It is sad but somehow fitting that I didn’t hear about the demise of one of my all-time favorite bands until two months after they announced they were splitting. The Beautiful South made the declaration on their website on January 31st, and I just happened upon the information by accident during a random Google search a couple days ago as I was looking up something else. It was a little like hearing that an old friend that I hadn’t talked to in years has passed away; not something that rocked my world, but enough to make me pause for a moment. I had to admit that the disbandment was for the best. I was one of their biggest fans, and even I didn’t bother to buy their last album released last year, partly because I would have had to pay $30 for an imported copy as their albums stopped being released in the States long ago, not that that ever stopped me from laying down the cash before. Their last great album was in 1996, their last very good one was in 1998, their last good one was in 2000, and they released three since then. I’d written them off. But yesterday I pulled out their debut album from 1990 and listened to it again, and though I still believe it was a band that ran its course, I now know that I have to pay tribute to The Beautiful South for what they meant to me.

They weren’t the best band in the world. By their own admission, they were only the 7th best band from Hull, England. But no other band’s music better suited my personality, especially in their (and my) heyday throughout the 90’s. I sometimes wondered if Paul Heaton, the main singer and songwriter, was following me around, writing songs about me. They have a song called Good as Gold which I still consider my all-time theme song. The music of TBS was laid-back, jazzy and very uncool, the sort of stuff you’d hear on an easy-listening station for adults who don’t really appreciate music and just want something pleasant playing in the background. The lyrics, on the other hand, were laced with irony, observation, and even a bit of bitterness, and the combination of relaxed, catchy tunes tempered with such wry contempt and detachment had me hooked from the beginning. The five albums they released in the years 1990 to 1996 are more than the soundtrack to my life during that time. They both described my existence as well as informed it. In a way, they justified it. The Beautiful South didn’t give a shit. And they didn’t give a shit very quietly.

Very few people in America have ever heard of them, and even in their homeland, their albums never sold that well. The truth is, it was embarrassing to admit to liking The Beautiful South in the land where people knew who they were, and pointless to admitting it in a land where they were unknown. But anyone I introduced their music to grew to love them, and a lot of people in the UK secretly loved them, too. Case in point, their 1994 greatest hits album became one of the biggest-selling albums of all time in England. It was released near Christmastime, and millions of people rushed out to buy a copy, gift wrap it, and present it to a family member so that they could avoid the shame of buying for themselves, and then borrow it constantly.

Did I outgrow them near the end, or did they begin to really suck? Both, I think. The songs lost their wit and became merely critical and whiney. I myself found it harder and harder to maintain the ability to judge the world while separating myself from it, and I can see that in the songs as well. And when they did try to be clever, that’s when they really got annoying. The later albums are a chore to listen to, to be honest. They found a bit of a spark of fun again in 2004 by releasing a covers album, putting a TBS spin on songs by The Ramones, ELO, the Grease Soundtrack, Blue Oyster Cult, and other music they/I hate. For a moment they were back, and I was back, and it was like visiting an old friend.

Long live The Beautiful South.