Ted Gioia says that when he told people he was writing a history of love songs, some responded "with a dismissive smile. In their opinion, this is wimpy music." In fact, Mr Gioia argues, love songs are "radical and disruptive". They have survived repression, expanded human freedom and proved uniquely hospitable to the voices of the marginalised. He largely proves his thesis, with a capacious definition of love that includes bizarre Sumerian fertility rites (a king arouses a goddess's votary to such heights of passion that "then and there she composes a song for her vulva"), chivalric troubadour songs and, alas, the dreary, repetitive artlessness of Robert Palmer. Calling Mr Gioia's study "discursive" is an understatement: readers learn that a lament sung from outside a lover's door is called a pa-raklausithyron; that "Greensleeves" may have started out as a solicitation song, with the title referring to grass stains on the clothing of prostitutes who entertained their clients outdoors; that among the 64 talents the Kama Sutra recommends for elite lovers are singing, dancing, metallurgy and teaching parrots how to talk; and that Gene Simmons, the lead singer of kiss, has slept with 4,897 women.
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