As with The Smiths, Oasis and other musical greats, the Sugababes' magic erupted out of the fact that they were at each others throats; they were a band of bitches (there must be a porn remake of the Stephen Spielberg series going by that name...). The group tensions had since the band's inception given their music and stage presence edge and fire like no other girl group (surpassing previous title-holders, the 90s' All Saints). They were fundamentally badass, because you knew - or at least had every reason to believe - that behind closed doors these girls were fabulous bullies.
And let's face it, despite first impressions that Mutya Buena was the group's HBIC, it was Keisha who came across as the most persistently demonised figure. First she gave fellow original 'Babe Siobhan Donaghy depression and a swift exit, then it was whispered that she terrorised newbie Heidi Range, until along came a Berrabah, who left the group for prolonged intervals presumably to escape Buchanan's fiery wrath.
Now that Keisha has been kicked and replaced by Jade Ewen, from the institutionally laughable Eurovision vein of pop, like a Guardian columnist or two I have nothing but derision for the "Sugababes" that have come to replace the band that I recall strutting fiercely around for their fantastic hits "Freak Like Me," "Hole in the Head," and "About You Now." And I will be the first to admit that I love Heidi, especially for her durability. It was under her and not Donaghy that the band became great. Not only that, but the eminently forgettable Berrabah seemed saved from critical comparisons to her predecessor, Mutya, when the terrific track "About You Now" followed her into the band. But Keisha's exit is one step too far.
The "Sugababes" now resemble the Corporationless, post-Attitude Era World Wrestling Federation in that they are a story without a villain, made toothless and commercialised to breaking point. The remaining three girls may have talent, but that's beside the point. Nobody wants to see John Hassall and Gary Powell as The Libertines reformed - the band would be a farce without the internal relationship of hero (Barât) against villain (Doherty), even if it was merely recycling old material. Perhaps moreso if it were, in fact.
The end of the Sugababes comes at a significant time in British girlband pop. Girls Aloud - contemporary to the Sugababes, but always the lesser entity in my eyes, having been privileged from inception with the silver spoon of reality television - have outgrown their one-time rivals and taken the decade's pop crown with aplomb. If this spoke only of the group, whose hits are impressive, if not Sugababes-spicy, there would be nothing more to mention.
Unfortunately, however, the victory of the manufactured band has implications that ripple out disturbingly. The music industry that produced Girls Aloud wants to recreate the formula and in doing so produce the Next Generation of British girl group. And this takes the form of the Saturdays, a Girls Aloud-sponsored group being forced down the British public's throats like bad medicine. Indeed, they seem to have been scraped off the high street and costumed in coloured candy-wrappers in order to differentiate one member's blandness from the next's. Far from successors to the Sugababes, the Saturdays instead seem to be cut in the generic model most often used to create 90s boybands. It is a dim future that awaits us in their hands. And what of the inheritors, those "Sugababes-in-name-only"?
As the Guardian reviewer noted, the Sugababes band, for all its cat-fighting, always possessed class - it's now time for Heidi, Amelle and Jade, as their heirs, to exercise some of that class and refuse to keep flogging the dead horse. Because, as of Buchanan's exit, the Sugababes are dead and we are now privy to their successors, the "Sugababes," dancing on the band's shallow grave. It is not the most pleasant sight (you have been warned):
