Keith Harrison: A million love songs later, it's all in a name

Back off, Lionel Richie, it most definitely is not.

And by the way, you're suspended for stalking a student in your care.

She's blind, but you do realise she'll still be put off by that tickly 'tache eventually.

That's not a tribute to you she's sculpting, it's a 3D photo-fit for the cops.

So roll down your sleeves sunshine, you're nicked.

Because that's the thing with love songs, so many have hidden meanings and aren't really about love after all.

Sting wrote Every Breath You Take about a weirdo stalker (could have been Lionel, come to think of it) and says: "I was thinking of Big Brother and remote control."

I have the same instinct; Big Brother, remote control, click. And relax.

But all this talk of love and romance in Valentine's week has got me thinking: whatever happened to great love songs?

In my day (here we go again – Ed) we had any number of slowies under the closing 2am glitterball.

From Lady in Red to Careless Whisper there was a three-song window to put the lean in before the lights came on like some sobering HD vision and you both realised this was a terrible mistake.

You know that much is true.

There were the Motown classics too; Let's Get It On, Three Times a Lady and, if things went really well, Touch Me In The Morning.

Depending on the lady in question, this could lead to Sexual Healing. Or at least, some strong anti-biotics.

Still, I loved those days for one good reason; cheeseballs were cool.

Chris De Burgh, Dire Straits and Chris Rea were all acceptable in the 80s.

The chances of Phil Collins having a number one now are, well, against all odds.

Big-haired, big-voiced women also ruled the roost; Barbara Streisand, Bonnie Tyler and, err, Anita Dobson.

Now, Anita's nowhere to be seen and you know who I blame? Bryan Adams, that's who. If he hadn't taken over the number one spot for week after week after week with Everything I Do, there may still be hope. But, alas, the age of the love song is dead. Shot through the heart and Bryan's to blame. He gave love a bad name.

Yes, there's been the odd sign of life since then and through it all we've had Angels for drunken late-night choruses. But largely love songs now have been restricted to wimpy boy bands looking like they were going to cry with every single airgrab.

I know we live in a world where irony is almost a currency in itself, but it's as if we're too old for love at the age of 13 – and that can't be a good thing.

Maybe I'm just bitter because no-one's ever had a hit with the word 'Keith' in the title. One of life's great mysteries there.

So I confess I'm jealous of the following people: Eleanor Rigby, Michelle, Maggie Mae, Mandy, Sweet Caroline, Cracklin' Rosie, Baby Jane, Valerie, Rita, Roxanne, Rosanna, Joanna, Gloria, Eileen (come on!), Barbara Ann, Annie, Angie, Cecilia, Sylvia (and her mother), Louise, Eloise, Long Tall Sally, Emily (whenever I may find her), Lucille, Lucy in the sky with diamonds, Joan of Arc and, last but not least, Elizabeth my dear.

Phew. Any more? Oh, Carol. And by the way, tell Laura I love her.

So there's the answer: bring back songs with girl's names in the title and remember this, Jennifer, Alison, Phillipa, Sue . . .

They wrote that song for you.