GILBERT O'SULLIVAN IS FOLLOWING ME!

Most of you probably aren’t familiar with Gilbert O’Sullivan, but he has hounded me ever since December 1979 when I was a teen listening to a Casey Kasem countdown of the top songs of the ’70s. I hadn’t been aware of pop music during the first half of the decade, just a few albums and 45s—Elton John, The Carpenters, The Partridge Family, Glen Campbell’s “Rhinestone Cowboy”. When I finally started tuning in to my AM radio, the playlist featured Mary MacGregor being “Torn Between Two Lovers” and William Bell “Tryin’ to Love Two” while Donna Summer faked orgasms on “Love to Love You, Baby” and rodents shared their mating calls—or was it flatulence—in “Muskrat Love”. It was clear that, as John Paul Young sang, “Love Is in the Air”. What I learned from radio was that love was aplenty. So when I belatedly heard Mr. O’Sullivan’s 1972 #1 hit “Alone Again (Naturally)” it felt bubble-bursting. Indeed, it was the most depressing song I’d ever heard.

Instantly, I identified with it. (I even liked that the “Naturally” came as a parenthetical!) Yes, this was more like it. This seemed like my past, my present, my future. (Apparently teen angst came early for me.) There would be no one wanting to be my everything. Nobody wanting to kiss me all over. (A relief, really.) And I would not have whatever those damn muskrats had. Instead, there was just a big-haired Irish guy acknowledging that this big-haired Canadian boy would feel aching loneliness again and again.

And so it should come as no surprise that, although a year ago, I was getting the sense I had found lasting love—indeed, at last!—it would wilt before year’s end.

I’ve put off this blog post for six weeks or so. I quietly changed my Twitter profile. It’s not that I see Twitter as a mechanism for dating; it just felt dishonest to continue to claim to be one of the #Taken. To be clear, I never used that hashtag. If I recall correctly, I simply said that I was scratching my head over how I stumbled and bumbled my way into a relationship.

The head scratching has stopped, much to the relief of those around me who, no doubt, fretted that I must have lice. That would be the more plausible explanation.

So, yes, Gilbert O’Sullivan has reappeared. It’s not like I’ve gone to the dollar store and purchased a “WELCOME BACK” banner to hang in my living room, but I haven’t chased him and his song away either. (Is it wrong that the song amuses me?) As the titular parenthetical indicates, this aloneness is natural for some of us. For ugly ducklings like me. (Oops. That’s Janis Ian in my head. Second most depressing song of the ‘70s.) 

To ensure I don't wallow in Gilbert's neighborhood, I also play “Dancing Queen” and “Boogie Oogie Oogie” on repeat. It's unlikely Mr. O’Sullivan would join in my amusement. I suspect he would have been one of those who jumped on the Disco Sucks bandwagon at the end of the decade. Mr. Depressing would not want happy beats booming about in his midst. Maybe disco, as much as it offers a joyful detour, is not an antidote. Maybe being alone is my true destiny. Gil—I think I can call him that after all these years—and his “Alone Again” will likely get comfy hanging out once again, not with me but alongside me, two sad-sacks sharing the same airspace but nothing else.

(Naturally.)