“Lost in Love” is a fucking bonkers song, and either Air Supply deserves more street cred or should be constantly monitored by police.
Air Supply was the soundtrack for a puppy love phase the summer 1981. Me, a 12 year-old townie in Eugene going into 7th grade. Her: a sophisticated older lady, age 14, from another town and headed to high school. I told her I was 13. Hey, age ain’t nothin’ but a number. Am I right, “I’m a 27 year old man who married my 15 year old girlfriend Aliyaah to avoid getting jailed” R. Kelly?
Any-hoo, summer camp ended and we went to separate towns and … those Air Supply songs? On the radio? They felt the way WE did. The world didn’t understand, but Air Supply was there!
One dude was named Graham Russell. The other was named Russell Graham. I think. There may be a handy resource for looking up such details but damned if I’m leaving this laptop to go to a library.
Jump about 17-18 years later, I’m joking with my friend Paul about Air Supply. He does the BEST (okay, only) impression I’ve seen of the lead singer’s manner of holding a corded microphone and gently shifting his weight back and forth. We start running over songs and realize every Air Supply song we can think of is an apology. Hilarious! Wimps! (Them, not us.) The topic gets left alone. I still avoid listening to Air Supply, as it fills me with puppy love shame. Certainly my summer girlfriend got a significant upgrade over me in the course of her life. Yet, there were eternal promises made that I’ve fallen short of.
Jump forward to now. Looking at a karaoke experience coming up, a friend wants to duet on an Air Supply song. Sure. Confront the fear, can only make me stronger. A few days I listened to “Lost in Love”. Of course I still knew the words, but I hadn’t contemplated them for a while. They are weird and terrifying. Let’s take a look! (After the video)
I realized the best part of love is the thinnest slice,
And it don’t count for much.
But I’m not letting go,
I believe there’s still much to believe in.
What is “the thinnest slice”? Is love best when it’s portioned out by a miser? Tough for anyone, who has watched a movie or tv show about killers who imprison a person they fetishize, to NOT grow alarmed by these initial words. Still, let’s assume positive intent and that he wants to believe in this love bond in defiance of some undefined oppositional force.
So lift your eyes if you feel you can.
Reach for a star and I’ll show you a plan.
I figured it out,
What I needed was someone to show me.
Why would the love object have difficulty raising her/his eyes? Sadness? Hogtied and laying on the floor? Let’s go with sadness. Positive intent. He’s addressing the love object, and boasts about having figured something out concerning reaching toward stars and getting a plan. Presumably, it wasn’t the love object who showed him, as she/he cannot even look skyward.
You know you can’t fool me,
I’ve been loving you too long.
It started so easy.
You want to carry on. (Carry on)
Palpable menace here. Goodwill over positive intent diminishing. Our fingers start moving toward the phone to call for help. Imagine the two lines being reversed: “I’ve been loving you too long. You KNOW YOU CAN’T FOOL ME!” So, the love object may have tried to fool him, he protests here that’s not gonna happen. Things started simply, and the love object wants to carry on. To persist in love? To cry out for help? Damned vague.
(Now I’m) lost in love and I don’t know much.
Was I thinking aloud and fell out of touch?
But I’m back on my feet,
And eager to be what you wanted.
Now the dynamic has changed. He was the man with the star and a plan. Now he’s obsequious. He has stumbled or been off-balance and now regained his footing. The disorientation is possibly related to having shared his thoughts aloud. Was there something wrong about the thoughts? He seems to speculate there is. Now he’s changed for the love object, can’t she/he see that? Does she/he not approve?
Air Supply. Run. As fast as you can.Lyrics repeat several times, including a musical bridge with outer space noises. Then reaches the climax where a yielding to the moment has far exceeded a craven thankfulness for a thin “slice” of love. Now the narrator is engorged, intoxicated, and in a revelry over his now abundant portion of love.
Now I’m lost, lost in love.
Lost in love, lost in love.
Now I’m lost, I’m lost in love.
Lost in love, lost in love.
But as any creature with an appetite learns, satisfaction is a temporary state. The cravings return and one must consume again. To move from a niggardly “slice” of love to an outright banquet. The song is a warning.
