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The Last Days – The Osmonds

Who Is Still Alive From the Osmonds?

About the Song

You’re asking for a deep dive into The Osmonds’ “The Last Days,” a track that marks a significant departure from their bubblegum pop beginnings. This isn’t your typical Osmonds fare; it’s a much more complex and introspective piece, showcasing a different side of their musicality. Released in 1973 as part of their concept album The Plan, “The Last Days” delves into themes of spirituality, mortality, and the search for meaning, reflecting the band’s personal beliefs and their evolving artistic direction.

For those who primarily associate The Osmonds with hits like “One Bad Apple” or “Puppy Love,” “The Last Days” might come as a surprise. It’s a far cry from the upbeat, lighthearted pop that initially propelled them to fame. This song is a serious exploration of weighty topics, delivered with a sincerity and musical depth that might be unexpected to casual listeners. It’s a testament to their growth as musicians and their willingness to take risks and explore new sonic territories.

The context of the album The Plan is crucial to understanding “The Last Days.” The entire album is a concept piece, exploring themes of faith, family, and the purpose of life. “The Last Days” fits squarely within this framework, acting as a poignant reflection on the end of times and the importance of living a meaningful life. The lyrics, penned by Alan, Merrill, and Wayne Osmond, are rich with imagery and symbolism, inviting listeners to contemplate their own mortality and their place in the world.

Musically, “The Last Days” is a departure from their earlier work as well. While their signature harmonies are still present, the instrumentation is more complex and layered, incorporating elements of progressive rock and even a touch of psychedelia. The song builds gradually, starting with a gentle, almost melancholic melody and then escalating into a powerful and dramatic crescendo. This dynamic arrangement effectively conveys the emotional weight of the lyrics, creating a truly immersive listening experience.

It’s important to remember the era in which “The Last Days” was released. The early 1970s were a time of great social and political upheaval, and these anxieties were reflected in the music of the time. Many artists were exploring darker themes and pushing the boundaries of traditional pop music. The Osmonds, with “The Last Days” and The Plan, were participating in this broader cultural conversation, albeit from their own unique perspective.

This song isn’t just a collection of notes and words; it’s a statement. It’s The Osmonds saying that they are more than just teen idols; they are artists with something meaningful to say. It’s a challenge to those who might have dismissed them as simply a manufactured pop group. “The Last Days” demonstrates their musical talent, their songwriting ability, and their willingness to tackle complex and challenging themes.

In conclusion, “The Last Days” is a fascinating and often overlooked piece in The Osmonds’ discography. It’s a song that deserves to be rediscovered and appreciated for its musical depth, its lyrical complexity, and its historical context. It’s a reminder that even the most commercially successful artists can have hidden depths and that true artistry often lies in taking risks and pushing boundaries. It truly showcases a different side of The Osmonds and their musical capabilities.A brief musical history of the Osmonds in 13 songs - The Washington Post

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Lyrics: The Last Days

Nations take up there battle stations
Patrons of zodiac revelations
Lustations breaking family relations
Litigation allowing shoot up sensations
That’s what they said, someday it would be
Now just look around if that’s what you see
It’s gotta be the last days
Gotta be the last daysPeople living lives of confusion
Billions caught up in revolution
Cities lost in their own pollution
Question, what is the ConstitutionThat’s what they said, someday it would be
Now just look around if that’s what we see
It’s gotta be the last days
Gotta be the last daysThat’s what they said, someday it would be
Now just look around if that’s what we see
It’s gotta be the last days
Last days, it’s gotta be the last days
It’s gotta be the last days
It’s gotta be the last days
It’s gotta be the last days
It’s gotta be the last days
It’s gotta be the last days
It’s gotta be the last days

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What if the true miracle of Elvis Presley was never his dazzling face, his electric swagger, or the crown that history pressed upon his head? What if his greatest gift was something entirely unseen, living solely in the sound of his breath against a microphone? He possessed a voice of astonishing alchemy—capable of whipping an arena into a frenzy of wild, delirious joy one moment, only to strip a room down to absolute, breathless silence with a single, heartbreaking note. It was an instrument that carried the full spectrum of human endurance: the raw ache of loneliness, the quiet devotion of faith, the fever of first love, and the heavy sorrow of a broken heart, all articulated in ways mere language could never touch. Nearly half a century after his voice fell silent, millions still turn to his records and feel a strange, profound stirring they can’t quite name. Because when Elvis sang, he wasn’t just entertaining a crowd. He possessed the rare, uncanny magic of a soul looking straight into yours—making you feel, with every syllable, that he understood the deepest, quietest corners of your heart.

What cosmic alchemy creates a face so striking that, nearly half a century after he drew his last breath, strangers can still look at an old portrait and feel their hearts instantly surrender? Elvis Presley possessed a rare, breathtaking symmetry that defied mere description—anchored by those unforgettable blue eyes, faultless bone structure, and a smile that could disarm a room in a heartbeat. He held a paradoxical grace, effortlessly projecting both commanding power and profound vulnerability all at once. Yet his true magnetism lay far beyond the physical. Beneath the legendary looks lived an aching, radiant warmth—a quiet tenderness shadowing his confidence, and a subtle, lingering melancholy that often lingered in his eyes even when his lips were smiling. He looked like a dream the world had conjured, yet his deep, unmistakably human fragility made you feel as though he wasn’t just an icon to be admired from afar, but someone your soul already knew and deeply loved.

How does a man who laid down his microphone nearly half a century ago continue to claim the hearts of generations born decades after his final curtain? Elvis Presley drew his last breath on August 16, 1977, at only forty-two, yet his story refused to end with a gravestone in the Meditation Garden. Instead, something miraculous happened in his absence: the myth deepened, the music found new sanctuaries, and millions of souls who never lived a single day under his living sun learned to love him with a fierce, personal devotion. Every year, modern pilgrims still trace their way to the gates of Graceland, leaving flowers, letters, and tears on stone, while his voice continues to drift from bedroom turntables and digital screens into the ears of youth who weren’t even glimmers in their parents’ eyes when he passed. Yet perhaps the most poignant, quiet tragedy of all is that Elvis never knew. In his loneliest hours, wrestling with the crushing weight of fame and a life slipping through his fingers, he could never have imagined that long after he was gone, unborn generations would still be whispering his name, aching for a man they never touched, and keeping his brilliant, immortal spirit alive.

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A cot waited in a rehearsal hall at RCA Victor’s New York studio while Jimmie Rodgers made his final recordings. Between songs, he lay down to recover enough strength for another take. It was May 1933. Rodgers was 35 and had battled tuberculosis since 1924. As his health deteriorated, his earnings had dwindled. Victor was paying $250 per recorded side, and he wanted to provide for his wife, Carrie, and their daughter, Anita. The sessions started on May 17. Within days, standing to sing became impossible. He worked from an easy chair, supported by pillows that brought him close enough to the microphone, then returned to the cot. On May 24, two musicians accompanied him through three songs. After they left, Rodgers recorded one more with only his guitar: “Years Ago.” He had completed twelve songs in eight days. The following night at the Taft Hotel, severe coughing gave way to hemorrhaging in his lungs. The hotel doctor could not be located. Rodgers fell into a coma and died on May 26, roughly 36 hours after his last recording. Before music made him famous, he had worked as a railroad brakeman. A Southern Railway train carried his body home to Meridian, Mississippi, in a baggage car. According to accounts of the journey, the engineer kept sounding the whistle along the way.

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Lorrie Morgan saved the card Keith Whitley gave her at the Nashville airport for her flight home. When she finally opened it, her husband was dead. It was early May 1989. Lorrie was heading to Alaska to promote her first RCA album, while Keith was enjoying the strongest run of his career. Just weeks earlier, “I’m No Stranger to the Rain” had become his third consecutive No. 1. At home, success had brought little reassurance. Keith had struggled with alcohol for years. A period of sobriety beginning in 1987 lasted about six months. Lorrie later described the fear surrounding his drinking as living with a ticking time bomb. In her 1997 memoir, she recalled tying her leg to his while they slept so she would know if he got up to drink. During her trip, he began drinking again that weekend. On Tuesday morning, May 9, his brother-in-law, Lane Palmer, visited the house in Goodlettsville. They drank coffee and discussed golf and lunch. Palmer left around 8:30 a.m. When he returned roughly an hour later, Keith was lying on the bed, fully dressed and unconscious. The medical examiner determined that he died from acute alcohol poisoning. Traveling back to Nashville, Lorrie read the card she had set aside. She later said its words left her feeling that Keith had been trying to tell her something—a feeling she was left to carry without the chance to ask him.

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For Vince Gill, the memory of singing with Dolly Parton came down to their final note together at the 1995 CMA Awards. Thirty-one years later, on the day she died, he shared that performance again. “We are all crushed here at our house,” he wrote. He called the closing note of their duet one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. Their recording of “I Will Always Love You” began with Dolly’s album *Something Special*. That summer, she revisited three of her classics, including the farewell she had written for Porter Wagoner in 1973. It had already topped the country chart twice in her own voice, and Whitney Houston’s 1992 recording had brought it to listeners worldwide. For this version, Dolly invited Vince to join her. They performed it on the Grand Ole Opry on August 26, 1995, during a TNN broadcast. Radio programmers began playing the duet before Columbia officially issued it as a single. That unsolicited airplay carried it onto Billboard’s country chart at No. 53. On October 4, they sang it again at the CMA Awards. Vince, then 38, was hosting the broadcast at the Grand Ole Opry House. He stepped away from those duties to sing beside the woman who had written the song when he was sixteen. As the performance ended, their voices met on one sustained note. Decades later, that was the moment he singled out. Released as a single that November, the duet reached No. 15, received a Grammy nomination and won the 1996 CMA award for Vocal Event of the Year. But Vince’s remembrance centered on what he had heard standing beside her. Dolly died in Nashville on August 25, 2026, at 80, after a brief battle with cancer. Two days later, Vince appeared at the Midland Theatre in Kansas City. He told the audience how deeply his family was hurting, then began “I Will Always Love You.” This time, he sang it alone. Fan footage captured him struggling with his emotions throughout the performance. When he stepped back to compose himself, people in the audience carried the words. Musicians behind him wiped their eyes. He reached the closing note without Dolly’s voice beside his. After finishing, he moved away from the microphone, placed a hand over his chest and lowered his head.