In honor of St. Valentine and his revenue-producing holiday, we will turn the spotlight on soft rock, a much-maligned genre that has produced some of the most-revered love songs of all time.
Soft rock flourished in the late `70s through the mid `80s, with groups like Bread, Ambrosia and Air Supply, all amassing hit singles throughout. Soft rock is the foundation of Lionel Richie’s career and has made Phil Collins part of our cultural fabric. Couples are married, girlfriends are serenaded and hearts are broken to these songs, despite the hip cachet that soft rock, in short, sucks.
Why is there such ill will toward soft rock? For one, it is the ultimate wuss music. Most of it makes smooth jazz look like a good concept. It is so effete that Christopher Cross, singer of hits like “Sailing” and “Ride Like The Wind,” featured a pink flamingo on three of his four album covers in the `80s. If good rock `n’ roll is painted in broad strokes, soft rock is done with an airbrush.
Despite such hang-ups, soft rock remains a presence on FM radio for one reason: It speaks to the masses. While The Beatles’ “A Day in the Life” may be the best song ever written, it remains elusive and puzzling. Ditto for Bob Dylan’s “Visions of Johanna” and anything from Love’s watershed album Forever Changes. Soft rock succeeds because it goes for the heart, the universal themes of love and loss. Who among us can’t relate to Player’s 1978 hit “Baby Come Back,” as the protagonist admits that “you can blame it all on me / I was wrong and I just can’t live without you?”
For many college-aged people, soft rock remains firmly embedded in the subconscious. Anyone who grew up in St. Louis and had to listen to countless hours of KEZK’s stream of adult contemporary music will understand. Due to parental influence, this music has somehow bonded to our DNA, making us inexplicably nostalgic for the great Hall & Oates and the dreaded Linda Ronstadt: We know no discretion.
It is easy to confuse soft rock with another love-to-hate genre, the power ballad. While both center on the softer side of love and usually employ terrible guitar solos and string sections, there are clear distinctions. Power ballads are sung by bands like Journey and Foreigner who, for all their shortcomings, have claims to true rock `n’ roll. Such could never be said for soft rockers like the Little River Band and Paul Davis. And while Journey’s “Open Arms” and Foreigner’s “I Wanna Know What Love Is” are just as wimpy and soft as anything recorded by Dan Fogelberg, they are saved by soft rock’s swift sword. If you are truly interested in hearing more soft rock, watch late-night television for any one of a number of soft rock collection infomercials. You can preview great tracks like Chicago’s “Hard For Me to Say I’m Sorry,” while watching images of happy, white couples dancing in the dark, walking through the park and, generally being in love.
If that doesn’t turn you away, look for Lionel Richie’s Truly: The Love Songs or, better yet, one of Air Supply’s greatest hits packages: those Aussie soft boys can sing. Soft rock is one of the great guilty pleasures in music (along with No Doubt and Boyz II Men’s Cooleyhighharmony) but don’t hold back in indulging. It is nothing to be ashamed of, but is also not anything to be overly proud of.
