Not only does The Boy Done Wrong Again succeed in capturing the sheer loneliness of heartbreak, it also shows Belle and Sebastian at their creative peak, the combination of Isobel Campbell’s cello and the sly, sad wit of Stuart Murdoch’s lyrics producing a song that is quite deliciously wistful.
The penultimate track on their second album, If You’re Feeling Sinister, this is a slice of impeccable bed-sitted forlornness, a tale of hanging your head in shame and crying your life away, told over the most melancholy strings. But when transposed to an empathic understanding of the clandestine sexuality of eatles manager Brian Epstein, it is bold, devastating and, while revealing the paranoia and shame surrounding homosexuality in Britain during the mid-60s, still triumphant. Lennon’s lyric on this sensitive classic is effective if viewed as a male lover’s despair at his girlfriend’s departure.
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Full of private details, buried clues and bittersweet memories dragged to the surface – “Your eyes were bluer than robin’s eggs/ My poetry was lousy, you said,” – the sly, tugging folk melody underpins the dangers of remembering too well. MHĪ fond but cautious tango with the ghost of her ex-lover Bob Dylan – “Yes, I loved you dearly” – prompted by an out-of-the-blue phone call. Pete Ham wrote the verse, offering a tender white soul vocal the main difference, however, comes with the clipped harmonies of the choruses, written by Tom Evans, echo the primal screams of John Lennon much more than Paul McCartney, with whom the band are most often compared. Post-Mariah, this song has been routinely mangled into submission, but the original is rendered almost unlistenable for different reasons, lent unbearable poignancy by the fact that both its royally ripped-off writers committed suicide. The Cramps would later forge a whole career out of this inspired garage-rockabilly blueprint. Bill Allen’s awesome B-side, released on the legendary Imperial label, is as crazed as it gets, the vocals plaintive-going-on-deranged, the beat as stomping as a mule with a hangover. Out of the deep south they came, the legions of crazed rockabilly combos that followed in the footsteps of Elvis, all making what the legendary Memphis musician and producer Jim Dickinson would later call “crazy white-boy music”. The four voices harmonise like a dream – must have been all that partying. Its one-eyebrow-raised sultriness may be less effective than it was in 1997, when All Saints were pitting their underdog coolness against the behemoth that was the Spice Girls, but it’s worn well. GTĭespite an intro – “A few questions that I need to know…” – that induces exasperation in lovers of the English language, Never Ever is one of the best girl-group songs of its time.
The music is wonderfully simpatico, all hushed acoustic guitar, aching harmonica and lowering cellos. “I just want to die without you,” sobs the boy with “bubblegum on his shoes”, and he does indeed sound utterly bereft. GMĪdams’s insistence on singing about his seemingly endless playground crushes can get more than a little wearing, but this – like most of the Heartbreaker album – sounds suspiciously like the real deal. This mesmerising loop of swelling melody and harmonies beats anything on Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks for harsh truths about broken marriage, especially when Agnetha Fältskog wails in punch-drunk resignation: “The judges will decide/ The likes of me abide.” Björn Ulvaeus resolutely denied that it was about Agnetha’s and his 1979 divorce.
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The enormous success of Mamma Mia! as a feelgood karaoke movie obscures the acute insights Abba brought to the art of the break-up song. Despite the universal “blueprint that says boy meets girl”, former music journo Martin Fry is struggling in his quest to find love’s “real McCoy”, and contends, in his angsty croon, that tears are not enough to prove that a girl’s emotions are genuine. Whether in its original, spare funk version or the orchestrated Trevor Horn take that appeared on the classic The Lexicon of Love album, this debut single provided a fine showcase for the sophisticated romanticism of the Sheffield popsters.