Some news I didn’t want to hear, regarding one of my favourite songwriters: Grant McLennan, one half of the Go-Betweens, has died in his sleep at 48.

I’ve been a fan of the Go-Betweens for about as long as I can remember, really getting stuck into their album “16 Lovers Lane,” in the late 80s, but catching many of their singles prior to that. Polished and with guitar strum that seemed to shimmer with sunlight, music providing the counterpoint to the harsher lyrics of songs like “Streets of Your Town,” which stood out as a poignant vignette of the desperation of everyday life. It was once I was actually in Australia that I delved deeper, going all the way back to their earlier, much rawer songs (”Karen,” “Lee Remick,” etc.). I was hooked and, being a completist when it comes to only a few bands, I managed to find everything they ever put out: singles, albums, cassettes. Many of them would sit unlistened to for years (”Dusty in Here” comes to mind, of course), but when I pulled them out they bore much fruit in the way of warm reminisces. The Go-Betweens folded in the late 80s, returning with forceful charm, vigour, and the same pop sensibility with 2000’s “Friends of Rachel Worth,” an album which renewed my faith in their enduring partnership and the ease with which they could craft a good, eternally hummable tune.

I’ve always been of two minds about who I prefer in the band; I’ve loved Robert’s arch and oblique lyrical style at various times, but I’ve always been a sucker for a good tune with an easy rhyme thrown in, and that was Grant. A lyric or two might make me wince, but he really got so much right in sentiment, even when the words seemed a little trite or forced (”Hope Then Strife,” “Bye Bye Pride,” etc.). But that was the charm, really. That and great hooks.

I’ve seen them both live, but never together, Grant first in Melbourne in 1992 and Robert in 1993. I regret I was never in a place where they were playing together, but I do have their most recent live DVD, “That Striped Sunlight Sound,” which I’ll no doubt be watching later tonight. Upon visiting Brisbane way back when, I could see so much of what they had sung about, all those songs enriching my experience and deepening my love of Australia and limning its imaginary forevermore.

Cattle and Cane, from 1983 and penned by Grant, remains a signature song for the band, and it conjures up an image of Queensland that I find still resonates with me. The guitar line (the “guitar dueling” which is a part of their signature sound is not so evident here, but I’ve always heard it as a subtle nod to Television, and Robert’s voice often had something of Tom Verlaine about it, too), and the melancholic, impressionistic lyrics come together as sounds and images that evoke scenes from a distant time and place that I live with to this day. The song still puts a lump in my throat.

For the next little while, I’ll re-visit their music (new and old) knowing that this was a band that aged rather gracefully and that Grant has left us with a substantial body of work for which I’ll always be thankful.

Le G.

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