Duncan Sheik — "Barely Breathing"
Duncan Sheik's brooding acoustic single became one of the defining adult-alternative hits of 1997 — and one of the longest-charting songs in Billboard history, quietly clinging to the Hot 100 for more than a year.
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Duncan Sheik's brooding acoustic single became one of the defining adult-alternative hits of 1997 — and one of the longest-charting songs in Billboard history, quietly clinging to the Hot 100 for more than a year.
The most famous sheep in history — the first mammal cloned from an adult cell, and the moment cloning jumped from science fiction to the dinner-table conversation. When Dolly was unveiled in 1997, she landed on magazine covers, triggered ethics panics, and made 'clone' a word every kid suddenly knew.
The Great Comet of 1997 — the bright, hanging smudge of light that had entire families standing in the driveway looking up. Visible to the naked eye for a record stretch, Hale-Bopp was the comet everyone actually saw, a shared sky-watching moment that also collided with one of the decade's strangest tragedies.
One of the biggest radio songs of the late '90s — and almost nobody knew it was a cover. Natalie Imbruglia's version went supernova in 1997, spending 11 weeks atop Billboard's airplay chart while barely denting the Hot 100, because you literally couldn't buy it as a US single. The video's film crew dismantled the apartment set around her mid-song.
The melancholy glow of 1997 radio: Jakob Dylan—yes, that Dylan—singing about the death of ideas over the year's most inescapable groove. It topped every rock format at once, won two Grammys, and never even appeared on the Hot 100.
"Doo doo doo, doo doo-doo doo..." — the sunniest-sounding smash of 1997 was a song about crystal meth, and the radio edit made sure you couldn't tell. The hook that soundtracked every summer barbecue was hiding one of the darkest lyrics on the dial.
The song that flipped a funk-metal band into sunshine pop overnight—bleak lyrics about death and loss wrapped in a breezy reggae-tinged groove, with Mark McGrath's frosted tips as the era's defining haircut. It owned the radio all summer and never touched the Hot 100.
Pretty, gentle, and secretly about a woman burning her house to the ground — Shawn Colvin's "Sunny Came Home" swept the 1998 Grammys, winning both Record of the Year and Song of the Year.
The swelling string loop, Richard Ashcroft shoulder-checking his way down a London pavement without breaking stride, and the most famous royalty heist of the decade — a smash hit whose writer earned a grand total of $1,000 from it for 22 years. (This is The Verve, from England — no relation to Michigan's The Verve Pipe.)
"For the life of me, I cannot remember..." — the guilt-stricken confession ballad that all of 1997 alt-radio screamed along to without quite knowing what it was confessing. Rooted in something real, mostly made up, and somehow everyone's story at once. (The Verve Pipe, from Michigan — no relation to The Verve of "Bitter Sweet Symphony" fame, same year, different ocean.)