While my guitar gently weeps

Okay, I've said it before (in the Observer Sunday magazine, Venue and somewhere in the ancient archives of this very blog), but today of all days, why not say it again? Happy V-Day, love cats!

Take a trip along any given high street around Valentine's Day, and you can't help but notice that being in love is a cynical, expensive (big) business. But when it comes to being creative, being out of love is the place to be.

Artists have long since been inspired by the theme of love denied, withdrawn, lost, dead or merely just illusive. It’s a multi-medium, metaphor-mixing theme, too: Nigella Lawson developed a Break-up Cake especially for such occasions, superstar hairdresser Nicky Clarke created the ‘Divorce Court Up-Do’ and designer Jean Paul Gaultier once sent a ‘jilted bride’ outfit down the runway at the end of a show, turning a fascistic fashionista custom on it’s head. Tragedy: when the feeling’s gone and you can’t go on … cash in on it. But even if it hasn’t and you don’t know how, you can’t beat a bit of a wallow in somebody else’s stormy waters to stir the senses in a way that nothing from Clinton Cards could ever do. And when the tides that govern your own personal love boat turn rough and the forecast predicts a huge and heavy bout of moping, self pity, bitterness and regret on the horizon (sorry, Love Cats – it happens), no amount of sickly chocolates are going to fill the void.

On Planet Pop, ditties that revolve around “everything’s great and we’re really happy” tend to be one hit, witless (no) wonders. But when Cupid shoots a poisoned arrow, love comes alive. Compare and contrast Monarch of the Melodrama Roy Orbison searing his heart on his sleeve on ‘It’s Over’ with amateur dramatist Martine McCutcheon wretchedly retching her way through ‘Perfect Moment’ and tell me which one is more likely to stay on your personal playlist forever. Feeling wistful at the end of an affair? Vulnerable though you may be, beware of barely post-pubescent, heavily marketed pop idol generation kids trying to convince you that they know how being close to crazy feels; nothing fixes you up faster than a darkened room, a glass of Rioja and a quick blast of Jeff Buckley’s ‘Last Goodbye’.

Or maybe you prefer to fight rejection with defiance? Transvestite disco diva Divine’s hyperactive but sublime version of ‘You Think You’re A Man’ is one of the loudest, proudest, “fuck you” break up songs ever. Almost as effective (if a little overdone), the original version of Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I Will Survive’ still works wonders, too (but in the house on your own, please, and not around the handbags down at McChav’s Nite Club). Meanwhile, the Righteous Brother’s crooning their way through ‘You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling’, the stark beauty of Carole King’s ‘It’s Too Late’ or the simple surrender of Sebadoh’s ‘Soul and Fire’ provide enough material to convince stale maters that the end is indeed upon them, while Abba’s ‘Winner Takes It All’, Meatloaf’s ‘Not A Dry Eye In The House’ and the whole of Nick Cave’s ‘Boatman’s Call’ album make the ensuing decree absolut party go with a swing.

Regrets? Oh, we all have a few, but The Walker Brothers deny them beautifully (especially when Charlie Rich is on hand to bemoan the loss of ‘The Most Beautiful Girl in the World’ as a chaser). And when you need to put a bit of perspective on the
exquisite pain that post-split compunction brings, Patsy Cline cracks up in fine style on ‘I Fall To Pieces’, while Dolly Parton’s ‘I Will Always Love You’ kicks that awful Houston woman’s corporate greed version of the same song straight to the kerb. And blimey, we haven’t even touched on the ultimate paean to camp, overblown emotional histrionics that is Nilsson’s ‘Without You’ yet!

Hearts and flowers? Indulge yourself in a good old wallow instead. Cheap bouquets eventually crumble to dust, but a three-minute melodrama is a lifelong affair.