I’m A Writer, Not A Fighter: The Secret Cult Of Gilbert O’Sullivan

By Emily Carney

Most music fans probably associate Gilbert O’Sullivan with a song called “Alone Again” by Biz Markie from Biz’s 1991 album I Need A Haircut. Markie sampled Gilbert’s 1972 hit, “Alone Again (Naturally),” without securing the necessary copyright clearance to sample the song; O’Sullivan famously sued the living shit out of Markie, and set the legal precedent that all samples had to be cleared with record labels prior to using them. (The Jams/KLF would run into a similar issue when they flagrantly —and hilariously—sampled “Dancing Queen” by ABBA, who were clearly pissed).

While I like Biz Markie, I can safely and proudly announce that I am a bigger fan of Mr. Gilbert O’Sullivan. While many may dismiss his music as early 1970s AM-radio schlock, I see O’Sullivan as the forerunner of singer-songwriters such as Morrissey and Orange Juice’s Edwyn Collins. He truly deserves to have a secret cult following—his music’s appeal transcends mere “hipster-y” trends and inane revivals. (Remember when Tony Bennett did a song with Bad Religion? What the fuck?)

Much of Gilbert O’Sullivan’s early 1970s catalogue—before he was manipulated into wearing a cheesy, frizzed-out Klute haircut and Bill Cosby-esque sweaters—straddles the line between soft, smooth AM rock (think “The Long and Winding Road” by the pre-breakup Beatles) and Sylvia Plath-style suicidal depression. his music could only have existed during the early 1970s; these days he would probably be deemed as being way too depressing and English. His mega-hit “Alone Again (Naturally)” sounds very innocuous on the surface, with functional piano rhythms, pretty guitar figures, and mid-tempo pacing.

However, the lyrics are something else altogether. Basically, Gilbert is summing up being deserted at the altar, contemplating jumping off a building (because he is abandoned, alone, and “shattered”), and having not one but BOTH of his parents dying within the body of the song. Shit, I would probably think of chugging the big barbiturate cocktail to the skies if all of this shit happened to me all within four minutes. I seriously wonder if people just hummed along to the nice melodies in 1972 while completely ignoring the lyrics altogether.

This song was used to amazing effect in Sofia Coppola’s 2000 film about 1970s teenage malaise, The Virgin Suicides. In a scene from the film, the Lisbon sisters are grounded for Lux Lisbon’s whorishness and rebelliousness; their male friends play the song via record player to the girls on a rotary phone. To me, this scene captures both the ethos of the 1970s, and the very desperate moods the girls are beginning to dwindle into.

O’Sullivan’s other “famous” songs include 1971’s “Nothing Rhymed” and 1973’s “Get Down”. “Nothing Rhymed” sounds like something Frank Tovey would have done during his 1990s “folk years” if he had played the piano (but Frank probably would have just destroyed the piano with a sledgehammer). To me, it resembles Irish folk music more strongly than pop music. “Get Down” is a song I would LOVE to see Morrissey cover eventually. In this song, O’Sullivan compares and contrasts an over-eager female lover to, well, a bitch. I mean, a literal bitch. . . a dog. This song could have only been released in 1973. It was also combined with a hilariously danceable beat. Just check out the text of “Get Down”:

Told you once before
And I won’t tell you no more
Get down, get down, get down
You’re a bad dog, baby, but I still want you around

Later Morrissey would revisit this concept with his lyrics in The Smiths’ song “Pretty Girls Make Graves” in 1984: “She’s too rough and I’m too delicate.”

While Gilbert O’Sullivan hasn’t been recognized with gushing accolades like Paul McCartney, Lindsey Buckingham, or any other better-known 1970s singer-songwriters, to me he will always be the progenitor of late 1970s and early 1980s introspective pop music.