A Mod Anthem of Lingering Goodbyes: The Early Stirrings of a Star
Ah, the mid-1960s. A time when the youthful swagger of Mod culture was reaching its zenith, and the sound of electric guitars was the heartbeat of a generation finding its voice. It was in this vibrant, noisy landscape that a young, ambitious artist—then known simply as Davy Jones—released his third single, a pulsating track that hinted at the genius to come, titled “You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving.”
Released on August 20, 1965, on the Parlophone label (catalogue number R 5315, for those who appreciate the details of vinyl history), this single is a fascinating, almost archaeological, find for aficionados of 20th-century music. It captures the very moment a great creative force was solidifying his style. As for its initial performance? Well, that is part of the song’s poignant history: “You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving” failed to chart in the UK, a testament to how often true trailblazers are initially ahead of the popular curve.
This was a pivotal time for the young artist, who would, of course, soon change his name to the iconic David Bowie—a necessity spurred by the rise of a certain mop-topped teen idol of the same name from The Monkees. This single, written by Jones himself and recorded with his backing band, The Lower Third, at IBC Studios in London, is one of his final recorded relics under his birth name. It was produced by the legendary Shel Talmy, the man behind The Kinks and The Who—and that latter influence is palpable. The song marked a distinct shift away from the Americanised R&B of Jones’s earlier efforts towards a grittier, distinctly English freakbeat and Mod rock sound, driven by a churning rhythm and a restless energy that echoed the urgency of The Who’s early material. Pete Townshend himself is noted to have observed the stylistic similarities when the two bands shared a bill shortly after the single’s release.
The lyrical meaning of “You’ve Got a Habit of Leaving” is wrapped up in the universal ache of a relationship perpetually on the edge. It’s a snapshot of a narrator trapped in a cycle of anticipation and disappointment with a partner who can’t seem to stay. The title itself is a marvel of concise, observational poetry. It speaks to the frustrating realization that a loved one’s commitment is fleeting—a “habit” of leaving is not an isolated event but a deeply ingrained, hurtful pattern. The song captures that moment of weary acceptance, the recognition that the drama of the farewell, the inevitable walk-out, has become a tiresome routine. The upbeat, aggressive musical backing almost acts as a defiant mask for the underlying heartbreak, a loud, fast rhythm to distract from the quiet pain of being left behind.
In retrospect, this single is more than just an obscure 45; it is a vital chapter in the David Bowie narrative. It’s where the chrysalis of Davy Jones began to crack, revealing the vibrant, experimental rock artist inside. Though it didn’t find an audience then, Bowie thought enough of the track to re-record it decades later during the sessions for his Toy album in the year 2000, underscoring its lasting personal significance. To listen to the original 1965 recording today is to eavesdrop on the creative genesis of one of music’s great shapeshifters, hearing the promise in the raw, mod-tinged energy, a nostalgic peek back at the beginning of a Brilliant Adventure.