No, bite your lip: Robert Palmer's superficial, boring—almost stultifying—Addicted to Love doesn't come close to making the cut.
Let's turn to the key song lyric I used as the chapter lead for "Love as an Addiction" in my Love and Addiction, Smokey Robinson's You've Really Got a Hold Me. "I don't like you, but I love you; seems like I'm always thinking of you. You treat me badly, I can't help but love you madly; You've really got a hold on me."
But that all-time classic has developed serious competition over the decades, with the development of the great singer-songwriters who spill their guts in their music and on the stage.
If you want a lover, I'll do anything you ask me to.
I'll wear a mask for you.
If you want to strike me down in anger,
Here I stand; I'm your man.
Oh, God—save me.
Now, be still my heart, comes Lucinda Williams—like Smokey, an American treasure. In Essence, she sings:
Baby, sweet baby, you're my drug
Come on and let me taste your stuff
Baby, sweet baby, bring me your gift
What surprise you gonna hit me with
I am waiting here for more
I am waiting by your door
I am waiting on your back steps
I am waiting in my car
I am waiting at this bar
I am waiting for your essence
Baby, sweet baby, whisper my name
Shoot your love into my vein
Baby, sweet baby, kiss me hard
Make me wonder who's in charge
Baby, sweet baby, I wanna feel your breath
Even though you like to flirt with death
Baby, sweet baby, can't get enough
Please come find me and help me get f-----d up
But the scariest love addiction song of all, where the singer seemingly descends into madness, is Lucinda's follow-up to Essence—at least it seems as though it's the result of breaking up with the man she sings about later in Essence—Change the Locks:
I changed the lock on my front door so you can't see me anymore
And you can't come inside my house, and you can't lie down on my couch
I changed the lock on my front door
I changed the number on my phone so you can't call me up at home
And you can't say those things to me that make me fall down on my knees
I changed the number on my phone
The dirge (it has no chorus)—similar in musical spirit to "Hold" and "Man"—progresses to broader, deeper, more existential—and delusional—similes:
I changed the kind of clothes I wear so you can't see me anywhere
And you can't spot me in a crowd, and you can't call my name out loud
I changed the kind of clothes I wear
I changed the tracks underneath the train so you can't find me again
And you can't trace my path, and you can't hear my laugh
I changed the tracks underneath the train
I changed the name of this town so you can't follow me down
And you can't touch me like before, and you can't make me want you more
I changed the name of this town
They should build a monument to Lucinda—not in Nashville, in the National Mall.
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