If You Know These 5 Under-The-Radar But Essential Love Songs, You're A True Romantic

It's easy to reach for the most romantic songs to crank up on Valentine's Day, popular tunes with such a well-worn groove they've practically become the timeless soundtrack of hearts and flowers. But there are lesser-known love songs that capture the complexity of love just as richly — they fly under the radar, waiting to be discovered by the fluttering hearts of the world. Some of these hidden gems offer critical clues to the cosmic puzzle of how love works, ready to help lovers express feelings they can't aptly describe on their own.

Wouldn't it be great to have a larger musical vocabulary for the inner workings of love, one that adds some of these unassuming tunes to the lexicon? It's time to round up a few of those love songs that keep a low profile but are every bit as essential as their better-known counterparts. For our purposes, a love song counts as being under the radar if it's stayed out of the spotlight over the years but still shows up every once in a while to remind listeners how great it is. And it's considered essential if it captures the heart and soul of what love feels like and reminds you that this multi-dimensional emotion can be expressed in myriad ways.

Whether you've simply forgotten about Marty Balin's "Hearts" or you've never realized how deep Hozier's "Like Real People Do" actually is, it's time to explore a few crucial unsung treasures from the world of love songs.

"Hearts" was a top-10 solo achievement for Marty Balin, who was helming the controls for Jefferson Airplane when it became Jefferson Starship. But after this post-Starship song peaked, it seemed to disappear from playlists everywhere. The striking melody and clear-eyed lyrics should have qualified it as an early-'80s classic. Instead, it became an underground favorite for those who know the complicated feelings that linger after love is lost.

Balin's voice swoops and quavers as he checks in with a former love to a melody that repeats in circular fashion all the way through the chorus. "Is everything all right?" he asks, as if he's making a last phone call to make sure things are really over, before confessing, "I just thought I'd write a song to tell the world / How I miss you." It sounds like one of those grand gestures designed to win back a lost love, with the understanding that it isn't likely to happen. In other words, gut-wrenching love stuff.

When the chorus kicks in with its surprising reminder that "hearts can break / And never mend together / Love can fade away," listeners pause to let the chill run through them. Put all of it to an electric piano-driven yacht rock backdrop, and you have a musical cocktail for the lovelorn that never loses its electricity.

Other than breaking the Billboard 100 with 1983's "Drop the Pilot," U.K. singer-songwriter Joan Armatrading never found her footing in the U.S. However, one release found its way into the consciousness of deep-cut music fans and never left, a soulful croon called "Love and Affection" that has a timeless groove and an infectious hook that invites slow dances with unexpected partners.

In this slow burn of a love tune, Armatrading asserts from the opening line, "I am not in love, but I'm open to persuasion." She goes on to describe the perfect romance to woo her, including the instruction, "Just take my hand and lead me where you will / No conversation, no wave goodnight." The chorus hits the swooping surprise, "Lover — ooh ooh," catching us all off-guard with a touch of playful doo-wop that becomes the centerpiece of the song. The "Give me love, give me love, give me loo-oove" that follows adds a strain of urgency.

For anyone who knows what they want and insists on love going the way they anticipate, Armatrading has the musical formula for making those feelings known. True romantics know this one sounds best on vinyl, where all the pops and clicks become part of the groove, but don't let that stop you from giving it a spin on your favorite digital platform.

If you listen lightly to this darkly poetic Hozier specialty, the lyrics sound simply like the narrator is questioning his lover about her past, asking her, "What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the earth?" It reads as if she's dug a figurative hole and dropped her past into it so she could move forward with her new romance. When the chorus pleads, "We should just kiss like real people do," it sounds like a suggestion that this love-broken pair can be renewed simply by deciding to be.

Scratch the surface, though, and you find the haunting tale of a woman literally digging up a new lover from the ground, someone who remembers only snippets of "the bugs and the dirt," with no recollection of what came "before those hands pulled me from the earth." Suddenly, the figurative becomes literal, as Hozier himself has explained, and you're knee-deep in a musical fairy tale. A golem-like figure who's been unearthed to be loved by this determined seeker in the woods? It's rich and romantic, and more than a little creepy.

The layers of meaning come together in the lines "I will not ask you where you came from, I will not ask and neither should you." This is where Hozier decides the pair should forget the past — whatever it might have been for them both — and simply move forward. Who doesn't love a dark love song with deep meaning?

A swampy meditation on the all-consuming power of love, "Breathe" was a showpiece from Maria McKee's 1989 self-titled solo album. She'd already proven herself as a songwriter of rare talent while leading twang-rockers Lone Justice, and this collection let her focus on the more delicate side of her abilities. In particular, "Breathe" shines with an eerie glow as it describes the power of love seeming to merge two people into a single presence.

The haunting guitar strains that open the song like a Southland siren are a clue that this isn't going to be an ordinary love song. Then, McKee's quiet voice confesses, "At first I was scared when I opened up my head and the motor that was runnin' was the mind of you," and the surrealism begins in earnest. The chorus shifts to a major key and the singer's soaring voice hits angelic highs as she elongates every word in the lines "I will let you breathe through me, I will let you be with me." It's as much a declaration of acceptance as it is a notice of surrender, as if love has fused her strength to her softness.

The underlying message is that the feeling of connection may be disconcerting at first, but at some point, you're destined to give in. It may not be a rock song that redefines love anthems, but "Breathe" is a shiver-inducing tune that deftly depicts the all-consuming nature of love.

If you're wondering how emotionally resonant an under-the-radar love song can be, look no further than this essential track. The Magnetic Fields came up with this aching description of "The Book of Love," an imagined tome where all the rules of love are kept, along with bits and bobs that make the concept seem trite and disposable.

"The book of love is long and boring, no one can lift the damn thing," the lyrics begin, bemoaning how complicated love has been made out to be through the millennia. Then the chorus arrives with a chime of hope: "But I love it when you read to me, and you can read me anything." There's no need to make love more of a challenge than it needs to be, it reminds listeners. Stick with sweetness, and we'll be grand.

The Magnetic Fields released its original version as a spare tune with just an acoustic guitar backing singer Stephin Merritt. Its bare-bones starkness inspires a chill. But when Peter Gabriel gave it the royal treatment, it became a stirring, string-driven tribute to how simple love can be when you find someone to share your heart with. Both versions are classics that true romantics keep tucked in their personal journal of love music. But Gabriel's version is hauntingly beautiful and should be everyone's wedding theme from now on.