The 15 best plot twists in music
The plot twist is a narrative technique that has spawned more bad movies than the Rock. Often viewed as the masterstroke of a genius, more often than not, the plot twist is actually the mark of a dullard who views themselves as a genius but sadly wouldn’t amass the creative sagacity of Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s lobotomized pet pooch.
However, the vital part of the (somewhat highbrow) diatribe above is ‘for the most part’. When a plot twist is deployed correctly, well, there is nothing more satisfying in fiction. Like a narrative punchline, a great twist can prove as satiating to the soul as a cold beer after a hard day in the sun. Often these pristine examples come to the fore in the self-contained world of music.
Below we have curated a list of epic tracks that also happen to deploy a great curveball with aplomb. Hushed bombshells can turn the narrative of a song on its head in a heartbeat and give a pretty melody a sudden sordid air. Whether it’s the joyful irreverence of the comedic surprise or the solemn turn of a gut punch, these epics offer up an unexpected crescendo in style.
The 15 best plot twists in music:
‘The Strange Case of Frank Cash and the Morning Papers’ – T Bone Burnett
In a fitting segue from our rather cinema-based intro, T Bone Burnett is the movie music maestro who has worked with the Coen brothers on a number of occasions as well as being one of the most respected producers in music. However, his own tunes might be lesser known, but they are no less brilliant.
The wild rolling melody of ‘The Strange Case of Frank Cash and the Morning Papers’ tells the story of a man who fortuitously happens upon a newspaper that is somehow being printed a day in advance. Naturally, he races to the sports results and makes a killing at the bookmakers, only for it all to go awry. And when things swirl out of control for Frank Cash, he takes a postmodernist turn akin to Kurt Vonnegut’s Breakfast of Champions, and Cash calls out the narrator, “this guy named T Bone Burnett, he’s been making all of this up”.
‘Babies’ – Pulp
Adolescent sexual curiosity is the crux of Jarvis Cocker’s tale of reverse miss-connections. Perverse yet charming, the track defines the warts ‘n’ all songwriting approach of Pulp. Cocker never said he was deep, and he proves that in songs that showcase the fact that not every single element of love is a Byronian tale of unflappable adoration despite what a million other pop songs have presupposed.
Ultimately, Cocker hides in the wardrobe and gets a reward beyond his wildest peeping tom dreams, only for it to turn out to be a poisoned chalice when his true love happens upon his misgivings. Let that be a lesson to all would-be perverts. Cocker ends up pleading, “I only went with her because she looks like you.” But perhaps it’s too little, too late, for the man who chose quick flatpack desire over open-planned patience and love.
‘Mercy Seat’ – Nick Cave
A man on death row surveying the ways of crime and punishment, death and mercy, God, the hereafter or the nothing at all, is nothing new and never will be. However, rarely has this eternal mental battle been elucidated with such rabblerousing vindication than in the unfurling storm of words that race from the spleen of Cave’s criminal character in ‘The Mercy Seat’.
Tinged with the subtext of hell, the song thrives on Cave’s mantra: “God is in everything whether I’m mentioning him or not.” However, our unreliable narrator asserts that he is ready to face his fate… until you have the final twist of whether he really did tell the truth or he’s afraid he told a lie.
‘Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis’ – Tom Waits
In this masterpiece, Waits narrates a first-person letter from a prostitute to an ex. She writes of how she has fallen pregnant, cleaned herself up and is safe in a loving relationship with a noble track star trumpeter. Then slowly details how she still misses Charlie and thinks of him every time she drives by a gas station because of all the grease that slicked back his hair, revealing that all is not as it meets the eye.
By the final verse, the story is revealed to be a fallacy as the prostitute from Minneapolis confesses that her story was a mere fable and that she is, in fact, incarcerated and in need of help. She signs her letter, “I’ll be eligible for parole come Valentine’s Day,” in perhaps the weirdest sexual proposition in music history. It is a measure of Waits’ mastery that amid this grisly tale of the sadly disenfranchised, there is something inexplicably festive that soars on the message that Christmas might not always be merry, but it offers up a sweet moment of reflection, nevertheless, even if you’re a delinquent in jail like Bernie Madoff.
‘Something for the Weekend’ – The Divine Comedy
With this classic track from masterful songwriter Neil Hannon, the plot twist is foreshadowed from the off: What is it, exactly, in this woodshed “except maybe some wood”? The upbeat melody even has the innate rhythm of some playful hijinks. However, it all ends up with a twist on a twist as expectation is subverted ala the sort of unexpected sidestep that Inside No. 9 offers up.
Hannon is undoubtedly one of the most creative songwriters to have emerged from the 1990s, and with his own singular style he stood aside the usual tropes of the era to tread his own path and the sudden suturing of this story in the style of a fast-forwarded Dirty Rotten Scoundrels is a fine example.
‘Love Vigilantes’ – New Order
Unlike Joy Division, New Order are not a band that usually deals in solemnity. Their upbeat synth-saturated sound is conducive to sunnier climes. However, with this tale of a proud soldier longing to return, they took a narrative turn towards the tragic.
The soldier with a yearning to be with his loving family opens the door to his old abode only to find that his wife is crying with a telegram in her hand announcing his death. It’s a gut-wrenching twist that conjures up memories of films like The Others. And behind it all, is an important anti-war message about how bravery is a platitude that ultimately proves futile in the folly of war where death is a lottery… despite what all the glorifying films might say.
‘Two Lovers’ – Mary Wells
Plucked right from the reverb-laden era of the early 1960s when every song sounds like it’s just strolled out of the dentist, the woozy and sultry vibe of this twisted love triangle is a feast for the ears. However, beyond the swooning doo-wops, there is a surprise punch waiting at the end of this hook-riddled ditty.
This love triangle only has two sides—Mary Wells’ lover merely has a split personality. It’s not a mind-bending twist but its brilliance is how it subverted the censors of the stuffy era. A woman with two lovers would’ve been heavily frowned upon by conservative radio stations and probably condemned to the ash heap of history, but the twist at the end saved it from this fate even though you get the impression that Smokey Robinson wrote it with a wink and the twist is a red herring all along—it’s an anti-twist twist if you will.
‘San Francisco B.C.’ – Silver Jews
David Berman is one of the greatest lyricists of all time, period. This loquacious comedy of new wave haircuts and lovers losing sight of the “things we quote ‘believe’” is a Bonnie & Clyde reworking in miniature. Brimming with details and superb rhyming couplets like the unfurling punchlines to this verse: “Gene took off his hat and I noticed his hair / It was neatly trimmed, but a patch was bare / I knew it wasn’t new wave, it was human error,” it’s an epic expose of acerbic wit in rhythmic song.
In a tale where the “cops couldn’t catch a bus” and kids sport “sarcastic haircuts” there is an odd sense of heart and sincerity. Like the Coen brothers, the absurdity of this odious folly seems to be reflective of the wider human comedy that continually perpetuates itself via the unspooling trickle of minor tragedies.
‘Memphis, Tennessee’ – Chuck Berry
In an era where narrative songs were being replaced by standard hits about holding hands and twisting on the dancefloor, Berry decided to bring back the notion of old folk tales about broken hearts and hard-luck heroes. In a way, this transition to timelessness was a pivotal one in projecting a more introspective tone onto rock ‘n’ roll.
Berry makes a long-distance call to Memphis, where you are led to believe that a stern mother has prevented him from being with his sweet Marie, only to learn that the mother is actually his wife and she has kicked him out of the house so that he can’t see his daughter anymore. It’s a twist that renders things beyond the presupposed tragedy, and suddenly the song became more fitting in the face of Berry’s advancing years.
‘Jenny’ – Flight of the Conchords
“Just one of those faces, I suppose” is prime territory for a little sketch, but it took the genius of Flight of the Conchord to beef it out to a full unspooling song. With flashes of poetry about ‘lights from buildings and cars seeming like reflections of the stars’ in amongst Police Academy jokes, the song is a beautiful mixture of irreverence and poignancy that forever throws you off the final twist with a cascade of comedic details.
Above all else, this is a brilliant track in its own right. Too often, we only credit masterpieces as being works with an air of reverence surrounding them, but transfiguring the everyday folly of a mistaken encounter is an act of brilliance that proves more true to the human comedy than most.
‘Ode to Billie Joe’ – Bobbie Gentry
Bobbie Gentry is one of the greatest songwriters of all time and that has been said nowhere near enough. With ‘Ode to Billie Joe’ she crafted a mystery for the ages that alluringly begs a million more questions than it answers, but unlike some Netflix series ending that is holding out for a sequel, it leaves you the antithesis of frustrated and left beguiled by her rhythmic prose.
It’s a song about death; however, the death, in this instance, is dealt with the same jejune everyday air as table salt, only adding to the mystery itself. Fortunately, Gentry did offer up a clue as to why, stating: “The message of the song revolves around the nonchalant way the family talks about the suicide. The song is a study in unconscious cruelty.”
Adding: “It’s entirely a matter of interpretation as from each individual’s viewpoint. But I’ve hoped to get across the basic indifference, the casualness, of people in moments of tragedy. Something terrible has happened, but it’s ‘pass the black-eyed peas’, or ‘y’all remember to wipe your feet.’” In this way, the twist is almost left lingering in the ear of the beholder, and it’s joyously spooky. What really happened at the Tallahatchie Bridge?
‘Fool in the Rain’ – Led Zeppelin
Led Zeppelin took a noticeably jazzy turn for In Through the Out Doors, and on ‘Fool in the Rain’ the songwriting itself is even Tom Waits inflected. Robert Plant bemoans the loss of a sweetheart who he thought he would grow older with after she stands him up for a date. The minutes pass, the rain begins to drench and things get sullen despite the samba-like melody.
Why is this song so upbeat when he’s starting to shiver and quiver from the cold, rain and onset of despair? You begin to wonder what the hell this music and lyrics incongruity is all about if you listen with an attentive ear. Well, all is revealed with the last line, “I’m just a fool waiting on the wrong block.” In an era before mobile phones, this was a genuine problem. It’s a mix-up akin to a Tim Key poem—joyously making a pleasant mockery of that early relationship anxiety.
‘The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll’ – Bob Dylan
There isn’t a great deal of narrative to ‘The Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll’, but what it lacks in plot points, it makes up for with Dylan’s sagacious societal wherewithal. Essentially, in his own poetic prose, Dylan tells the tale of how a rich man clubs a servant to death for no good reason. The final punchline to this twisted fable is when the judge slams down the hammer and avows, “To show that all’s equal and that the courts are on the level” and “even the nobles get properly handled” only to dish out a “six-month sentence” in a poignant twist.
This fiction might not be quite as titillating as some of the wild tales above, but there is enough depth in the subtext for it to ripple with reverberations and reflect back a few important points about the present without ever letting entertainment take the backseat. There are plenty of societal injustices occurring at present and the message Dylan speaks of is sadly more prescient than ever.
‘The Man Who Couldn’t Cry’ – Loudon Wainwright III
As arguably the most underrated songwriter of the 1970s, Loudon Wainwright III mastered the art of character studies. Always laden with charm and a sense of depth his best tracks are often comic tales of tragic souls judged without cynicism.
A case in point is ‘The Man Who Couldn’t Cry’—the story of a poor soul whose life falls apart after his dog got run over, his wife left him, he got sacked, lost an arm in the war, his creative attempts were laughed at, and then he was innocently sent to jail. All the while he couldn’t cry. Then comes the long-drawn-out punchline: One day, he was shipped to a home for the insensitive and insane. Therein he cried for 40 days and 40 nights until he died of dehydration. If things sound dower, then the diegesis of heaven’s happy ending was always awaiting. From up in the firmament, he watches everything go his way. His creative works are now lauded, and he is reunited with his arm and his dog.
‘Mr Charlie’s Rolling Mill’ – Lightnin’ Hopkins
… “Once in the country, there was this little boy, and he stuttered,” Hopkins casually begins. It is a story of a pariah who left home after it became clear his mother couldn’t understand his stammering ways. Out on the road with a meagre flower-pack full of possessions and a spiritual sack full of woes, he wandered his tired legs up to a dingy outbuilding called The Rolling Mill that belonged to Mr Charlie. The boy stammered his way towards asking Mr Charlie if he had a place for him to stay. Mr Charlie told him he could stay in his Rolling Mill shack down the road so long as he sees to it that his stove never catches fire. The boy agrees, and Mr Charlie tells him he never wants to hear from him again unless there is ever a fire. One day the boy is in the Rolling Mill, and the place catches aflame. He races his way up to Mr Charlie’s house to tell him about the blaze. As the boy struggles to spell out the problem in his failing words, when Mr Charlie stops him and says, “Look here boy, if you can’t talk it, then sing it,” at which point Lightnin’ Hopkins strums his guitar and bursts into song…
The twist here is a meta one because Charlie’s tale is actually the tortuous story of rock ‘n’ roll. His tale is one that forms an allegorical mirror to the tale of the blues. When those suffering on plantations couldn’t speak, they had to learn to sing. It is this encrypted meaning and the humanised expression of the blues that elucidated the vital necessity of music, both as a means of communication and as a soulful vessel to exultation.
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