In Power Ballad, released last week, a frustrated wedding singer (Paul Rudd) and a past-it boyband star (Nick Jonas) have a meet-cute, jam, bond and part ways. The next thing Rudd’s character knows, Jonas’s protagonist is having a late-career hit with a track that sounds suspiciously familiar. Naturally, there’s a soundtrack album to coincide, giving us the opportunity to delve into a genre that is both self-evident and hard to pin down.
When asked in an interview for his own favourite power ballad, Jonas plumped for this epic, windswept 1997 hit from Québécois diva Dion, lashed for ever to the mast of the Titanic. But My Heart … nearly didn’t go on. Director James Cameron only wanted instrumentals; Titanic’s composer, James Horner, and the songwriter Will Jennings penned the track, approached Dion in secret and presented it to Cameron as a fait accompli.
While My Heart Will Go On ticks the boxes labelled “ballad” and “powerful”, a power ballad is more usually understood as a group of rock musicians showing their vulnerable sides. The ever-enthusiastic Rudd’s pick from the same interview is solid: Boston’s Amanda, in which the soft rock band’s Tom Scholz readies himself to make his love known. This may well be a niche choice for British listeners as, despite going to No 1 in the US, this 1986 release failed to woo the UK.
Weirdly, the Power Ballad’s soundtrack misunderstands the assignment, featuring many random old hits such as Thin Lizzy’s The Boys Are Back in Town and the Eurythmics’ 1984. But it does land on one actual power ballad: The Power of Love by Jennifer Rush (“I am your lady, and you are my maaaan”). But the very best power ballad with that title is actually Frankie Goes to Hollywood’s 1984 track, with its soaring Holly Johnson vocal and the subtext that, in the end, love is all that matters, irrespective of gender.
The 1980s remain a rich hunting ground for overblown emotion: the sine qua non of the classic power ballad. Produced by Jim Steinman, the chef behind Meat Loaf, this dramatic, maximalist take on heartbreak was originally a vampire love story, written for a musical that was eventually produced in 1997. Welsh wind tunnel Bonnie Tyler takes it to an even wilder place.
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Some turn their noses up at power ballads because of their in-built mass appeal and exaggerated feeling. But one cut guaranteed to bring aficionados and the general public closer together is Purple Rain by Prince, the title track of his 1984 album and film. Anecdotally, the artist either set out to write a country song intended for Stevie Nicks, or an arena-rock banger in the vein of US heartland star Bob Seger, in an effort to win over the American midwest at a time when music was still overwhelmingly racially coded. Either way: top marks.
Illustration by Charlotte Durance