because, except just maybe a bit of a lifeline in the last line, “P.S. I love you”, he’s not coming through for you. . (You would be better off looking to The Monglows, who sang a song called Ten Commandments Of Love in 1953, but even they only get to eight commandments.)

Love thy ...

Pink Floyd – Another Brick In The Wall part 2. Roger Waters has his school kids chanting “we don’t need no education” and we’re to accept this as right-on? Except if you use a double negative like that you clearly do need education. Back in class for you and leave Mr Waters to his own devices.

Britney Spears – Hit Me Baby One More Time. In short, no, don’t. Please. That’s assault, not to mention not very nice, even if your partner seemingly suggests it. Given Britney Spears was under-age at the time, taking this advice with her specifically would have led to further problems, but as a general rule, assault at any age is not recommended.

Nick Lowe – Cruel To Be Kind. Ok, if you can’t take another heartache and you’re still mystified by your lover’s behaviour, beware, be very aware, if you hear her or him say “You've gotta be cruel to be kind in the right measure/Cruel to be kind, it's a very good sign”. Because there is no rational world outside some BDSM relationships (and hello to former English public schoolboys, now cabinet ministers, reading this) where “cruel to be kind means that I love you”. If someone says this to you, leave. Run. This is not a healthy relationship.

Actually, it's not a very good sign.

Outkast – Hey Ya! Look, he wasn’t the first to say this – it was a common misconception at the height of the instant photo phase in the ‘70s – but Andre 3000’s perky advice to “shake it, shake it like a Polaroid” is problematic no matter what you’re applying it to because it starts from a false premise. Shake your Polaroid? No! This doesn’t work. It doesn’t help, and may in fact damage the emerging photo. You would be better advised to stick to your phone camera.

Bob Dylan – Hey Mr Tambourine Man. This kinda takes us back to similar territory to John Cusack’s character in Say Anything. Mr Dylan requests, “hey Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me, in the jingle jangle morning I’ll come following you”. Now you may enjoy a chiming guitar figure like mid-60s folk/rock, The Byrds or Tom Petty or The Smiths may be touchstones for you, and you may have a desire to share this with your intended. However, like Lloyd outside Diane’s house, you turn up outside someone’s house early in the morning playing jingle jangle music and the chances are good someone – maybe even, or especially, your lover-to-be – might be so unimpressed as to call the authorities. Or take your jingle jangle machine and smash it over your head. Before returning to bed. Please consider an email instead, or at least a text beforehand.