Three weeks at number one from 21st November 1987
“I Started Something” could be the exception, though – it was the first single to be released after the group’s dissolution was announced to the press, and is a strange outlier rather than a typical finale, pricking up my ears as a teenage boy for its peculiarly brassy arrangement. The way the record swings and rocks is reminiscent of the soundtrack to a strip-tease – have a go at imaging somewhere flinging their underwear into the air from the tips of their fingers to this if you want (though I’m not forcing you to). There’s a strange come-hither arrangement going on here, the sort of thing Suede revelled in many years later but felt atypical of The Smiths output.
On top of the glam swing, Morrissey doesn’t partake in innuendo, but instead delivers some regretful, hesitant and intriguing lyrics, appearing to confront the idea of getting in too deep with an unsuitable partner. Gone are the slogans and the forthrightness, and his lines are caked in doubt – “I forced you to a zone/ and you were clearly never meant to go” he states, “I started something and now I’m not too sure”.
Thematically, the song this reminds me of most is Pulp’s “Underwear”, but whereas that’s explicit and very directly addresses a dumbstruck victim who could walk away if s/he wanted to, “Something” is all chewed fingers and floor-pacing, hair nervously but precisely parted. Given how frequently relationships bend this way, with one party realising they’re never truly going to love the other, it’s surprising it’s such an unaddressed area in songs. How often do humans actually, properly fall in love? A handful of times in our lives, maximum? How often is that mutually felt, and how much mess and ill-feeling can any imbalance create, despite our best intentions? And when you’re with the unsuitable partner in a bedroom, pondering this over, and they say “the three words” you least want to hear at that moment, how do you deal with it?
There isn’t a script you can follow, and advice on this area is thin on the ground. Letting a lovestruck person down gently is an artform some Femme Fatales and Lotharios may get good at over time, but most men and women seem to stumble and stutter around, pouring drinks with unsteady hands or going to hide in the bathroom. Sometimes that’s enough for less deluded human beings to get the message, but people in love tend not to be firing on logical cylinders; hope outweighs hard experience. Unwanted lovers tend to ask “Are you ill? Shall I get you something?” rather than “Are you hiding from me? Shall we talk?” while knocking on the toilet door.
The conflict between the lyrics and the melody creates the brilliant tension in this single, and while I seldom see it praised much, it’s one of my favourite Smiths records. Morrissey isn’t a smart-arse here – he’s racked with guilt instead (but is any of this his fault really?) He’s Charlie Brown muttering “typical me” while rolling his eyes, as the band circle and swing and encourage him to kiss Peppermint Patty. If recent Smiths singles we've covered have seemed a bit too pleased with themselves, featuring Morrissey revelling in his certainties, this has a vulnerability which is both nerve-jangling and relatable.