Writing love songs, now that's a tough job. Too many of them out there, too few good ones. It's hard not to sound corny or naive or irreparably fake when writing about love. But, of course, there are exceptions.
This is a big one. It's so simple and sweet, yet unbearably sorrowful. A real heartbreaker. I love the irony in the title and how the lyrics contradict themselves without ever being explicit about it.
It was written in the fateful year of 1939 by the late great Hoagy Carmichael - jeez, I wish I had 1/10 of the man's class. If you're a jazz buff you surely know many versions of it, notably by Chet Baker, Sinatra and Billie Holiday and Ella and a bunch of other deities. Here's my very humble attempt at it.
I'm playing my beloved Deering Goodtime banjolele, look at how cool that thing is - impressive volume too.
The playback effect is caused by having a good mic and pairing it with a shitty camera - note to self: GoPros need a lot of lighting. But I swear it was live recorded.
On my left you can admire part of my cherished VHS collection. It's fun living in the past.