Sure, they're depressing songs, but can you prove it in court?

In early 2004, a British book editor called me with an odd request. He wanted me to spend an entire year listening to as many depressing songs as possible and write about 50 that most made me want to kill myself. While discussing writers pathetic enough to take on this assignment, my name had immediately come up. I said, sure, what the hell.

One year, 7,000 songs and a dozen Prozac refills later, I completed my wretched task. I can safely say that there are way more than 50 depressing tunes in the world, and the Cure has recorded half of them. I ended up stretching the list to 52 songs just to make room for Harry Chapin and that scary chick from Evanescence.

Suffice to say, I was not charitable in my opinions, likely because weeks of listening to Nine Inch Nails at 3 a.m. pushed me over the edge. I soon learned, however, that writing a nonfiction tome that assails pop stars is like being married: Eventually a lawyer is going to show up.

After sending off the manuscript to the publisher, I promptly heard from the legal department. The notoriously paranoid British libel attorneys had gone through my analyses of all 52 songs and drawn up a long list of concerns, prefacing it with this:

The author does not only make negative or defamatory comments in relation to the songs. In particular, allegations of plagiarism, lack of musical ability, careers ending, and drug use arise on more than one occasion. In relation to various comments made, we have asked whether the author has evidence to support his statements.

I was puzzled. Was I expected to shower accolades on these morbid songs? Does anyone beam with happiness every time Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight" comes crawling out of their radio?

But there were concerns of potential legal action in England from the artists whose songs I had selected, and I was expected to address their comments, like this one regarding my take on KISS' dreary song "Beth":

The author alleges the band KISS badly mimed "Beth" and "Detroit Rock City" on "The Paul Lynde Variety Special." Evidence?

I realize the words "KISS" and "Paul Lynde" don't normally appear together in the same sentence. But such a TV-variety special did air in 1977, on which KISS was the musical guest. As for my predicate "badly mimed," consider that during the performance of "Beth," the drummer miraculously played the piano by positioning his fingers 6 inches above the keyboard. You do the math.

There was this:

The author states that Lou Reed was once a heroin addict. If this cannot be proven, then these words should be removed.

For those unfamiliar with Lou Reed, one of his most famous songs is called "Heroin." It's about heroin. There's an actual photo of him shooting up onstage during a 1968 Velvet Underground concert. Trust me, it's not Botox. If you have any further doubts, check out his "Berlin" album, the world's only heroin opera. Crank it at a party and just watch the noose tying begin.

I included a dissection of Céline Dion's horrifying remake of Eric Carmen's "All By Myself," summing it up as being the audio equivalent of the firebombing of Dresden. That, they were fine with. But not this:

Remove the line "based on Rachmaninoff's really long Second Piano Concerto."

"All By Myself" is based on Rachmaninoff's Second Piano Concerto, a fact that even Rachmaninoff knows, which explains the spinning noise you hear whenever you stand over his grave.

As for it being really long, it clocks in at half an hour, which by concerto standards is a 45-single. Listening to it is a different matter. Think of one of those pledge breaks on PBS. Sitting through "Gigli" with the fire exits locked. Reliving the day your mom took you clothes shopping when you were in sixth grade, and with every pair of pants you tried on, she loudly asked if there was enough room in the crotch. It's THAT long.

I included Marianne Faithfull's disturbing version of "Sister Morphine" in my depressing songs list, which she co-wrote with the Rolling Stones. The lawyers again:

Is it fair for the author to say that Marianne Faithfull's voice was shot by 1979? Delete this, unless it can be shown inarguably to the Court.

Please. One of the greatest compliments you can pay to rock singers is to say they can't sing. The most critically acclaimed artists of our times — Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Steve Earle, Tom Waits, Leonard Cohen, Patti Smith, Tom Petty — are all lousy singers.

The worse your voice is, the more critics will gush over your "artistry." Marianne Faithfull never got a good review until she started singing like she gargled with drain cleaner.

I couldn't avoid including Bonnie Tyler's nervous breakdown '80s hit "Total Eclipse of the Heart," written and produced by the notoriously furry Jim Steinman, the songwriter behind Meat Loaf's entire career. The lawyers:

The reader is told "if you cross Brian Wilson with Bram Stoker and add more voices in the head, you have Jim Steinman." Is Mr. Steinman clinically insane and is there evidence of this?

You remember "Total Eclipse of the Heart," don't you? The one that sounds like it was recorded inside the House of Usher in a roomful of ravens? Would anybody remotely normal have written that song? As for my "furry" comment, hold up a photo of Jim Steinman next to one of Chewbacca; if you can me tell which one's which, I'll buy you a light saber.

And finally, this:

In relation to Whitney Houston, is it true and is there evidence that she had stints in rehab?

This is like being asked for evidence that Brad Pitt has ever met Angelina Jolie. But in consideration of Houston, I agreed to remove all references to her troubled personal life.

I had more serious things to focus on, anyway, like the possibility of Whitney's recording another serotonin-draining ballad like "I Will Always Love You." She changes keys in that song like a Hummer crashing into the side of a building.

A few who've read the book have said that I'll burn in hell for what I wrote. But then again, after listening to 30 different covers of "Send in the Clowns," including Grace Jones' disco version, all I can say is "been there, done that."

Tom Reynolds, based in Los Angeles, is the author of "I Hate Myself and Want to Die: The 52 Most Depressing Songs You've Ever Heard," being published in the United States in May 2006 from Hyperion Books.