The New York Times recently published a readers’ poll ranking the greatest living American songwriters. A harmless enough idea on paper, but music fans are physically incapable of seeing a list without immediately wanting to fight strangers about it.
Within minutes people were arguing about Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Taylor Swift and whether influence matters more than record sales. Americans do songwriting on a huge scale. Their great writers sound like highways, deserts, freedom, heartbreak and the collapse of the American Dream.
British songwriting tends to sound like drizzle and disappointment.
And honestly, I prefer ours.
The idea for this list came to me whilst cycling eight miles round a very windy Felixstowe. Which probably explains why the rankings kept changing depending on which direction the wind was trying to kill me from. Somewhere between the seafront and questioning why a man approaching his late-fifties voluntarily cycles into Suffolk coastal gales, I started mentally ranking British songwriters instead.
Because British songwriting has always felt different to me. Less grand. Less cinematic. More observational. We write songs about ordinary people, awkward conversations, bad pubs, good pubs, missed opportunities, rainy streets and relationships that should probably have ended six months earlier.
American songwriting often dreams of escape.
British songwriting usually assumes the last train home has been cancelled and the kebab shop has run out of chips.
As someone who grew up obsessed with music, football and anything vaguely melancholic, this territory is basically home turf for me. I grew up on The Beatles, spent years disappearing into musical rabbit holes and, over the last couple of years, have developed such an obsession with Fleetwood Mac that my wife Katie probably worries Stevie Nicks is eventually going to move into the spare room.
Oddly, I was never massively into The Smiths in the way many people my age were. While everyone else was staring moodily out of windows pretending to understand Morrissey properly, teenage me was far more likely to have The Housemartins blasting out instead. Apparently my preferred soundtrack to adolescent misery involved Hull accents and slightly upbeat basslines.
So after far too much overthinking, this is where I landed.
1. Paul McCartney
The annoying thing about McCartney is that every time you think he’s overrated (I never have), you remember he wrote another twenty songs everyone on Earth knows by heart.
And whilst this was supposed to be a list of Britain’s greatest living songwriters, the truth is McCartney probably tops almost any list involving popular music full stop. Songwriter. Musician. Melody writer. Cultural influence. Longevity. At some point it just becomes stupid.
Britain has spent the last fifty years trying to produce “the next McCartney” whilst quietly knowing there probably isn’t one and there never will be.
2. Ray Davies
Nobody captured Britain better.
Village greens, petty arguments, nostalgia, class, oddballs, disappointed middle-aged men and people quietly dying inside whilst making tea. Ray Davies understood Britain in a way few writers ever have.
If you’ve ever stared out of a train window and suddenly felt emotional about semi-detached housing, there’s a decent chance Ray Davies got there first.
3. Paul Heaton
Britain’s greatest songwriter about people who are just about holding it together.
His songs are full of awkward mornings, pub conversations, bad relationships and women infinitely more competent than the men around them. The older I get, the more I think Paul Heaton secretly understands Britain better than most politicians.
He also specialises in songs that sound cheerful until you actually listen to the lyrics and realise everybody involved desperately needs counselling.
4. Elton John / Bernie Taupin
The hit rate is frightening.
Most artists would build an entire career around one of their songs. Elton and Bernie seemed to knock out classics every other afternoon whilst dressed like the contents of a fancy dress warehouse.
Even people who claim not to like Elton John mysteriously know every word after three pints.
5. Paul Weller
Every British man eventually reaches an age where he either starts listening to Paul Weller or starts explaining why he never liked Paul Weller anyway.
Usually whilst wearing a jacket heavily influenced by Paul Weller.
The remarkable thing is how many versions of Britain he has managed to soundtrack. Angry Britain. Stylish Britain. Middle-aged Britain. Slightly disappointed but still trying to look cool Britain.
6. Noel Gallagher
People love criticising Oasis because it makes them feel musically sophisticated.
But Noel Gallagher wrote songs that escaped into public ownership. Wonderwall no longer belongs to Oasis. It belongs to pubs, weddings, football crowds and blokes with acoustic guitars who still believe fame is one lucky break away.
And honestly, writing songs ordinary people genuinely connect with matters.
7. Morrissey / Johnny Marr
Even though The Smiths were never really my band, leaving them off this list would be ridiculous.
Marr’s guitars shimmered beautifully whilst Morrissey somehow managed to turn awkwardness, loneliness and self-pity into an art form. Entire generations of indie kids were built on the idea that being miserable in a long coat was somehow romantic.
Britain has always had a strange affection for stylish sadness.
8. Kate Bush
Whilst everybody else was making pop music, Kate Bush appeared to be communicating directly with ghosts, Victorian literature and the moon.
Completely unique. Completely fearless. The sort of artist Britain produces once every few decades just to remind everyone we’re capable of more than reality television and political embarrassment.
9. Robert Smith
Managed the rare achievement of making existential despair danceable.
Entire generations have stared dramatically out of rainy windows listening to The Cure despite living in places like Swindon where rain is really nowhere near cinematic enough for that behaviour.
Also proof that you can look permanently exhausted for forty years and still become a musical icon.
10. Jarvis Cocker
Jarvis understood Britain better than most politicians.
Class anxiety, bad discos, rented furniture, social awkwardness, cheap interiors and people desperately trying to appear cooler than they really are. Which is basically the entire history of Britpop.
There are songwriters who write hits.
Jarvis wrote sociology with choruses.
Of course, the real joy of lists like this is that nobody will agree. Somebody will demand Bowie despite the word “living” doing some extremely important work. Somebody else will insist Neil Tennant should be in there. There will definitely be one bloke on Facebook furious about Freddie Mercury because he hasn’t properly read the title.
There will also inevitably be comments about the list being male heavy. And fair enough, to a point. British music has produced some extraordinary female songwriters and Kate Bush absolutely belongs near the very top of any conversation like this. But I wasn’t trying to tick boxes or create the scientifically correct list approved by the Department of Cultural Fairness. These are simply the writers whose songs have soundtracked my life, my moods, my train journeys, my pub nights and probably several slightly overdramatic walks home.
And that’s before the Oasis arguments even begin.
Still, I think British songwriting works because our greatest writers rarely sound heroic. They sound human. Flawed. Awkward. Funny. Slightly broken. Observant.
A bit like Britain itself really.
