The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

I Heard It Through The Grapevine – Marvin Gaye

About the SongMarvin Gaye – I Heard It Through the Grapevine Lyrics | Genius Lyrics

Few songs have stood the test of time like “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” by the legendary Marvin Gaye. Released in 1968, this soulful masterpiece became not only a cornerstone of Motown’s golden era but also a defining moment in Gaye’s illustrious career. With its haunting melody, raw emotion, and powerful vocals, the track continues to captivate listeners, transcending generations and musical boundaries.

Marvin Gaye, often hailed as the “Prince of Motown,” was known for his ability to channel deep emotions into his music, and this song is no exception. From the very first notes, a sense of foreboding creeps in, driven by the iconic bassline and mournful strings. By the time Gaye’s velvety voice enters, the listener is already hooked, drawn into a tale of heartbreak and betrayal. The lyrics tell the story of a man who learns about his lover’s infidelity through the grapevine—a network of whispers and rumors. This theme of distrust and sorrow is universal, which is perhaps why the song resonates as strongly today as it did over five decades ago.

Originally recorded by Gladys Knight & the Pips in 1967, the song had already achieved success before Gaye’s rendition was released. However, Gaye’s version brought a darker, more introspective energy that elevated the track to new heights. His performance struck a delicate balance between vulnerability and strength, conveying both the pain of betrayal and the simmering anger beneath the surface.

At its core, “I Heard It Through the Grapevine” is a testament to Marvin Gaye’s artistry. The song showcases not only his vocal prowess but also his ability to connect deeply with listeners. It became his first No. 1 hit on the Billboard Hot 100 and remains one of the best-selling Motown singles of all time. For anyone exploring the depths of soul music, this track is an essential listen—a timeless reminder of the power of music to articulate our most profound emotions.Picture background

Video

Lyrics: “I Heard It Through The Grapevine”

 

I bet you’re wonderin’ how I knew
‘Bout your plans to make me blue
With some other guy you knew before
Between the two of us guys
You know I loved you more
It took me by surprise I must say
When I found out yesterday
Don’t you know that I heard it through the grapevine
Not much longer would you be mine
Oh I heard it through the grapevine
Oh I’m just about to lose my mindHoney, honey yeah.
I heard it through the grapevine
Not much longer would you be mine babyI know a man ain’t supposed to cry
But these tears I can’t hold inside
Losin’ you would end my life you see
‘Cause you mean that much to me
You could have told me yourself
That you loved someone else
Instead I heard it through the grapevine
Not much longer would you be mine
Oh, I heard it through the grapevine
And I’m just about to lose my mindHoney, honey yeah
I heard it through the grapevine
Not much longer would you be mine, baby

People say believe half of what you see
Some and none of what you hear
But I can’t help but be confused
If it’s true please tell me dear
Do you plan to let me go
For the other guy you loved before?

Don’t you know I heard it through the grapevine
Not much longer would you be mine, baby yeah
I heard it through the grapevine
I’m just about to lose my mind
Honey, honey, yeah
I heard it through the grapevine,
Not much longer would you be mine, baby yeah

Honey, honey, yeah
I heard it through the grapevine,
Not much longer would you be mine, baby yeah yeah
I heard it through the grapevine,
Not much longer would you be mine, baby yeah yeah

 

Related Post

FIRST RECORD GEORGE JONES EVER CUT DIDN’T SOUND LIKE A LEGEND BEING BORN — IT SOUNDED LIKE A NERVOUS 22-YEAR-OLD IN A SMALL TEXAS HOUSE, TRYING TO SING OVER THE NOISE OF PASSING TRUCKS. The song was one he had written himself, and the title was almost too perfect: “No Money in This Deal.” It was not Nashville. It was not a polished studio. It was Jack Starnes’ home studio — small, rough, and so poorly soundproofed that trucks passing on the highway could ruin a take. George Jones later remembered egg crates nailed to the walls, and sometimes they had to stop recording because the outside noise came through. He was twenty-two years old, fresh out of the Marines, still trying to sound like Lefty Frizzell, Hank Williams, and every hero he had studied. At the time, it sounded like a young man’s joke. But looking back, the title feels almost prophetic. There really was no money in that room. No fame. No guarantee. No crowd waiting outside. Just a nervous young singer, a cheap recording setup, and a voice that had not yet learned it was going to break millions of hearts. And years later, George Jones would admit the strangest part about that first record: the voice that became one of country music’s greatest was still trying to sound like somebody else. But what George Jones later confessed about that first recording makes the whole story even more haunting — because before the world heard “the Possum,” George Jones was still hiding behind the voices of other men.

SHE SANG WHAT WOMEN WHISPERED — AND THE WHOLE WORLD WENT QUIET. They didn’t call her a singer. They called her a problem. Loretta Lynn walked into Nashville with coal dust still on her boots and songs that made record labels nervous. Not because she couldn’t sing. Because she could — and she was saying things women had been swallowing for years. Cheating husbands. Tired wives. The kind of truths that don’t belong in polite conversation. She put them in a microphone anyway. Women in the audience didn’t just clap. They exhaled. Like someone had finally said it out loud — the thing they’d been carrying alone in the kitchen, in the silence after the door slammed, in the years they smiled when they didn’t mean it. Loretta never wrote for radio. She wrote for the woman in the back row who thought nobody understood. She was wrong — somebody did. Do you remember the song that made you feel less alone — or did Loretta already know which one it was?

IN 1951, A 4-FOOT-10 GRAND OLE OPRY STAR WALKED ONTO A LOCAL PHOENIX TV SHOW, HEARD AN UNKNOWN ARIZONA SINGER, AND OPENED THE DOOR NASHVILLE HAD NOT YET SEEN. His name was Little Jimmy Dickens. He was 30, already an Opry favorite, riding the road as one of country music’s most recognizable little giants. The young man hosting the local show was Martin David Robinson — the Arizona singer who would soon be known to the world as Marty Robbins. He was 25, still far from Nashville, still trying to turn a desert-town dream into a life. Marty Robbins had built his world in Glendale, Arizona. A Navy veteran. A husband to Marizona. A morning radio voice. A man who had once sung in Phoenix clubs under another name so his mother would not know. Then came a 15-minute TV slot on KPHO-TV called Western Caravan. Marty Robbins sang. Marty Robbins wrote songs. Marty Robbins waited for a town that had never heard his name. Little Jimmy Dickens was passing through Phoenix when he appeared as a guest on Marty Robbins’ program. He sat down. He listened. And something in that voice stopped him. Little Jimmy Dickens did not hear a local singer trying to fill airtime. Little Jimmy Dickens heard a voice Nashville needed before Nashville knew it. Soon after, Little Jimmy Dickens helped Marty Robbins reach Columbia Records. That was the moment the door began to open. What did Little Jimmy Dickens hear in that unknown Arizona singer’s voice — before Columbia Records, before the Opry, before “El Paso,” and before the whole world finally heard it too?

You Missed

Country

“I JUST WANTED TO STAND HERE ONE MORE TIME.” — TOBY KEITH’S QUIETEST MOMENT FELT LIKE COURAGE The lights were softer than usual. No thunder. No bravado. No need to prove anything. Toby Keith walked out slowly, his hand brushing the microphone stand like an old friend waiting for him. His voice was not chasing power anymore. It carried weight. Every lyric landed deeper because it came from a man who understood what it cost to still be standing there. The crowd did not cheer right away. They listened. Closely. When the final note faded, Toby nodded once, almost to himself. This was not about strength in the loudest sense. It was about presence. About showing up when the body argues back, when pain is heavy, and when love for the music still wins. That night did not feel like an ending. It felt like gratitude becoming a song.”

Country Oldies Musics

FIRST RECORD GEORGE JONES EVER CUT DIDN’T SOUND LIKE A LEGEND BEING BORN — IT SOUNDED LIKE A NERVOUS 22-YEAR-OLD IN A SMALL TEXAS HOUSE, TRYING TO SING OVER THE NOISE OF PASSING TRUCKS. The song was one he had written himself, and the title was almost too perfect: “No Money in This Deal.” It was not Nashville. It was not a polished studio. It was Jack Starnes’ home studio — small, rough, and so poorly soundproofed that trucks passing on the highway could ruin a take. George Jones later remembered egg crates nailed to the walls, and sometimes they had to stop recording because the outside noise came through. He was twenty-two years old, fresh out of the Marines, still trying to sound like Lefty Frizzell, Hank Williams, and every hero he had studied. At the time, it sounded like a young man’s joke. But looking back, the title feels almost prophetic. There really was no money in that room. No fame. No guarantee. No crowd waiting outside. Just a nervous young singer, a cheap recording setup, and a voice that had not yet learned it was going to break millions of hearts. And years later, George Jones would admit the strangest part about that first record: the voice that became one of country music’s greatest was still trying to sound like somebody else. But what George Jones later confessed about that first recording makes the whole story even more haunting — because before the world heard “the Possum,” George Jones was still hiding behind the voices of other men.

Country Oldies Musics

SHE SANG WHAT WOMEN WHISPERED — AND THE WHOLE WORLD WENT QUIET. They didn’t call her a singer. They called her a problem. Loretta Lynn walked into Nashville with coal dust still on her boots and songs that made record labels nervous. Not because she couldn’t sing. Because she could — and she was saying things women had been swallowing for years. Cheating husbands. Tired wives. The kind of truths that don’t belong in polite conversation. She put them in a microphone anyway. Women in the audience didn’t just clap. They exhaled. Like someone had finally said it out loud — the thing they’d been carrying alone in the kitchen, in the silence after the door slammed, in the years they smiled when they didn’t mean it. Loretta never wrote for radio. She wrote for the woman in the back row who thought nobody understood. She was wrong — somebody did. Do you remember the song that made you feel less alone — or did Loretta already know which one it was?

Country Oldies Musics

IN 1951, A 4-FOOT-10 GRAND OLE OPRY STAR WALKED ONTO A LOCAL PHOENIX TV SHOW, HEARD AN UNKNOWN ARIZONA SINGER, AND OPENED THE DOOR NASHVILLE HAD NOT YET SEEN. His name was Little Jimmy Dickens. He was 30, already an Opry favorite, riding the road as one of country music’s most recognizable little giants. The young man hosting the local show was Martin David Robinson — the Arizona singer who would soon be known to the world as Marty Robbins. He was 25, still far from Nashville, still trying to turn a desert-town dream into a life. Marty Robbins had built his world in Glendale, Arizona. A Navy veteran. A husband to Marizona. A morning radio voice. A man who had once sung in Phoenix clubs under another name so his mother would not know. Then came a 15-minute TV slot on KPHO-TV called Western Caravan. Marty Robbins sang. Marty Robbins wrote songs. Marty Robbins waited for a town that had never heard his name. Little Jimmy Dickens was passing through Phoenix when he appeared as a guest on Marty Robbins’ program. He sat down. He listened. And something in that voice stopped him. Little Jimmy Dickens did not hear a local singer trying to fill airtime. Little Jimmy Dickens heard a voice Nashville needed before Nashville knew it. Soon after, Little Jimmy Dickens helped Marty Robbins reach Columbia Records. That was the moment the door began to open. What did Little Jimmy Dickens hear in that unknown Arizona singer’s voice — before Columbia Records, before the Opry, before “El Paso,” and before the whole world finally heard it too?