About the Song

“Kicks” by Paul Revere & The Raiders is a groundbreaking rock anthem that became a defining track of the 1960s. Released in 1966, the song stood out not only for its infectious energy and sharp instrumentation but also for its socially conscious message, which was rare in mainstream pop-rock at the time. Written by the prolific songwriting duo Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, “Kicks” became one of the band’s most enduring hits, peaking at No. 4 on the Billboard Hot 100 and cementing their place in the history of rock music.

At its core, “Kicks” is a cautionary tale about the dangers of substance abuse and the fleeting nature of artificial highs. Lines like “Kicks just keep getting harder to find / And all your kicks ain’t bringing you peace of mind” deliver a stark warning wrapped in a catchy, danceable melody. While many songs of the era glamorized rebellion and indulgence, “Kicks” took a refreshingly bold stance, urging listeners to seek fulfillment and happiness in healthier, more meaningful ways.

Musically, the song is a quintessential example of mid-60s garage rock with a polished edge. Its driving beat, jangly guitars, and tight vocal harmonies create an upbeat and dynamic sound that contrasts with the seriousness of its lyrics. Mark Lindsay’s commanding vocals add an extra layer of urgency and conviction, making the message both compelling and memorable.

“Kicks” is often credited as one of the earliest examples of rock music addressing social issues, paving the way for later artists to tackle complex themes in their work. Its success helped establish Paul Revere & The Raiders as one of the most influential American rock bands of the decade. Known for their theatrical stage presence and revolutionary-inspired costumes, the group managed to balance commercial appeal with genuine artistry, and “Kicks” remains their most iconic contribution to the era’s cultural landscape.

Over the years, “Kicks” has been celebrated for its timeless message and enduring relevance. It serves as a reminder that great rock music can entertain while also encouraging introspection and positive change. Whether you’re revisiting it as a nostalgic trip to the 60s or discovering it for the first time, “Kicks” is a track that continues to resonate, proving that its impact is as strong now as it was nearly six decades ago.

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Lyrics: Kicks

Girl, you thought you found the answer
On that magic carpet ride last night
But when you wake up in the mornin’
The world still gets you uptightWell, there’s nothin’ that you ain’t tried
To fill the emptiness inside
But when you come back down, girl
Still ain’t feelin’ right

And don’t it seem like
Kicks just keep gettin’ harder to find
And all your kicks ain’t bringin’ you peace of mind
Before you find out it’s too late, girl
You better get straight

No, but not with kicks
You just need help, girl

Well you think you’re gonna find yourself
A little piece of paradise
But it ain’t happened yet
So girl, you better think twice

Don’t you see, no matter what you do
You’ll never run away from you
And if you keep on runnin’
You’ll have to pay the price

And don’t it seem like
Kicks just keep gettin’ harder to find
And all your kicks ain’t bringin’ you peace of mind
Before you find out it’s too late, girl
You better get straight

No, you don’t need kicks
To help you face the world each day
That road goes nowhere
I’m gonna help you find yourself another way

Kicks just keep gettin’ harder to find
(Oh, you don’t need kicks, girl)
And all your kicks ain’t bringin’ you peace of mind
(You just need help, girl)
Before you find out it’s too late, girl
You better get straight

And don’t it seem like
Kicks just keep gettin’ harder to find
(Oh, you don’t need kicks, girl)
And all your kicks ain’t bringin’ you peace of mind
(You just need help, girl)
Before you find out it’s too late, girl
You better get straight

You Missed

HOURS AFTER HIS PASSING, THE COUNTRY MUSIC HALL OF FAME INDUCTED TOBY KEITH, PERPETUATING A LEGACY BUILT ON SHEER INDEPENDENCE.ON THE NIGHT OF FEBRUARY 5, 2024, A 62-YEAR-OLD MAN DID NOT MAKE IT TO MORNING IN A HOUSE IN OKLAHOMA. Tricia had been his wife for thirty-nine years. The cancer had been in his stomach since the fall of 2021.The next day, in Nashville, an anonymous panel finished counting its ballots and country music gave him a room with his name on the wall. Nobody had gotten to tell him.He had come up out of the Oklahoma oil fields with a bar band and a demo tape nobody on Music Row would take. Should”ve Been a Cowboy was released in 1993 and played three million times, more than any other country song of that decade.Six years later his label listened to the album he had just finished and kept two songs. He cut two more. They turned those down too. He asked to be dropped. Then he bought the record back with his own money — ninety-three thousand dollars for the masters of a thing he’d been told had no hit on it — and sold it to a rival for two hundred thousand. It was called How Do You Like Me Now?! It sold 3.1 million copies.When DreamWorks folded in 2005 he stopped renting rooms and opened a label of his own. On September 28, 2023, country music gave him an icon award and he sang on television with his hands shaking, and his wife cried in the audience. The song went to number one on digital sales.He booked three nights in Las Vegas that December — the tenth, the eleventh, the fourteenth. All three sold out. He posted a picture from the stage, guitar held up to the crowd. That was the last one. On February 5 he stayed in Oklahoma for good. On February 6 the ballots were counted. On October 20 his son stood up in Nashville and took the medal for him.

MASTERING THE WRECKING CREW BEFORE CONQUERING THE CHARTS, GLEN CAMPBELL LEFT BEHIND A TIMELESS MUSICAL LEGACY FORGED WITHOUT READING A SINGLE NOTE. ON AUGUST 8, 2017, AN 81-YEAR-OLD MAN DIED IN AN ALZHEIMER’S CARE FACILITY OUTSIDE NASHVILLE, WITH HIS FAMILY IN THE ROOM. Kim had been his wife since 1982. There were eight children between them. He had spent the first half of his working life being paid for one thing above all others: he could hear a piece of music once and never lose it. Glen Travis Campbell was born in Billstown, Arkansas, in 1936, the seventh son in a house of twelve children on a sharecropper’s land. An uncle handed him a guitar when he was four. He left school at fourteen. He never learned to read a note of music, and never needed to. In Los Angeles in the sixties he became one of the session players the industry now calls the Wrecking Crew. No charts, no sheet music, no second takes. Somebody hummed it, he played it. He played on records by Frank Sinatra, by Elvis Presley, by Merle Haggard, by the Monkees. He played on Pet Sounds. When Brian Wilson could not go out on the road, Campbell went out as a Beach Boy in his place. Then he stepped out front. “Gentle on My Mind.” “By the Time I Get to Phoenix.” “Wichita Lineman.” “Galveston.” A network television show. A part opposite John Wayne. “Rhinestone Cowboy.” In June 2011 he told the public he had Alzheimer’s disease. He announced a goodbye tour of three to five weeks. It ran a hundred and fifty-one shows over a year and a half, with his children in the band and the words to his own songs scrolling on a screen at the front of the stage. The last thing he ever recorded was a song he wrote about the disease. The title came from something he said offhand to his co-writer after a long day of being asked how he felt about losing his memory — that he could not see what everyone was so upset about, since he was not going to miss anybody. It won a Grammy in 2015. His daughter said afterward that he had no idea he had won it.