21 July 2005
In 1999 Captain James Blount was part of a British Army squadron deployed with the NATO peacekeeping mission to war-torn Kosovo. This sounds like the right amount of preparation for the flak he copped six years later as soft-rock troubadour James Blunt singing ‘You’re Beautiful’. In a year of unloved chart-toppers whose irritation factor fired the banter machine that artificially inflated their presence in the public eye and ear, this song was the most reviled of all: a ’00s ‘Ebony And Ivory’; your Nickelback-level stinker; the ‘Dance Monkey’ of its generation. In terms of impact, it was the biggest hit single of 2005. At the time, I wasn’t bothered; I just listened to something else. Full disclosure: I wasn’t working in an office or shop with a radio on all day, plus my then-domicile of France was one of the few countries on planet Earth where ‘You’re Beautiful’ didn’t go to number one. (Top of the French charts that summer were a succession of cartoon characters.)
Battle-hardened as I am by revisiting Boyzone and Westlife number ones for your pleasure, I feel the revisionist take on ‘You’re Beautiful’ is a challenge too far. Still, I’m intrigued: why did this song so virulently rub so many people up the wrong way? Maybe there was a sense of major-label astroturfing: the archetypal ’00s solo acoustic singer-songers were the sensitive Damien Rice and and the street-credible David Gray, while Blunt’s back story was of being discovered by hit-maker Linda Perry at SXSW and staying at Carrie Fisher’s house in L.A.
Also, ‘You’re Beautiful’ is a notably conservative song: the acoustic guitar sound is bland and shop-worn, the piano chords for the chorus feel manipulatively maudlin, and the overall sentiment is schmaltzy. I mentioned Boyzone and Westlife above for a reason: Blunt’s tack is not too far removed from Brian McFadden’s solo direction before this, and you can hear how ‘You’re Beautiful’ might be the sort of mild, radio-friendly soft rock a Westlife punter could get with. Lyrically, its possessive male gaze on an unwitting and objectified woman is nauseating. Finally, where the bantz kicks in is that Blunt’s voice is not a pleasant listening experience, but is distinctive enough to be easily mocked and parodied. ‘Dance Monkey’ will find a similar place in our stomachs.
I’ll say this much, though: ‘You’re Beautiful’ is not the worst thing a British Army officer has inflicted on the people of Ireland.
