Two forgotten sides of Sweet reveal the tenderness and theatrical melancholy beneath the glitter of glam rock
When Sweet appeared on the ITV program 45 on 28 November 1974, the band were already one of Britain’s most recognizable glam-rock acts, yet the performance captured something more revealing than their chart reputation. The pairing of “You’re Not Wrong for Loving Me” and “Lady Starlight” brought together two songs from very different moments in the group’s development. “You’re Not Wrong for Loving Me” had originally appeared as the B-side of “Funny, Funny” in 1971, while “Lady Starlight” belonged to the 1974 album Desolation Boulevard. Neither song was a major chart single in its own right, making this television performance an especially intriguing document of a band whose history is often reduced to its better-known hits. The 1974 album Desolation Boulevard, released in November of that year, became an important part of Sweet’s international breakthrough, eventually reaching No. 25 in the United States, while its UK edition helped establish the harder, more expansive musical identity that the group would continue developing.
What makes “You’re Not Wrong for Loving Me” particularly fascinating is its position in Sweet’s early catalogue. Unlike the hits supplied by the songwriting partnership of Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman, this song was written by the four members themselves: Brian Connolly, Steve Priest, Andy Scott, and Mick Tucker. It therefore offers an early glimpse of the band as songwriters rather than simply performers inside the highly successful pop machinery surrounding them.
The title itself carries an unusually gentle reassurance. There is no grand declaration of eternal romance, no melodramatic promise that love will conquer everything. Instead, the song seems to address the uncertainty that can accompany affection—the feeling that perhaps loving someone is itself a mistake, something that requires permission or justification. Its central sentiment turns that anxiety around: love does not become wrong merely because circumstances make it difficult. In that sense, the song possesses a vulnerability that can easily be overlooked beneath Sweet’s flamboyant image.
Then comes “Lady Starlight,” a very different kind of emotional landscape. Written by guitarist Andy Scott, the song appeared on the 1974 Desolation Boulevard, an album that demonstrated how far Sweet had moved beyond the lightweight pop image attached to their earliest successes. The song has a more atmospheric character, and its title evokes distance, fantasy, night, and an almost unreachable figure. Against the hard-edged guitars and enormous choruses that defined much of Sweet’s 1974 sound, “Lady Starlight” feels like a moment of suspended reflection.
The historical importance of the 45 performance lies partly in the fact that it was specially recorded for television rather than simply being a conventional reproduction of a studio release. The official Sweet channel confirms that the 28 November 1974 appearance featured the original lineup—Brian Connolly, Andy Scott, Steve Priest, and Mick Tucker—and that both songs were recorded specifically for the program.
Seen together, the two performances almost function as a miniature portrait of Sweet at a crossroads. “You’re Not Wrong for Loving Me” looks inward, toward the private vulnerability of affection; “Lady Starlight” looks outward, toward romance transformed into imagery and atmosphere. Between them lies the remarkable contradiction that made Sweet so compelling: a band dressed in glitter and spectacle, capable of delivering music with considerably more emotional nuance than their image suggested.
That is perhaps why this 1974 television appearance deserves to be remembered. The famous Sweet were loud, theatrical, glamorous, and unmistakably of their era—but beneath the satin, platform boots, harmonized choruses, and electric guitars was a band increasingly interested in discovering its own voice. These two songs preserve that quieter side of their story: the side where love is not a slogan, but a question, a longing, and sometimes a distant light shining somewhere beyond the stage.