That's no lie

20 years ago I discovered Emma. I think many must have down the years.
Emma – Emmaline. The Hot Chocolate song.
It’s unique riff bores into you. It builds a resonant timber framework inside you on which the rest of the song dances and builds.
The melody cuts like a bread knife. Not without shrapnel. It is a beautiful song that tilts at suicide and affects you like a safe addiction.
I had it on repeat for weeks. The vocals of the coolest man alive. Pop at its sharpest and most inviting. Loved it then and still do.
Yesterday, rerouting from a blind link on a non-Youtube video content based website, I rediscovered Emmaline. It was impossible to resist a spin. I could spare 3 minutes.
But she wasn’t my Emmaline.
It was a different song.
Another song by Errol. Also called Emmaline (That's no lie).
A discovery. But one that wasn’t on my Very Best of... and I bet it isn’t on yours either.
I missed Errol on his final tour last year. But I always smile at having seen his sparkly trousers shimmer in years gone by. I rank seeing him sing his (other) signature song as one of the finest things I have ever seen.
There can’t be two Emmalines.
And yet, there can.
She’s a girl of course. The irreplaceable star he supposedly saw on a magazine cover and tried to track down.
The story goes that he wrote to her modelling agency anonymously but alas no reply. Then he used his fame. (Why not? Michael Caine famously got his wife the same way). He contacted her agent and told him he would like to hire her for a music video and could she come for interview.
“But that's impossible Mr Brown, she committed suicide 4 days ago".
We are left with not one but two songs exposing the salty nerve endings of humanity with precision and beauty.
All women are irreplaceable of course. But how many can claim that?