How to write a love song?

An unexpected request:  “Dear Oly, “I'm looking for someone with a way with words who is also a hopeless romantic, has a sense of humour, patience, and an ear for music.  Oh, and will volunteer their services with no promise of financial remuneration…  Would you be interested in writing lyrics for a love song I wrote?”

How could I resist?  Yet where to start?  Luckily Katja had the answer:  Leicester.  Leicester?

One of the few British cities I’ve never visited, I had only Adrian Mole for cultural bearings – and his cringeworthy paean ‘Lo The Flat Hills of my Homeland’ hadn’t encouraged me, and would move few to lyricism.

Yet every year Leicester hosts the great little Summer Sundae music festival in the surprisingly pleasant grounds of De Montfort Hall.  There was a great mix of people, a chilled ‘vibe’, and a fun safari theme:  we loved wearing khaki and getting our faces painted as crocs and lions - though I was a slightly reluctant camper, and distinctly unimpressed at the morning trek to ‘hunt the working shower’.

Fortunately there were also all sorts of fringe events to cheer me up, including Laughing Hyena comedy from Slightly Fat Features and a pleasing range of worthy causes:  Oxfam on ‘food power’ (I loved the guy’s talk, only slightly undermined when I spotted him the next morning sneaking away with a bacon butty), to Educating for the Alternative’s ‘ditch cars and carnivores and cycle your own banana smoothie’ (I’m crazy about both cycling and bananas – though is there a love song in that?).

But what about the music?  (And more importantly, the words?).

The early afternoons were largely electronica – locals Dark Dark Horses all smooth guitars and laid-back beats, New York’s Friends instrumental inventiveness, and Death In Vegas creating a great atmosphere.  But there were more DJs than instruments – and few lyrics.  My favourite band was the nattily-named Molotov Jukebox, who really got us going in a Gypsy Kings kind of way - but still slender pickings for the love song hunter.

Asian Dub Foundation raised the tempo with overtly political songs, whilst latest pop idol Katy B heightened heartbeats, but the words I could make out were of bad boyfriends and worse discos – still not the inspiration I needed.

Perhaps crafting songs is for the older guys?   I had high hopes for François and the Altas Mountains, billed as “Morrissey’s younger brother”, but it applied more to lilting delivery than word-smithery.  Uncle Frank from Fun Lovin’ Criminals was lively, unreconstructed hip hop, but his promise of “Ideal Food for Love” had all the romance of Benny Hill.  And whilst Adam Ant was great nostalgia for us 80s kids, “Prince Charming” is hardly a love song (“… ridicule is nothing to be scared of”).

Sometimes inspiration strikes when least expected:  if truth be told, we were only in the main hall for Saturday’s mid-morning session to use the non-camping toilets – but were attracted to the stage by an intriguing guitar / drums / cello / violin combo, Her Name Is Calla.  

We arrived just in time for “And finally, a love song…”.  The build-up was terrific, but rather than leading to amorous words, it was the precursor to a lively and unexpected performance, the East Midland’s answer to Pussy Riot (Katja:  “that guy’s practically raping his guitar”).  Maybe Leicester love is different?

We had a great time, and I’d recommend Summer Sundae to anyone - unless you like a nice quiet weekend in the shower. 

But I’m still looking for lyrical inspiration. 

I can’t even sing about my dilemma without encroaching on an F R David classic:  words, for love songs at least, don’t come easy to me.