It starts with a cowbell. Not a subtle one, either. Just four sharp, metallic thwacks that ushered in one of the most improbable hits of the 21st century. When The Darkness released I Believe in a Thing Called Love in 2003, the music industry was, frankly, a bit of a dreary place. We were deep into the post-grunge hangover and the rise of serious, sweater-wearing indie rock. Then came Justin Hawkins. He was wearing a silver spandex catsuit unzipped to his navel, screaming in a falsetto that could shatter industrial-grade glass.
People didn't know whether to laugh or headbang. Honestly, most did both.
Why I Believe in a Thing Called Love Refused to Die
If you look at the charts from 2003, this song shouldn't have worked. It was competing against 50 Cent’s "In Da Club" and Beyoncé’s "Crazy in Love." It was an era of sleek production and streetwise cool. Into that environment, four guys from Lowestoft, Suffolk, dropped a track that sounded like Queen, AC/DC, and Led Zeppelin had a high-speed collision in a glitter factory.
It’s easy to dismiss it as a joke. A parody. But that’s where most people get it wrong. You can't write a riff that tight if you're just kidding. The twin-guitar harmony between Justin and his brother Dan Hawkins is a masterclass in technical hard rock. If the song was just a "piss-take," as the British say, it would have disappeared into the bargain bin of novelty history. Instead, it became a wedding reception staple and a karaoke gauntlet that very few people can actually run without losing their voice by the second chorus.
The track peaked at number two on the UK Singles Chart, famously held off the top spot by the Black Eyed Peas' "Where Is the Love?" It’s a bit ironic, really. One song was asking where the love was, and the other was screaming that it believed in it while a spaceship hovered in the background of the music video.
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The Falsetto and the Physics of the Hook
Let’s talk about that vocal range. Justin Hawkins hits notes that usually require a permit. Specifically, the song travels from a gritty, lower-register rock growl up to a high C#5 and beyond in those final, frantic choruses. Most male rock singers stay comfortably in a chest-voice belt. Hawkins doesn't do "comfortable."
He leans into the theatricality of the 70s glam era. Think about the audacity of the lyrics. "Touching you, touching me!" It’s simple. It’s almost primal. It bypasses the brain and goes straight to the part of the human psyche that wants to jump around and spill a drink.
The structure is actually quite traditional, which is why it sticks in your head. It follows a classic verse-pre-chorus-chorus pattern, but it keeps the energy escalating. There is no "breather." Even the guitar solo is melodic enough to sing along to, which is a hallmark of great songwriting. Dan Hawkins has often mentioned in interviews that they used Gibson Les Pauls through Marshall stacks—the "holy grail" of rock tone—to ensure the record sounded massive. It wasn't about digital trickery. It was about moving air in a room.
The Spaceships, the Squid, and the Visual Chaos
You cannot separate I Believe in a Thing Called Love from its music video. Directed by Alex Smith, it’s a fever dream of sci-fi tropes. The band is on a spaceship. There are monsters. There is a giant squid. Justin Hawkins performs a guitar solo while floating in a void, his long hair defying the laws of physics and taste simultaneously.
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It won several awards, including two Kerrang! Awards, but its real legacy was on MTV and VH1. It arrived at the tail end of the era where music videos actually dictated culture. It was colorful. It was loud. It made every other band on the channel look like they were taking themselves way too seriously.
The Darkness proved that you could be virtuosic and ridiculous at the same time. This is a nuance that often gets lost in modern music criticism. We tend to think that if something is fun, it must be shallow. If it's technically proficient, it must be sterile. This song is the exception that proves the rule. It’s a very smart song played by people who aren't afraid to look "stupid" for the sake of the show.
What Modern Listeners Often Miss
A lot of younger fans discovering the track on TikTok or through "Guitar Hero" (where it was a legendary tier track) think it’s a relic of the 80s. It isn't. It’s a 2000s reaction to the 80s. It’s a piece of "New Wave of New Wave" British rock.
The production by Justin Hawkins and the band, along with Adrian Bushby, is incredibly crisp. Listen to the way the drums—played by Ed Graham—are panned. They have that dry, punchy 70s sound but with the clarity of modern digital recording. It’s why the song still sounds "big" when it comes on in a stadium or a pub. It doesn't sound dated because it was never trying to sound like 2003 in the first place. It was an anachronism from the day it was born.
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There’s also the matter of the "Permission to Land" album. It went 4x Platinum in the UK. This wasn't a one-hit-wonder fluke; it was a cultural phenomenon. People were hungry for rock stars who actually acted like rock stars—larger than life, slightly dangerous, and totally absurd.
The Enduring Impact on Pop Culture
You’ve probably heard this song in more movies than you can count. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason used it to great effect. It’s been in Glee. It’s been covered by everyone from Taylor Swift (who famously lip-synced it in an Apple Music commercial) to various metal bands.
Taylor Swift’s endorsement actually gave the song a weird second life with Gen Z. She’s been spotted singing it at the US Open, and Justin Hawkins even spoke about how her support helped him feel validated as a songwriter years after the initial hype died down. It’s a song that transcends genres because the sentiment—pure, unadulterated belief in the power of a romantic "thing"—is universal, even if the delivery is via a man in a leotard.
Lessons in Creative Risk
There is a lot to learn from how The Darkness approached this release. Most PR firms would have told them to tone it down.
- Leaning into the Niche: They didn't try to sound like the Strokes. They leaned into the glitter and the grit of the working-class British rock scene.
- Technical Mastery as a Shield: You can't mock someone who plays better than you. The sheer quality of the guitar work silenced many critics who wanted to call them a "joke band."
- The Power of the "Visual Hook": The catsuit was as much a part of the marketing as the riff.
- Authentic Joy: You can hear the band having fun. That sounds cheesy, but in an era of manufactured angst, genuine enthusiasm is infectious.
Actionable Insights for the Modern Listener
If you’re a musician, a creator, or just someone who loves the track, there are a few ways to appreciate I Believe in a Thing Called Love on a deeper level.
- Isolate the Guitars: If you have the chance to listen to the stems or just use a high-quality pair of headphones, focus on the panning. The way the rhythm and lead guitars interact is a perfect example of "interlocking" parts rather than just doubling the same chords.
- Study the Dynamics: Notice how the song drops out right before the final chorus. That split second of silence is what makes the final explosion feel so massive. It’s a lesson in tension and release.
- Embrace the "Uncool": The lesson of The Darkness is that being "cool" is often the enemy of being great. If you have an idea that feels a bit too much, or a bit too loud, or a bit too "extra"—that might be the thing that actually connects with people.
- Check Out the Live Versions: To truly see the skill involved, watch their 2004 performance at Reading Festival. Singing those notes while running across a stage is an athletic feat as much as a musical one.
The Darkness showed us that rock and roll doesn't always have to be about staring at your shoes and singing about your problems. Sometimes, it’s about believing in a thing called love, jumping off a drum riser, and hitting a note so high only dogs can hear it. It’s been over twenty years, and that cowbell still hits just as hard.