One of George Carlin's best and most underrated rants is about the nature of the music industry. As usual, Carlin has an extensive list of gripes on how they run the music industry, but the most salient point in the tirade is how many songs get produced a year. "Don't we have enough fucking songs for you people?" asks Carlin, remarking on the music industry's absurd and ceaseless annual output. In addition to the amount of music produced, Carlin also takes aim at the subject matter. In his estimation, most of the songs produced are banal love songs that express a stunted and juvenile understanding of the emotion. Where are the love songs that reflect real life? "Hey, I picked up your suppository, sweetheart," or "of course, your mother can move in, baby."
Another branch of the love song tree that's woefully ignored is the self-love genre. No, not that kind of self-love, guys. Cyndi Lauper and The Buzzcocks already made those tracks. I'm talking about songs that extoll the virtue of loving oneself irrespective of copious personality defects. In the video linked above, Annie Ross performs her song Twisted, which follows a woman that is gleefully off her rocker and loves it.