Songs for broken hearts: Eight tunes for your playlist
Sinéad O'Connor, in a still from the video for 'Nothing Compares 2 U.
The story of Tainted Love is an example of how ideas and creativity can transcend cultures and context. The original rendition of the song, written by Ed Cobb and performed by soul singer Gloria Jones, fell by the wayside upon its 1965 release as a b-side, only to find new life when transplanted over a decade later into the UK's 'Northern Soul' scene by DJ Richard Searling.
The song became a cult success when Searling included it in his sets in venues around Northern England, right as the community for soul nights in that region and the accompanying culture of record-hunting among aficionados presented a transatlantic, working-class alternative to increasingly influential hippie-dom.
By way of its ubiquity during its second wind, Marc Almond, singer of synth-pop duo Soft Cell came across the tune while working as a closet-room attendant in a Northern club, and quickly arranged a cover of the song that would make its way into Soft Cell's own live sets before their cover saw release in 1981, becoming a smash hit in its own right.
All of this, of course, is context for the original version of a cracker of a broken-heart tune, oozing with resentment and distrust.
It's a bit mad that Fleetwood Mac's 'Rumours', a real-time document of emotional tumult, including divorce and cheating within the band's ranks, went on to become the ultimate 'mam and dad' record, with LP, tape and CD copies of the record cluttering up shelves and car glove compartments for over four decades now.
The making of 'Rumours', its artistic legacy and enduring commercial success have all long been overanalysed, but of all the songs that have burned themselves into a generation's collective consciousness, it's arguably 'Dreams' that has weathered the test of time best.Â
Written 'in ten minutes' by singer Stevie Nicks about the toll taken by her divorce from bandmate Lindsey Buckingham, there's a great serendipity in the latter's arrangement of the tune being the one that convinced the rest of the band to take a punt on it.
The decision bore fruit, with circumstance merely adding to 'Dreams'' significance as a signature tune for the band to this day - receiving yet another lease on life when it featured in a viral TikTok video featuring a man skateboarding down a sun-kissed motorway in the US, a glimpse of escape at the onset of the first lockdown.
'Love Will Tear Us Apart' will always bear a tangible grief for fans of Manchester post-punk outfit Joy Division: the band's most recognisable single was also to be a farewell to singer Ian Curtis, who had died by suicide a month prior to its release in June of 1980.
A non-album single that later found its way to countless compilations and reissues, it's eerie in retrospect, with deeply personal lyrics detailing Curtis' internal monologue as his marriage was ending and other issues, such as the pressure of balancing the band with a day-job, and his mental health, were coming to the fore.
Although years of mainstream exposure and radio playlisting have lent the song an ongoing ubiquity, 'Love Will Tear Us Apart' is at once an immediately-accessible document of the post-punk age, and a poignant reminder of human fragility.
Shameless, indulgent schmaltz it might well be to a degree, but the story of George Michael's early pop success is intricately tied to 'Careless Whisper', a tune he first thought of in his teens, with the sax line coming to him while riding the bus, and the lyrics charting a scenario of cheating, broken trust, and regret from the youthful perspective of the perpetrator.
Having been demoed in one take in 1981 with Wham! partner Andrew Ridgeley (in Ridgeley's parents' house), and after numerous re-recordings and unofficial releases, the single landed in 1984, as part of the push for the second Wham! album, 'Make It Big'.
He was never overly fond of the tune as an artist, though. In a 1991 interview, he said of the song: "(it) was not an integral part of my emotional development... it disappoints me that you can write a lyric very flippantly—and not a particularly good lyric—and it can mean so much to so many people. That's disillusioning for a writer."
Having transcended their roots in hyper-charged hardcore punk with a pair of 1985 albums ('Zen Arcade' and 'New Day Rising') that showed serious pop prowess and psychedelic sensibilities, Minnesota power-trio Hüsker Dü were tipped for mainstream stardom, alongside DIY peers like Sonic Youth and R.E.M., as the 'alternative rock' sound they helped innovate was coming to prominence.
Though their time on Warner Brothers coincided with their demise as a band, broken up by 1987 under the pressures of addiction and touring, it wasn't without some gems, such as drummer Grant Hart's bittersweet pop mover 'Don't Wanna Know If You're Lonely', a highlight from the otherwise-patchy 'Candy Apple Grey' long-player in 1986.
Bratty, bold and melodic as a songbird, it's a summary of being torn between concern for someone you used to love, and knowing a clean break is absolutely necessary - music to ignore those occasional DMs to.
It shouldn't need an introduction by now, but over three decades on, Sinéad O'Connor's breakout rendition of Prince's break-up blues has lost absolutely none of its visceral, heart-rending power.Â
A lolloping beat and minimal accompaniment from strings and keys is all it takes to set the stage for one of the all-time great Irish vocal performances, while the accompanying video takes a similar tack, splicing occasional the occasional wide shot into a transfixing framing of O'Connor, staring directly into the camera as she spills her guts.
Worldwide success followed quickly, as did controversy for her decision to speak up on the political and social influence of the Catholic Church, but as the fullness of time and events proved her correct, so too has it ensured O'Connor has lost none of her incredible gift, as evidenced by her 2019 reprisal of the tune on RTÉ's Late Late Show.
Though we might have shouted out Tyler, the Creator's 'IGOR' album in a list of relationship-centric albums earlier this week, the breaking point of its love-triangle concept is a distillation of all there is to be loved about it.
Taking the form of a suite of two tunes, 'Gone Gone''s pitch-shifted, bedroom-muso tear-jerker riffs on the parting of ways, the well-wishes for a lover's future without the protagonist, the residual feeling at the end of it all.Â
It's a sentiment that segues into 'Thank You', a big, beatsy thing inspired by Japanese city-pop maestro Tatsuro Yamashita, uplifted by celestial arpeggios and the odd on-beat gunshot that touches on gratitude for time spent, and moving along.
It's a devastatingly human flourish that speaks to Tyler's way with songcraft, emotion and human connection, a reason for gratitude in and of itself.
Sometimes with a break-up, it's the little reminders strewn around your life that snap you back to your feelings just as you're moving past them.
'Heavy' is just that, diving headlong into the unanswered questions, curiosities, concerns and loss at the end of a relationship, as heartwrenching for its simplicity as for its gut-punch lyrics.
"Honestly, I think it has to be/this heavy". Acceptance, as it often is in reality, is the resolution here.
