It starts with a high-tension, slightly distorted guitar riff that feels like it was ripped straight out of a 1974 rehearsal space. Then, the cowbell kicks in. You know the one. Within seconds, Justin Hawkins unleashes a falsetto so piercing it could shatter industrial-grade glass.
Honestly, when The Darkness released Believe in a Thing Called Love in 2003, they weren't just releasing a single; they were staging a full-scale intervention for a music industry that had become dangerously self-serious.
The early 2000s were weird. We were caught between the dying embers of nu-metal angst and the rise of the "The" bands—The Strokes, The Vines, The Hives—who were cool, detached, and dressed in skinny ties. Then came these four guys from Lowestoft, Suffolk, wearing spandex catsuits unzipped to the navel. They looked like a parody. They sounded like Queen on a sugar rush.
But here’s the thing: they weren't a joke.
The Guitar Lesson No One Asked For
Most people remember the video. You’ve got the band on a spaceship, battling a giant squid, and Justin Hawkins doing some sort of aerobic choreography while playing a Les Paul. It’s glorious nonsense. However, if you strip away the capes and the glitter, the actual construction of Believe in a Thing Called Love is a masterclass in classic rock composition.
The song is written in the key of E major. It’s a bright, triumphant key. Dan Hawkins, the band's rhythm guitarist and Justin’s brother, has often talked about how the song was built on a foundation of AC/DC-style simplicity. It’s not cluttered. The main riff is punchy and uses open strings to create a massive sound that fills the room.
I’ve spent a lot of time looking at the technical side of this track. If you listen to the isolated stems, you’ll notice the guitar tracks are triple-tracked in places. This gives it that "wall of sound" feel that Brian May perfected with Queen. There is a specific precision to the palm muting in the verses that provides the "chug" necessary to keep the song from floating away into pure pop territory.
And then there's the solo.
It’s actually two solos. The first one is a melodic call-and-response, while the second one, which hits after the final chorus, is a frantic, pentatonic shred-fest. It’s technically demanding but never feels like it's showing off for the sake of it. It’s just... fun.
Why We Needed The Darkness in 2003
To understand why this song exploded, you have to remember the context of the UK and US charts at the time. Grunge had killed the "guitar hero." The 90s were about looking at your shoes and singing about how much life sucked. Even the Britpop movement had largely faded into the "post-Britpop" gloom of bands like early Coldplay or Travis.
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People were bored.
Believe in a Thing Called Love was a permission slip. It told audiences it was okay to enjoy over-the-top theatricality again. It bridged the gap between the irony of the 2000s and the sincere bombast of the 1970s.
Critics were divided, obviously. Some saw them as a "novelty act." Pitchfork, in their typical early-2000s snark, actually gave the album Permission to Land an 8.4, proving that even the harshest hipsters couldn't resist the hook. They recognized that while the band was "piss-taking" the genre, they were doing it with such high-level craftsmanship that it became an homage rather than a mockery.
The Falsetto That Defined a Decade
Let’s talk about Justin Hawkins’ voice.
Most male rock singers stay in a comfortable chest-voice range. Justin lives in the rafters. The chorus of Believe in a Thing Called Love requires a leap into a head-voice register that most professional singers struggle to maintain for an entire set.
He isn't just hitting notes; he’s hitting them with a specific "rock" grit. Usually, when you sing that high, you lose the power. You sound thin. Hawkins somehow keeps the "meat" in the tone.
There’s a legendary story about the recording of the vocals for the album. They recorded at Chapel Studios in Lincolnshire. The band has admitted in various interviews (specifically in the Permission to Land 20th-anniversary retrospective) that they pushed the limits of their gear. They weren't using high-end digital modeling. This was analog madness. They were pushing Marshalls to the point of melting.
The Misconception of Irony
One of the biggest mistakes people make when talking about this song is assuming the band didn't mean it.
"Is it a joke?"
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That was the question every journalist asked in 2003. But if you watch the band live—even today, decades later—the answer is clearly no. You can’t play guitar that well as a joke. You can’t write a hook that stays in the global consciousness for twenty years by accident.
The lyrics are borderline absurd. "Touching you, touching me" is basically a line stolen from Neil Diamond. But the conviction with which it’s delivered makes it work. It’s about the feeling of being in love, which is often absurd, loud, and slightly embarrassing.
How to Actually Play It (The Secret Sauce)
If you're a guitar player trying to cover this, you’re probably playing it wrong.
Most people try to play the main riff with way too much distortion. If you crank the gain, the notes get muddy. The "Darkness sound" is actually quite clean. It’s a Gibson Les Paul into a Marshall Plexi, turned up very loud. The distortion comes from the power tubes straining, not a pedal.
- The Riff: Focus on the rhythm of the "E" chord. It’s all about the swing.
- The Chorus: You need a second guitar player. The harmonies are essential.
- The Tone: Roll back the tone knob slightly on your bridge pickup to get that "honky" mid-range.
The Cultural Aftermath
It’s rare for a hard rock song to become a wedding staple. Usually, those slots are reserved for Whitney Houston or ABBA. Yet, Believe in a Thing Called Love is a dance floor guarantee.
It crosses generations. Your dad likes it because it reminds him of Thin Lizzy. Your younger brother likes it because it’s in Guitar Hero. You like it because it’s impossible to be in a bad mood while listening to it.
The song peaked at number two on the UK Singles Chart, famously kept off the top spot by the Black Eyed Peas’ "Where Is the Love?" which is a bit of poetic irony. In the US, it became a cult hit on MTV's Total Request Live, a show usually dominated by boy bands and pop princesses. It was an anomaly.
The Impact on Modern Rock
We see the DNA of The Darkness in many of today’s acts.
Bands like Ghost or even The Struts owe a massive debt to the trail blazed by the Hawkins brothers. They proved that you could have a "gimmick" or a strong visual identity without sacrificing the integrity of the music.
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Before this song, rock was hiding. After this song, rock was allowed to wear sequins again.
Actionable Takeaways for the Superfan
If you want to dive deeper into the world of The Darkness and this specific era of rock, there are a few things you should do.
First, go watch the documentary Welcome to The Darkness. It was released recently and gives a brutally honest look at the band's rise, fall, and eventual sobriety/reunion. It strips away the spandex and shows the actual human cost of having a hit song that big.
Second, listen to the B-sides of the "Believe in a Thing Called Love" single. Tracks like "Makin' Out" are arguably just as good as the lead single but offer a rawer, more pub-rock vibe.
Finally, try listening to the song on a high-fidelity system or a good pair of open-back headphones. Notice the panning. The way the guitars are layered on the left and right channels is a dying art in the age of mono-optimized phone speakers.
The song isn't just a relic of 2003. It’s a reminder that rock and roll doesn't always have to be about the "struggle." Sometimes, it can just be about the sheer, ridiculous joy of being alive and being in love.
Stop overthinking it. Turn the volume up. Wait for the cowbell.
Next Steps for Your Playlist:
- Compare the Production: Listen to "Believe in a Thing Called Love" back-to-back with Queen’s "Tie Your Mother Down." You’ll hear the direct influence in the drum production and the "dry" vocal mix.
- Study the Gear: Check out Dan Hawkins’ rig rundowns on YouTube. He is a notorious gear nerd and explains exactly how he gets the "bark" in the mid-range of his guitar tone.
- Check the Lyrics: Read the lyrics to the verses. They are surprisingly descriptive of a literal heart attack, which adds a weird, dark layer to the "love" metaphor.
The song stands as a testament to the idea that if you do something with 100% conviction, people will eventually stop laughing and start singing along.