An early, electrifying glimpse into the mercurial genius of David Bowie, channeling Mod energy and youthful angst.
Ah, the mid-1960s—a time when the vibrant pulse of youth culture beat loudest in the smoky clubs and on the pop charts. For those of us who remember those days, there’s a special fondness for the music that marked the changing times, the raw energy and sheer ambition of young artists finding their voice. And few voices would prove as transformative as that of a young man then known simply as Davy Jones. Long before the advent of Ziggy Stardust, the Thin White Duke, or even the familiar moniker of David Bowie, there was this blistering, urgent piece of Mod-rock history: “You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving.”
Released on August 20, 1965, the single was credited solely to Davy Jones (though his backing band, The Lower Third, played a vital role), a name he would soon shed to avoid confusion with Davy Jones of the wildly popular American TV phenomenon, The Monkees—a truly fateful decision that allowed his singular identity to emerge. The song, backed by “Baby Loves That Way,” was a product of the heady London scene, attempting to capitalize on the burgeoning Mod movement that bands like The Who and The Kinks were riding to fame. And indeed, the track positively crackles with a frenetic, Who-esque energy, driven by powerful drumming and a sharp, insistent guitar riff. It marked a distinct shift from the Americanised R&B sound of his earlier releases, a conscious move toward the more aggressive, quintessentially British sound of the Mod era.
Despite the infectious energy and a promotional push that even included a letter to Melody Maker claiming the band was the ‘real thing,’ “You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving” sadly failed to chart upon its initial release. This lack of commercial success meant that, at the time, it was a footnote rather than a breakthrough, known only to those deep in the London club scene. For those of us looking back, however, the song is a precious, early artifact, a clear signpost on the road to superstardom. It was produced by the legendary Shel Talmy, who was also producing The Who and The Kinks at the time, giving it an authentic, hard-edged sound that captures the spirit of the era.
The song’s meaning is straightforward, yet it resonates with the timeless heartache of youthful relationships: it is a potent expression of frustration and resignation toward a lover who possesses a recurring pattern of emotional withdrawal or physical departure. The lyrics, written by the young David Jones himself, convey a cutting sense of betrayal and exasperation, recognizing the partner’s destructive ‘habit’ but being unable to break free from the cycle. Phrases like “Sometimes I’m so glad, so glad / But then you just make me sad, so sad” encapsulate the rollercoaster of hope and disappointment that defines such a volatile relationship. The song isn’t just about a girl leaving; it’s about the emotional toll of knowing they will leave, time and time again, and the self-inflicted pain of waiting for the inevitable return.
The tale of this single is intertwined with the very beginning of Bowie’s legendary journey. This was the last single released under the Davy Jones name, a piece of his musical pre-history that he himself valued enough to revisit and re-record decades later for his unreleased Toy album in the year 2000. That later version, full of the maturity and experience of the rock icon, only serves to underscore the enduring quality of the original composition. It is a song that invites us, the older listener, to reflect on our own youthful frustrations and the dramatic decisions that set our lives on their ultimate courses, just as this single propelled a young David Jones to find the name—and destiny—of David Bowie. It reminds us that even the greatest stars have humble, determined beginnings, making this powerful three-minute blast of Mod energy an indispensable piece of rock history.