The Go-Betweens might be the greatest band you’ve never heard of. They lived and breathed from 1977 to 1989 and then again for a brief spell in the early 2000s. They had two remarkable songwriters in their midst: Robert Forster, who produced sardonic, breezy, disfigured indie singalongs, and Grant McLennan, who created pure pop paradise. They toiled in the indie trenches of their Australian homeland, then tried to make it in London, before returning to Sydney and promptly imploding. The end was messy. Romantic relationships and rock bands don’t mix well. Just ask Fleetwood Mac.

Trying to ascertain why certain bands thrive while other, far more worthy candidates fall away, is a fun and frustrating way to spend an afternoon. In the case of The Go-Betweens, perhaps one clue lies in the track listing of a new live album, recorded in London in 1987, which is about to be released by Beggar’s Banquet alongside rereleases of several of their classic albums. Fountains of Youth opens with “Bye Bye Pride”, swiftly followed by “Unkind and Unwise”, “Part Company”, “The House That Jack Kerouac Built”, “When People are Dead” and more. These are all incredible songs. But the titles seem more at home in a collection of sombre Victorian poetry than at the top of the hit parade.

It perfectly illustrates the band’s genius and their inherent flaw. Shimmering, complex, compelling pop songs undercut with thinly veiled threats, darkness and obscure references. They were a literary band, their songs resembling musical short stories. Forster sang about librarians, rain and asking lovers if he can wash their hair. McLennan sang about loneliness, longing, and the wide-open spaces of rural Australia.

The pair first encountered each other at the University of Queensland in 1976. Forster was an urbane, erudite, cynical lover of the Beats and Dylan. McClennan was a rural farm boy, who lost his father aged four, something that would have a profound impact on his art and personality. Forster’s dream was to start a band and he viewed McLennan as the perfect Lennon to his McCartney.

But The Go-Betweens didn’t really become The Go-Betweens until 1980 when Lindy Morrison joined. The boys wanted a female drummer, like The Velvet Underground’s Moe Tucker. But unlike the somewhat anonymous Tucker, Morrison was a true force of nature: fearless, outspoken and charismatic. Forster fell in love with his new bandmate, describing her in his memoir Grant and I as “the most dynamic woman in the city”. They soon began a stormy relationship.

But The Go-Betweens struggled. With their songs referencing Genet, Joyce and Lee Remick, it felt as if they’d dropped into early 80s Australia from another planet. Like many Antipodean bands of the era (Nick Cave’s The Birthday Party, The Chills, The Triffids) they headed to London. They knew they were a peculiar band, but they also suspected that the right people might appreciate that peculiarity. It was the time of REM and The Smiths (The Go-Betweens would frequently play with both), a time when bands could be on indie labels, have integrity, refuse to pander and still make a living. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

Slowly they edged up the ladder, starving in London, constantly touring, recording, releasing and moving record labels. They always seemed on the verge of doing… something. But then stubbornly refused to leave the verge.

In 1987, they decided to expand their sound and multi-instrumentalist Amanda Brown joined the band. McLennan instantly fell in love with her. The first Go-Betweens track she played on, the delicious “Right Here”, was the first of many songs he wrote about her. Though he was coy about its meaning Forster knew what was happening, calling it “a declaration of love. Amanda had been won and he was proud.”

Brown and McLennan’s relationship intensified. Forster and Morrison’s fell apart. McLennan started writing grand, expressive songs about his new love. Forster wrote pained elegies to love lost. All this turmoil would be thrown at their next album, which would prove to be their masterpiece and their undoing.

16 Lovers Lane should have been the record to rocket them to superstardom. But it turned out to be their swansong, the final document of the band’s classic line-up. It’s become known as the “indie ” as the internal power dynamics that are so integral to a band’s survival fatally shifted, and yet produced incredible music.

With McLennan focused on Brown rather than Forster, and Forster avoiding Morrison, the recording was hard (not helped by the album’s producer trying to replace the drummer with a drum machine). The lead-off single, McLennan’s “Streets of Your Town”, was one of the finest songs he ever wrote. It was also the first song he recorded without seeking out the approval of Forster first. Things were starting to shift.

Once again, the band came temptingly close. “Streets of Your Town” reached number 85. After Radio 1 started to play it (“Only on sunny days,” according to McLennan) they optimistically re-released it. This time it got to 80. Close, but again, not quite close enough. Then something snapped and McLennan decided he just couldn’t do it any more.

In a bizarre, misguided move, Forster fired Morrison from the band at the exact moment, in a different part of Sydney, that McLennan fired Brown. It was, perhaps, a nod to their flair for the dramatic. But the bridges that were burned have never really recovered. When McLennan terminated her employment, Brown terminated their relationship. She and Morrison started their own band, Cleopatra Wong, and, understandably, harboured grudges.

Forster and McLennan embarked on solo careers, and the odd collaboration, and then tried to write a movie together. But the itch of the Go-Betweens project was still under their skin. They reformed in 2000 (without any former members), released three well-received albums and toured the world. Then, in 2006, McLennan went upstairs to get ready for a party and never came down, dying in his sleep of a heart attack. He was 48.

Forster grieved then started again. He wrote the moving book Grant and I about his friend, and has released a string of acclaimed albums. In recent times, Brown and Morrison have been more open about their time in the band. “For years and years, Lindy and I did feel very erased from the story,” Brown has stated. Tracey Thorn wrote an acclaimed book about Morrison, , that attempts to right some wrongs. They were both integral to the band. That needs to be remembered and celebrated.

And so The Go-Betweens are no more and yet the Go-Betweens have never been bigger. The new reissues from Beggar’s Banquet follow hot on the heels of three lavish box sets, plus several books, podcasts and documentaries dedicated to the band and its legacy.

Perhaps the secret of their success was never being successful. Would we have loved them the same way if they were currently filling out the O2 or embarking on a tasteful solo acoustic tour around the nation’s larger theatres? It’s doubtful. They were a band of underdogs, beloved by underdogs. They were a band we wanted for ourselves.