The early 1990s were a lovely time for rock music: Beck, Sparklehorse, Sugar, Green on Red and Royal Trux. I wish I’d savoured it all more at the time, not realising that Damon and Noel would come along decked in Union Jacks and suffocate us with the precious (Damon) and the oafish (Noel). There was Matthew Sweet’s first album, too — Girlfriend; the missing link between Big Star and Neil Young.
He is a criminally underrated songwriter, but then power pop has never found much traction over here since the fab four called it a day. Sweet is an engaging soul with a self-deprecation that occasionally teeters into self-loathing. Like Paul Westerberg, there is intelligence, humour and subtlety in his lyrics and always, always good tunes. He has continued to plough his singular furrow, taking time off to release a bunch of comparatively lucrative cover albums with Susanna Hoffs.
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