The Fratellis' new single, Mistress Mabel, marks a miserable end for a venerable tradition: ditties named after a male songwriter's lady of choice.
From Peggy Sue to Maggie Mae, Suzanne to Waltzing Matilda, Alison to (Come On) Eileen, using girls' names as the basis for a jaunty chorus is a trick that predates rock'n'roll: Ode to Joy anyone?
But the latest entrants in the canon I'm dubbing "ladynamesongs" are letting the side down, with names seemingly plucked out of thin air for no other reason than that they provide rhymes for songwriters struggling for a sophomore hit.
While the name Eleanor Rigby in itself manages to encapsulate the story of the poor church-loitering wench, Mistress Mabel exists only to rhyme with "table", 'fable" and "cradle". And while Amy Winehouse and Mark Ronson's re-reading of the Zutons' Valerie won acclaim last year, its chorus still hinges on rhyming the last word from the line "stop making a fool out of me" with the eponymous character's name. That's without even mentioning other efforts like Kaiser Chiefs' Ruby or Oasis' dire (Heeey!) Lyla.
Using a name for the sake of a rhyme isn't necessarily a bad thing - "If you knew Peggy Sue, then you'd know why I feel blue" - but when you compare the limited narrative world of Mistress Mabel to the non-rhyming likes of Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs Robinson, Tom Waits's magnificent Martha and OutKast's Ms Jackson it becomes clear that if you are able to write a good "ladynamesong" than you are in exalted company.
Surely it's better to follow the Mystery Jets' example and write a song about forgetting a girl's name rather than fail to create romantic imagery with a name thrown in there because it fits. I blame the Beatles; John Lennon exhausted the names of women in his life for songs as well as casting his eye to Polythene Pam's jackboots and kilt.
So the end of the "ladynamesong" is nigh, although one question still remains: why do men manage to escape the same treatment?
