Thursday 7th July

What a strange character.  He had tried unsuccessfully to be a pop star for a couple of years, then his manager suggested changing his name from Ray Sullivan (born in Ireland, brought up in England) to Gilbert O’Sullivan, a play on the Operetta writers and quite stupid really.  And so was his image, short trousers, cloth cap and short trousers – like a sling-back to a 1940’s school-kid, complete with pudding basin haircut.  But such was the quality of his songwriting that he became a huge star.  And then threw it all away by ditching the waif look and going Middle of the Road and chasing a sentimental audience; he made millions and was bland bland bland, but when he was good he was great.

His debut album, and the only one worth ever buying or listening to, was simply titled Himself and is a classic; every song is brilliant.  It had the two massive singles “Alone Again (Naturally)” and “Nothing Rhymed” (As I sip my Napoleon shandy, eating more thn enough apple pie, I glance at my screen, and see real human beings starve to death right in front of my eyes) but there isn’t a song you don’t want to sing along to.  The backing is pretty jazzy, professional session players aplenty but it is the quality of the songwriting that is so amazing.  Almost any of the songs would have been hits had they been released as singles.  My favourites are ‘Permissive Twit’ (was he singing directly to me), ‘Matrimony’ (something that begins with M and ends in alas) and ‘Houdini Said’ (Houdini said to get out of bed was the hardest thing he could do).  After this album people were talking about him being as good as Elton.

Well Gilbert (or Ray) went on to world-wide fame with songs such as Clare, but for me the originality of this first batch of songs is unbeatable; and an all-time favourite – he should have stopped there.