What came first – the music or the misery?

People worry about kids playing with guns, or watching violent videos, that some sort of culture of violence will take them over. Nobody worries about kids listening to thousands, literally thousands of songs about heartbreak, rejection, pain, misery and loss. Did I listen to pop music because I was miserable? Or was I miserable because I listened to pop music? – Rob Gordon, High Fidelity

It’s true isn’t it? There are literally thousands of songs vying for your misery and tears each and every single year. Pop music particularly loves to dwell on the misery. From Sinead O’Connor warbling that Nothing Compares 2 U, to Rihanna telling her ex to Take a Bow, we are a nation – no, make that a world – dependent on listening to songs that allow us to dwell on the heartbreak.

I definitely fall victim to the sad pop song, and now that I think about it, I was born into a household where popular music – and it’s misery were reveled in. The Beatles singing Eleanor Rigby or the Stones belting out Ruby Tuesday were regular highlights of the music week. I wasn’t given a choice in this, these songs were always just there. Is that why I’m now such a hopeless romantic, a fool in love, and likely to reach for my music playlist whenever rejection comes a knockin’?

For me, the music definitely came before the misery – in fact, the music preempted the misery to such an extent that I fear the sad songs have now become favourable as the soundtrack to my life. Can you will yourself, through music choice, into being hopeless at love? I sometimes fear that I want my romantic pursuits to become the songs I love so much, so that I can relate to them even more than I already did. That way I can not only sing along to How Soon Is Now but I can utterly revel in the pain of understanding what Morrissey meant when he sang,

There’s a club, if you’d like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
So you go, and you stand on your own
And you leave on your own
And you go home
And you cry
And you want to die

Take that pain and rejection! I don’t care if you come a callin’. I have Morrissey on my side, and he knows exactly how to sing about loneliness.

What did people, unlucky in love, do before the pop song? Did they get all their talented buddies round who could play Mozart or Bach and make them repeat until fade Symphony No.40, whilst lying around feeling sorry for themselves?

Maybe that’s the way to go. Getting some of my friends around to croon me a sad song or two would be just what I needed to break the reverie of sorrow – afterall, there’s nothing worse than hearing someone murder your favourite songs.