LIFE IN THE COLE BIN

By Burton W. Cole

I used to believe in love as the number one theme of pop music — looking for love, falling in love, staying in love, losing your love… and love for dogs, tractors and pickup trucks.

But as we approach Chocolate Hearts Day, aka, Valentine’s Day, “I look around me and see that isn’t so,” to quote Paul McCartney and (chicken?) Wings in their hit “Silly Love Songs.”

Food is the driving force of pop music.

From Fats Domino’s thrill on “Blueberry Hill” to James Brown’s “(Do the) Mashed Potatoes” in the 1950s and ’60s, right up to to Post Malone’s “Lemon Tree” and the Jonas Brothers’ “Waffle House” in the 2020s, there’s a whole buffet to be found in the Top 40 menu. Or a Jimmy Buffett “Cheeseburger in Paradise”

Stir the band names into the mix and you have the icing on the cake with entries like Smashing Pumpkins song “Mayonnaise” or the Buckwheat Boyz with “Peanut Butter Jelly Time.”

Of course, they are love songs. We love food. Any set of bathroom scales will testify to that.

“Were they hungry when they were writing those songs?” my friend Laura pondered over a cup of coffee.

I snacked on a Pop-Tart as I typed my reply: “Just think of the terms of endearment we  use — honey, sugar, cupcake, cookie, sweetie pie, muffin, jellybean, sugar plum, dumpling and poopsie. Well, maybe not that last one.”

We call our favorite humans names of food, because we like them but we’re really thinking about our next dessert at the dairy drive-through.

The Four Tops, with “Sugar Pie Honey Bunch,” are among the many artists who turned tasty nicknames into delicious songs.

And then there are the names of the bands themselves: Black Eyed Peas, Bananarama, Blind Melon, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Hot Chocolate, Korn Cake, Cranberries, Cream and Cracker.

“Maybe they were hungry when they were trying to come up with a name for their group,” said Laura, who suddenly had the urge to order a pizza while listening to her tunes.

Sometimes, food names sprout organically: Fiona Apple, Chuck Berry, the Bacon Brothers, and Hall and Oates. And then there’s Jellyroll and Meat Loaf, topped off with some Vanilla Ice.

Oh, we’re in love all right, with calories, carbs and proteins. But mostly with “Sugar, oh, Honey, Honey, you are my candy girl, and you got me wanting you…”

I grew up in the era of bubblegum music, a late 1960s term attributed to producers Jerry Kasenetz and Jeffry Katz, about the catchy, sugary teenybopper pop music they were churning out like butter.

There also was a 1960s group called 1910 Fruitgum Co. that gave us such bubblegum hits as “Goody Goody Gumdrops.”

Have you noticed, I said to Laura, that except for the band The Salads, we generally avoid singing healthy foods. I have yet to refer to any girlfriend as “my little iceberg lettuce,” “my crunchy carrot” or “my rad raddish.”

We’ll fill up on songs like “The Candy Man,” “Apples, Peaches, Pumpkin Pie,” “Ice Cream Man,” and “Honeycomb.”

Adjust that dial and you also can run across “American Pie,” “Sweet Potato Pie,” “Milkshake,” “Bread and Butter,” “Key Lime Pie,” “Watermelon Man,” “Lollipop,” “Strawberry Bubblegum,” “Melon Cake” and “Cake by the Ocean.”

You’ll also learn that, as Little Milton sang in 1969, “Grits Ain’t Groceries.” How do I know? “I Heard it Through the Grapevine,” Miss “Lady Marmalade.”

The message is as clear as Jell-O and ginger ale: This Valentine’s Day, treat your candy crush to a sweet little song. It’s wonderful to call her your little cupcake. Just don’t get too specific and call her your “Ding Dong” or “Dum-Dum.” The tune she’d tap in return would taste terrible.

Sing a little melody to Burt at news@falmouthoutlook.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.