An Anthem of Unapologetic Self-Acceptance in the Face of Shifting Fortunes
The year was 1973. The world was spinning on an axis lubricated by Glam Rock’s glitter, amplified by the raw power of hard rock, and perpetually soundtracked by the relentless march of Slade. This Wolverhampton powerhouse—a band that understood the working man’s anthem like no other—had already cemented their place in the pantheon of British rock royalty. Yet, even amidst the roaring success that would define their early decade, there existed a song that pulsed with a quieter, more personal defiance. It wasn’t one of the chart-topping, ear-splitting holiday anthems or a call to general sonic pandemonium. It was “I’m Mee, I’m Now, An’ That’s Orl,” a raw, deeply resonant track nestled on the B-side of the gargantuan single “Cum On Feel the Noize.”
The A-side, a masterpiece of singalong sonic mayhem, rocketed to the pinnacle of the UK charts, seizing the No. 1 spot in February 1973 and becoming one of their most indelible hits. As is often the case in the music business, the flip side, the B-side, often holds the heart—a track less polished for radio but perhaps more revealing of the band’s soul. In the context of the single’s colossal success, “I’m Mee, I’m Now, An’ That’s Orl” didn’t chart independently, but it rode the coattails of that No. 1 triumph, becoming an essential, often cherished, deep cut for the faithful. It was an offering that resonated with an honesty that cut through the necessary spectacle of their stage presence. It was a private moment whispered amidst the clamour.
For those of us who lived through the seismic shifts of the early ’70s, Slade represented more than just music; they were a cultural phenomenon, a glorious, gritty rejection of pretense. “I’m Mee, I’m Now, An’ That’s Orl” captures this ethos perfectly. Behind the deliberate, phonetic spelling—a Slade hallmark that lent their titles a distinctly Northern, down-to-earth charm—lies a stark, emotional truth born from the band’s own tumultuous journey. The story behind the song is steeped in the hard-won wisdom of a band that had, only a few years prior, toiled under a different name (Ambrose Slade) and struggled through the lean times, enduring the cruel indifference of a fickle industry. They had changed their sound, their look, and their fortunes, but the core identity, the “mee,” remained fiercely protected.
The track is an eloquent, almost melancholic, testament to the struggle for authenticity against the backdrop of fame’s relentless pressure. In an era where their manager, Chas Chandler (of The Animals and Jimi Hendrix fame), was meticulously crafting their image, this song served as a grounding wire. It’s Noddy Holder’s voice, stripped of some of its signature, full-throttle scream, delivering a lyric that is a defiant fist raised against any notion of selling out or losing one’s roots.
The meaning of the song is beautifully, painfully simple: it is an affirmation of self-acceptance and resistance to change imposed by external forces. “I’m me, I’m now, and that’s all” is the definitive statement of a man—or a band—taking stock. It speaks to the fear that comes with success: the fear of forgetting where you came from, the anxiety that the demands of celebrity might erode the genuine, imperfect self. For the older reader, this song evokes a profound wave of nostalgia not just for the music, but for a simpler time when one’s identity felt less mediated, less disposable. It’s a memory of youthful defiance, of staking a claim on who you are, flaws and all, before life’s inevitable compromises set in. It’s the sound of a deep breath taken before the next inevitable storm, a quiet oath to one’s own soul, delivered by the mighty, yet ever-humble, Slade. The song is a warm, familiar echo, a reminder that the real victory isn’t the chart position, but the simple, unassailable fact of being unapologetically yourself.