This variation on crooning all began with the Crystals' "He's Sure the Boy I Love." The singer accepts that her lover "doesn't look like a movie star and doesn't drive a Cadillac car" (as opposed to, say, a Cadillac spaceship), which is fine and mature. But then she starts digging her fucking nails into his spine, going on about his perpetual unemployment and how "he always buys on the installment plan". So not only is he not Sean Connery, he's not even Sean Connery's favorite valet. Does she like anything about him?
Oh, he's a decent hugger. Gotcha. Couldn't have based the song around that instead of all the homely jobless stuff? Double gotcha.
"When I hold my nose so I don't sniff that sweaty old wifebeater you never change out of, our embraces are out of this world."
In the '80s, Deniece Williams doubled down on the Crystals' anti-sentiment with "Let's Hear It For the Boy," which is all about her *ahem* love for a complete schlub who dresses like a hobo, can't sing, and never has anything interesting to say. Williams was one record scratch away from recording an old-school diss rap. But because he's good at ... something (probably dickin'), she loves him anyway. Too bad her constant "let's hear it for my maaaaa-ayaaaannn" comes across as sarcastic golf clapping in song form. Did Williams record this while sporting a pained smile-frown, like how we look when our kid spills a 20-pound bag of flour on the cat?