The first time I heard this song I was at a karaoke venue on the other side of the world. The venue was as fancy as a five-star hotel: marble floors, leather sofas, dinner buffet, professional service, and the latest hi-tech equipment. Amidst our group was a twenty-something Asian schoolteacher, an avid fan of the Canadian singer. She stood up and belted her heart out into the microphone while the music video was playing. I sat completely mesmerized.
Our #1 song comes from a Canadian woman who grew up playing hockey, was aged 20 when she released it, and is blessed with a finely-crafted mouth. She grew up in a town with a population of 5,000, a locale situated on the north shore of Lake Ontario called Napanee. In the 19th century it was run by Allan Macpherson whose house is now a museum. In present times the town’s largest employer is a rubber plant. But the girl neither opted for a career making tires for Goodyear nor in serving customers in the town’s headquarters of Dixie Lee Fried Chicken.
What was in store for her was winning a contest to sing with Shania Twain on stage, becoming the press-dubbed Pop Punk Princess, and, most importantly, delivering pitch-perfect live performances, composing sonorous songs, sweeping the masses off their feet with her pure, pleasant, and powerful voice, and rocking the pants off all her contemporaries. Our girl’s name is Avril Lavigne.
On May 24th, 2004, she released her second album called Under My Skin which included a song she wrote and produced with Butch Walker.
The first verse is sung with light piano accompaniment building up to a sizzling arena rock guitar chorus with punk touches. She sings the song accenting certain unexpected syllables to give the feeling of taking pert jabs in a classic “stick it to the man” posture. (“We were MEANT to be, supPOSED to be … all of the MEM-o-RIES so CLOSE to me…”).
The song is a perfect representation of what makes Canadian music so savoury, of what makes the heart feel as if it’s been ripped out of one’s chest and hurled up to touch the sky, and of what makes beloved sportscaster Ron MacLean assert that there are two things Canadians do better than anyone else in the world: hockey and rock & roll. Avril Lavigne’s “My Happy Ending” is our number one favourite song of all-time by a Canadian artist. It simply rocks.
Lyrics
Let’s talk this over
It’s not like we’re dead
Was it something I did?
Was it something you said?
Don’t leave me hanging
In a city so dead
Held up so high
On such a breakable thread
You were all the things I thought I knew
And I thought we could be
[Chorus:]
You were everything, everything that I wanted
We were meant to be, supposed to be, but we lost it
All of the memories, so close to me, just fade away
All this time you were pretending
So much for my happy ending
You’ve got your dumb friends
I know what they say
They tell you I’m difficult
But so are they
But they don’t know me
Do they even know you?
All the things you hide from me
All the stuff that you do
You were all the things I thought I knew
And I thought we could be
[Chorus]
It’s nice to know that you were there
Thanks for acting like you cared
And making me feel like I was the only one
It’s nice to know we had it all
Thanks for watching as I fall
And letting me know we were done
[Chorus]
Summary
Song: “My Happy Ending”
Album: Under My Skin
Year: 2004
Artist: Avril Lavigne
Origin: Napanee, ON
To view other songs in the Top 50, click on 50 Favourite Songs in the Categories menu on the right-hand column. To view the list itself, click the 50 Faves tab at the top of the page.
P.S. “My Happy Ending” was released as a single on July 7th, 2004. There were three big news stories that day:
1. Enron chairman Kenneth Lay was indicted by a grand jury. So much for his happy ending.
2. Portland, USA’s archdiocese filed for bankruptcy, claiming payouts for church sex abuse cases exhausted all of its funds. So much for its happy ending.
3. Japan asked the United Nations for a permanent seat on its Security Council since it participated in the Iraq War. So much for its happy ending.















