Ladies, sing it to your husbands.

'Pigeons In Flight' - John Shuttleworth (The Yamaha Years - 1997)

For all of the great songs that could get stuck in your head—the epics, the peak moments from some of the greatest artists of all time, those songs that mean something on an emotional level to millions of people across the world—I don’t think I’m alone when I say that the type of earworm that you normally end up with is more like this.

One song that, like the fictional TripleDent Gum from Inside Out that always finds its way back into my equivalent of the numbskulls control desk is ‘Pigeons in Flight’ by John Shuttleworth. It is often triggered by seeing flying pigeons. That is not a rare event like seeing a kingfisher.

Many of you reading this are probably wondering who John Shuttleworth is, so we should explain that, introduce you to his trusty Yamaha PSS51 keyboard, and explore some other 90s earworms that intersect with other comedic music acts of the time.

John Shuttleworth is the creation of Graham Fellows, who first found fame in 1978 as the character Jilted John with the punk novelty hit ‘Jilted John’. That song, with its tale of teenage heartbreak and the now-iconic refrain “Gordon is a moron,” combined sincerity with awkward humour—a formula Fellows would perfect in his later work as Shuttleworth.

Transitioning from the angry youth of Jilted John to the gentle, middle-aged aspiring singer-songwriter of John Shuttleworth, Fellows managed to tap into the charm of the everyday man, turning the mundane into the musical.

A significant part of John Shuttleworth’s charm is his commitment to his music despite its apparent limitations. His weapon of choice, that Yamaha PSS51 keyboard, is emblematic of this. The PSS51, with its basic pre-set rhythms and tinny sound, embodies the suburban amateur spirit that defines Shuttleworth. It’s not a glamorous instrument, but it’s perfect for a man who writes songs about pigeons, tea trays, Austin Ambassadors and the minutiae of British life.

There’s something poetic on paper about the lyrics to ‘Pigeons in Flight’, but the use of the Yamaha undercuts this with an extra layer of comedy. The song, which could be mistaken for a sincere ballad if not for its quasi-ridiculous subject matter, is accompanied by the keyboard’s simple drum loops and gorgonzola-strength cheesy melodies. This juxtaposition—Shuttleworth’s earnest performance on an obviously limited instrument of a song about pigeons—creates a delightful gap between aspiration and reality, a hallmark of Fellows’ work as Shuttleworth.

‘Pigeons in Flight’ also became the focal point of one of Shuttleworth’s most famous storylines—his (comedic) quest to have the song entered into the 1998 Eurovision Song Contest. This narrative, a follow-up to 500 Bus Stops (1997) gives us as much of that earnestness and awkwardness that became baked into much late 90s onward comedy in the UK. Shuttleworth embarks on a road trip across the UK, stopping at bus shelters to perform and drum up support on what is in his mind, his inevitable path to stardom. This self-delusion is a British sit-com character trait that leads through Hancock, Mainwaring, Fawlty, Del Boy, Partridge, Brent and Jez¹ from Peep Show. They all yearn for a level of success that isn’t that ambitious, but it is always just outside their grasp.

Another 1990s comedy act whose songs take up too much time in my head comes from a similar stable. Reeves and Mortimer’s surreal folk duo, Simon and Garfunkel, rendered into a world of Fido Dido and Tab Clear, also triggers in the audience sympathy because of the gap between where their ability actually lies and their own perception.

Shuttleworth’s work invites the audience to feel sympathy as much as amusement. The character genuinely loves his music and believes in his own abilities, and while we, the audience, see the limitations and absurdities, we can’t help but root for him.

Take Father Ted’s ‘My Lovely Horse’, which follows the same pattern as Shuttleworth’s work. The song is performed with complete sincerity, despite the absurdity of the lyrics and the context - whether it is the stripped-down version or the Neil Hannon one that borrows from Nin Huugen and the Huugen Notes²

The audience laughs at the song and the earnestness of Ted and Dougal’s ambition to win a Eurovision-like competition with such an obviously ridiculous entry. It doesn’t end there like Steve Coogan’s Keith Mandement in The Day Today; I could go on. The Fast Show with Mikki Disco on Channel 9’s Big Show or Colon on Indie Club and many other stupid songs that live in my head, along with Dylan, The Beatles, Radiohead and the others that have done more to earn their place as an earworm.

And that’s the rub. The thing is, these kinds of songs—where sincerity collides headfirst with absurdity—stick with you. They’re not just catchy; they’re little stories wrapped in melody that reveal something about the characters and, let’s be honest, about us, too. Because, deep down, we’ve all got a bit of John Shuttleworth in us—optimistic, slightly deluded, and sometimes happily humming along, even if we’re singing about pigeons.

1. House rules dictate that I should bold the names of musicians. Despite their various efforts, I won’t be doing this for any of them.

2. In the show.