Good Timin´

About the Song

Jimmy Jones was a beloved American singer whose career flourished in the late 1950s and early 1960s, particularly known for his smooth vocal style and his ability to convey both joy and emotional depth through his performances. One of his most memorable songs, “Good Timin'”, released in 1960, is a perfect example of his contribution to the era’s musical landscape. The track stands as a classic, encapsulating the spirit of the time with its uplifting rhythm and feel-good lyrics.

“Good Timin'” is an infectious, upbeat love song that immediately connects with listeners through its simplicity and sincerity. The lyrics express the joy and contentment that come with a relationship where everything just feels right. Jones sings about the pleasure of spending time with a special someone, and the song’s catchy refrain — “Good timin’, good timin’” — echoes a sentiment that resonates universally. It’s the type of song you can’t help but tap your foot to, and it evokes a sense of nostalgia for the carefree days of youth.

The track’s production is polished yet retains an effortless charm. The orchestral arrangements are lush but not overpowering, allowing Jones’ smooth voice to take center stage. The arrangement mirrors the mood of the lyrics perfectly, with a gentle sway and a rhythm that mirrors the steady, comforting pace of a good time spent with a loved one. There’s a lightness to the song that invites you to relax and enjoy the moment, making it a timeless classic.

Though “Good Timin'” was not as commercially successful as some other hits from the era, it has endured as one of Jimmy Jones’ most beloved songs, a true gem of the 1960s pop-soul genre. It continues to be cherished by those who appreciate the simplicity of good music and the pure joy that comes with a well-crafted tune. Jimmy Jones might not have become a household name like some of his contemporaries, but with songs like “Good Timin'”, his place in the history of American pop music is firmly secured.Jimmy Jones (singer) - Wikipedia

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Lyrics: Good Timin’

Oh, you need timin’A-ticka, ticka, ticka, good timin’A-tocka, tocka, tocka, tockaTimin’ is the thingIt’s trueGood timin’ brought me to you(Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo)
If little, little David hadn’t grabbed that stoneLyin’ there on the groundBig Goliath might’ve stomped on himInstead of the other way ’round
But he had timin’A-ticka, ticka, ticka, good timin’A-tocka, tocka, tocka, tockaTimin’ is the thingIt’s trueGood timin’ brought me to you(Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo)
Who in the World would have ever knownWhat Columbus could doIf Queen Isabella hadn’t hocked her jewelsIn 1492?
But she had timin’A-ticka, ticka, ticka, good timin’A-tocka, tocka, tocka, tockaTimin’ is the thingIt’s trueGood timin’ brought me to you(Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo)
What would have happened if you and IHadn’t just happened to meet?We might have spent the rest of our livesWalkin’ down Misery Street
But we had timin’A-ticka, ticka, ticka, good timin’A-tocka, tocka, tocka, tockaTimin’ is the thingIt’s trueGood timin’ brought me to you
Yeah, we had timin’Whoa, whoa, whoa, good timin’Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeahTimin’ is the thingIt’s trueGood timin’ brought me to you
Yeah, we had timin’Whoa, whoa, whoa, good timin’Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeahTimin’ is the thing

You Missed

Patsy stood in a dress she felt was a costume, fighting the producer’s demand to sing a song she genuinely disliked. The studio lights at Arthur Godfrey’s Talent Scouts burned hot that January night in 1957. Patsy stood backstage with a heart set on performing a different ballad, holding a vision of her own career that didn’t include the uptempo swing of a song she found tedious. She wanted the emotional weight of a country tear-jerker; the producer wanted a hit. The pressure in that dressing room was palpable, a quiet collision between an artist’s stubborn intuition and the cold machinery of television producers who cared more about broadcast tempo than personal conviction. She walked out there wearing a cocktail dress instead of her usual cowgirl gear, an image she felt didn’t belong to her. As the cameras rolled, she surrendered to the arrangement. She sang those lyrics she didn’t care for, her voice cutting through the air with a clean, haunting authority that demanded the nation’s attention. By the time the final note hung in the rafters, she hadn’t just won a competition; she had fundamentally altered the trajectory of her life. The audience erupted, and Arthur Godfrey broke protocol to tell her she had secured the victory before the commercial break even arrived. Success is often a fickle companion that arrives wearing the face of a stranger. That song, the one she fought against until the very last second, cemented her name on the charts and defined the sound of her breakthrough. She stood under those bright lights, the applause washing over a woman who had finally and accidentally found the exact sound the world was waiting for.

To save his career, a Tennessee farm boy had to learn how to walk, sing, and breathe inside the glass walls of an urban professional studio. By the late 1950s, the steel guitars and cowboy boots that propelled Eddy Arnold to the top of the charts were gathering dust. The radio airwaves had shifted beneath his feet, and the hits that once felt effortless were drying up entirely. Arnold stood at a crossroads, staring down the very real possibility of packing his bags and leaving the music business for good. He was a man out of time, clinging to an image that the new American consumer no longer wanted to buy. Instead of bowing out, he began a slow, deliberate demolition of the persona that had made him a star. The rustic, down-home threads were traded for the sharp, muted formality of a tuxedo. The steel guitars were replaced by sweeping orchestral arrangements and velvet-smooth vocal deliveries designed for supper clubs rather than honky-tonks. He was not just updating his sound; he was performing an act of total reinvention, moving from the farmhouse to the high-rise with startling, cold calculation. When he recorded Make the World Go Away in 1965, the gamble achieved something profound. The song bypassed the traditional country boundaries, finding a home on the pop charts and turning his perceived failure into a second, far more lucrative life. He never went back to the plow. He sat under the studio lights, a man who had successfully traded his heritage for a tuxedo and a permanent place in the modern spotlight.