"Some of my favourite songs: ‘Only Love Can Break Your
Heart’ by Neil Young; ‘Last Night I Dreamed That Somebody Loved Me’, by
the Smiths; ‘Call Me’, by Aretha Franklin; ‘I Don’t Want to Talk About
It’, by anybody. And then there’s ‘Love Hurts’ and ‘When Love Breaks
Down’ and ‘How Can You Mend A Broken Heart’ and
‘The Speed Of The Sound Of Loneliness’ and ‘She’s Gone’ and ‘I Just
Don’t Know What To Do With Myself’ and . . . some of these songs I have
listened to around once a week, on average (three hundred times in the
first month, every now and again thereafter), since I was sixteen or
nineteen or twenty-one. How can that not leave
you bruised somewhere? How can that not turn you into the sort of person
liable to break into little bits when your first love goes all wrong?
What came first, the music or the misery? Did I listen to music because I
was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to music? Do all these records turn you into a melancholy person?
People worry about kids playing with guns, and
teenagers watching violent videos; we are scared that some sort of
culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids
listening to thousands — literally thousands — of songs about broken
hearts and rejection and pain and misery and loss. The unhappiest people
I know, romantically speaking, are the ones who like pop music at the
most; and I don’t know whether pop music has caused this unhappiness,
but I do know that they’ve been listening to the sad songs longer than
they’ve been living the unhappy lives."
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