Best Buy: The Best of the Five Americans [CD]

About the Song

While the music landscape of the 1960s was bursting with innovation and experimentation, some songs found success by capturing a more relatable experience. “Western Union” by The Five Americans, released in 1967, falls squarely in this category. This catchy tune, which reached number 5 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, continues to resonate with listeners today due to its relatable themes and infectious energy.

“Western Union” is a song about the anticipation – and potential disappointment – associated with receiving a telegram, a once-ubiquitous form of communication. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of the protagonist waking up to find “bad news in his head,” a feeling amplified by the arrival of a telegram – a message that could bring either good or bad tidings, often for a hefty price (50 cents at the time).

The song’s brilliance lies in its simplicity. The driving beat and catchy melody are instantly memorable, while the lyrics, delivered with a touch of playful anxiety by The Five Americans, perfectly capture the emotions surrounding that yellow envelope. Whether it’s news from a loved one, a job offer, or simply the mundane realities of life, “Western Union” taps into the universal human experience of waiting for important information.

Beyond its relatable theme, “Western Union” is a prime example of the tight harmonies and vocal prowess that defined The Five Americans. Their smooth blend and energetic delivery add another layer of appeal to the song, making it both catchy and emotionally resonant.

Although telegrams have faded from everyday use, the song’s message remains timeless. In today’s digital age, “Western Union” serves as a reminder of a bygone era of communication, while still capturing the anticipation and anxiety associated with waiting for important news, whether it arrives by text, email, or social media.

URBAN ASPIRINES: The Five Americans: 5 Albums

Video

Lyrics: Western Union

[Intro]
*telegraph*

[Verse 1]
Things went wrong today
Bad news came my way
I woke up to find
Oh, I had blew my mind

[Verse 2]
Western Union man
Bad news in his hand
Knocking at my door
Selling me the score

[Verse 3]
Fifteen cents a word to read
A telegram I didn’t need
Says she doesn’t care no more
Think I’ll throw it on the floor

[Bridge]
Got your cable just today
Killed my groove I’ve got to say-ay-ay

[Chorus]
Western Union
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)

[Verse 3]
Now, you’ve gone away, and
How it’s sad to say you’ve gone
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)
I remember what they said
Now, I’m going out of my head
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)

[Bridge]
Telegram just had to say
You’ve learned your lesson all the way-ay

[Organ Solo]

[Bridge]
Telegram just had to say
You’ve learned your lesson all the way-ay-ay

[Chorus]
Western Union
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)

[Verse 4]
I’ll be on my way ’cause
There’s another girl for me
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)
I’ll be sure of her, and
Things will be as they were
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta
Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)

[Outro]
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)
Western Union
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)
Oh, Western Union
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)
Western Union
(Ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta, ta, ta-ta-ta, ta-ta)

You Missed

KENNY ROGERS SOLD MILLIONS BY PLAYING THE STOIC ROCK, BUT DOLLY PARTON COULD SHATTER THAT IMAGE WITH A SINGLE WHISPERED JOKE. During the 1985 Real Love Tour, the lights were hot and the air in the arena was thick with the weight of expectations. Kenny Rogers stood center stage, a man built on the steady, stoic delivery that defined his career. He had made “We’ve Got Tonight” a gold-plated staple with Sheena Easton, turning Bob Seger’s dusty ballad into a slick, radio-ready machine. But tonight was different because Dolly was leaning against his shoulder, her boots digging into the floorboards, looking at him with that mischievous glint that made every scripted line feel like a potential disaster. She leaned into the microphone, voice dripping with honey and sugar, and tossed in a jab about Sheena that wasn’t in the binder. The band hesitated for a fraction of a second, but Kenny didn’t miss a beat. He doubled over, the stoic country icon losing his composure entirely as the audience roared. For those few minutes, the gloss of the arena production fell away, leaving two legends just trying to keep from ruining the song with their own genuine, unvarnished affection. They stood there in the haze of the spotlight, not as stars executing a setlist, but as two friends anchored by the kind of laughter that only comes when you stop caring who is watching. The crowd was just noise in the background, a distant hum against the reality of a shared joke that no record executive could ever replicate or buy.

PATSY CLINE ENTERED THE NATIONAL STAGE LOOKING LIKE A COUNTRY QUEEN, BUT HER FINEST COSTUMES WERE BORN FROM THE DRUDGERY OF A VIRGINIA SEAMSTRESS SHOP. Before the charts cared, the fringe and rhinestones weren’t Hollywood glamour. They were a mother’s labor, hand-stitched by Hilda Hensley in a small house where the bills never quite stopped piling up. While Patsy sweated through shifts at a local poultry plant and stood on small-town stages in the Virginia heat, her mother worked the needle to create the illusion of success. It was a calculated masquerade designed to give the audience a star before she had even found a place to land. The real cost of stardom wasn’t just the late nights or the contract struggles that held her voice captive for years. It was the crushing weight of maintaining that polished, larger-than-life image while her life was anchored to the brutal practicalities of rent and groceries. The clothes served as a barricade, protecting her from the uncertainty of a career that felt like it might never bloom beyond the regional radio dial. When she finally hit the mainstream in 1957, the world saw the voice that would haunt a generation, but they didn’t see the thousands of stitches holding it all together. The transition from a girl in a handmade skirt to an icon happened in the quiet moments between housework and exhaustion. Behind the glare of the stage lights, the fabric remained, worn thin by the desperate, hopeful labor of a woman preparing her daughter for a world she was not yet ready to inhabit.

CARL PERKINS REACHED THE PEAK OF AMERICAN MUSIC WITH HIS BROTHERS BEFORE A SINGLE CRASH IN DELAWARE TORE THE HEART OUT OF HIS SOUND. The Perkins brothers were bound by more than blood; they were a singular unit forged in the tenant fields of Tennessee and polished in the sweat-soaked corners of local honky-tonks. When they stepped into Sun Records, the trio operated with an intuitive, seamless rhythm that only kin could master. Jay’s guitar work acted as the anchor for Carl’s explosive, syncopated lead, creating a sound that didn’t just borrow from country and blues but dismantled the walls between them entirely. Everything pivoted on a dark stretch of road near Dover in 1956. The car wreck didn’t just crush metal and bone; it shattered the band’s momentum at the exact moment their records began climbing the national charts. While Carl survived the wreckage to chase a long, difficult career, the physical toll on Jay was absolute. The man who had stood beside him in every smoky dive bar across the South was gone by 1958, leaving a void that no amount of studio success or acclaim from later rock icons could ever truly fill. Decades later, the stage still held the familiar sight of the Perkins name, as Carl brought his own sons into the fold to anchor his rhythm section. The touring life went on, the miles accumulated, and the crowds continued to cheer, yet the silence in the gaps between songs remained a permanent weight, a quiet reminder of the day the family band was forever cut in two.