The Love Songs phenomenon

A tribute to Steve Wright

The Sunday Love Songs radio show has been part of my mental furniture since I was about 7 years old. My parents' radio station of choice for most of my life was BBC 2 so I’d hear Love Songs from the back seat of the car on the way to tennis class every week. After I gave up on tennis, it was in the kitchen, the backdrop to Sunday mornings. Me and mum getting in from a (probably rainy) run — her calling “Who’s for a coffee?” up the stairs. Dad making elaborate preparations for a roast. Us kids working on homework or a new business idea or a song.

Nowadays l hear it at my parents' house whenever I’m back in the UK. I sometimes play it on the BBC Sounds app when I’m feeling homesick. It makes my flat feel less empty.  

For the uninitiated: the show is made up of love songs from across the years, a bit of chat, “Getting Hitched” announcements, and dedications — people text or phone in to shout out someone they love and get a song played for them. At the helm: Steve Wright, the legendary radio DJ who sadly died last week.

I know they’ll probably continue Love Songs with someone else, or at least find something similar to fill that slot. It won’t be the same. I’ve been listening to past episodes and trying to put my finger on exactly why this show has such a special place in my heart — and why it meant so much to so many people (just look at the comments on this Instagram post).

One key part was obviously the format of the show. People love love songs. And Love Songs played all the classics. I only want to be with you. Islands in the stream. Easy. It must have been love. True colours. Pretty woman. And newer stuff like Lewis Capaldi and Ed Sheeran. Songs to sing along to.

I also loved the dedications — especially when you got to hear the voices of people getting choked up with emotion on the calls, as opposed to their texts or emails being read out by Steve. People talking about people they love. Often romantic, but also messages for friends, parents, colleagues.

Some of it was the ritual. The show has been running pretty much every week since 1996. That consistency over the years means that for a lot of people, Love Songs is Sunday morning. The soundtrack to lazy cups of coffee, hangovers, or long dog walks. I used to sometimes work on Sundays so I’d miss Love Songs. They’d play Heart FM over the loudspeakers and turn it off when customers started coming in. (I quit after about six months.)

But I know most of the magic of Love Songs was down to Steve Wright. He was quick. Daft. Warm. Singing along to the songs and even his own theme tune. Popping in with random quips between tracks. “Do you know Dusty Springfield always sounded like my aunt Marion?” He made you feel like part of the club.

I never wrote or called in with a dedication. But if I had done, it’d probably have been for my parents. Maybe for their anniversary. I’d probably say I love them a lot and ask him to play my mum’s favourite song — What a wonderful world. (Does that even count as a love song?) And I’d probably start the message the same way as pretty much everyone else: “Hi Steve, love the show.”