But What if the Bluebird of Happiness Has Been Knocked Out of Sky?

Yes, it’s Valentine’s Day, when delicate roses, delectable confections and rapturous affections abound. But what if you’re one of the loneliest number who doesn’t happen to be blissfully in love at the moment?

Maybe the stars in your eyes have unexpectedly collapsed into black holes of romance. Or you find the song in your heart has become a dirge of dejection. Perhaps the bluebird of happiness has been knocked out of the sky by the vulture of vindictiveness.

Is there musical respite for life’s romantic rejects? But of course.

In fact, some of the cleverest, most wickedly delightful pop music has come from songwriters whose happy days have turned into heartsick nights.

Not the politely wistful stuff such as Burt Bacharach and Hal David’s “I’ll Never Fall in Love Again” that was a 1969 hit for Dionne Warwick. We’re talking down-in-the-gutter blues and I’ll-get-you-for-this ballads.

So instead of more Valentine’s Day sweets, here’s a suggested playlist for those who are sucking on sour grapes today--the lonely-hearts who greet Cupid’s arrows not with open arms but with a bulletproof vest.

A good starting point is the sheer confusion of Loudon Wainwright’s sly “Whatever Happened To Us”: Whatever happened to you?/Whatever happened to us?/We missed the proverbial boat/The plane and the train and the bus.... / Push led to shove, we fell out of love, we tore each other apart/Love is grand but I can’t understand why you broke my proverbial heart.

Confusion leads to pain, and Roy Orbison ached like no one else in “Love Hurts”: Love hurts, love scars, love wounds, love mars.

Elvis, long before he faked his death, caught the flip sides of the romantic coin when he sang: You look like an angel/You walk like an angel/You talk like an angel/But I got wise/You’re the devil in disguise.

An even sharper portrait of betrayal comes through in Richard Thompson’s “She Twists the Knife Again,” written during the breakup with his wife and former songwriting partner Linda: Just when the scar heals/Just when the grip unbends/Just when her mind reels/She twists the knife again.

For sheer spitefulness, though, it’s hard to beat Harry Nilsson’s 1972 poison-pen record “You’re Breaking My Heart”: You’re breaking my heart/You’re tearin’ it apart/So (expletive) you.

Self-righteousness, which often follows anger, shows up unadorned in “God Will,” Texas singer-songwriter Lyle Lovett’s pithy ballad in which all forgiveness is left to the Man upstairs: Who says he’ll forgive you/And says that he’ll miss you/And dream of your sweet memory?/God does, but I don’t/God will, but I won’t/And that’s the difference between God and me.

Loudon Wainwright looks to the Grim Reaper to supply the final pay-back in the hilarious “Unrequited to the Nth Degree”: Might be a plane crash/Or some sort of OD/Hey there’s gonna be a photograph/With my obituary. ... / Not only would you miss me/But you’ll feel guilty too/Oh I’ll be dead but it’ll be too late, the joke’ll be on you.”

Cynicism about love itself pops up frequently but rarely is wittier than in Sparks’ “Eaten by the Monster of Love”: (It’s worse than war, it’s worse than death/There ain’t too many left who ain’t been eaten by the monster of love) or with more vituperation than rock’s other Elvis--Costello--put into “Lipstick Vogue” (“Don’t say you love me when it’s just a rumor/Don’t say a word if there is any doubt/Sometimes I think that love is just a tumor/You’ve got to cut it out).

Some say it all with just a song title, including the J. Geils Band’s “First I Look at the Purse,” Joan Baez’s “Love Is Just a Four-Letter Word” and Dan Hicks’ immortal “How Can I Miss You (When You Won’t Go Away?)”

Such sentiments segue neatly into one of the many meditations on vengefulness:

Remember how self-satisfied Mick Jagger sounded after turning the tables on an ex-lover in one of the Rolling Stone’s early records: Under my thumb, the girl who once had me down.... And what Bob Dylan fan hasn’t had a someone special who comes to mind whenever they hear “Positively 4th Street”? I wish that for just one time, you could stand inside my shoes/And just for that one moment, I could be you.

For the big finish, it’s hard to imagine a song more acrimonious than the closing number of Randy Newman’s latest album, “Land of Dreams”: I ran out on my children/And I ran out on my wife/Gonna run out on you too, baby/I done it all my life. ... / I just want you to hurt like I do.”

There, now. Feeling better? Just goes to show: Some days love is a many-splintered thing.