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Don’t Talk to Him – Cliff Richard and The Shadows (1963)

The Shadows | Members, Songs, Music, & Facts | Britannica

About the Song

“Don’t Talk to Him” is a song by British singer Cliff Richard and his backing band The Shadows. It was released in November 1963 as the third single from Richard’s fifth studio album, Summer Holiday. The song was written by Bruce Welch and Hank Marvin, two members of The Shadows.

The song is a pop ballad about a young man who is warning a girl not to talk to his rival. The song’s lyrics are simple but effective, and the melody is catchy and memorable. Richard’s vocals are strong and passionate, and The Shadows provide excellent backing with their distinctive guitar sound.

“Don’t Talk to Him” was a commercial success. It reached number two on the UK Singles Chart and number one in Australia. The song was also a critical success, with many critics praising Richard’s vocals and The Shadows’ musicianship.

The song has been covered by many artists over the years, including:

  • The Beatles
  • The Rolling Stones
  • The Beach Boys
  • Roy Orbison
  • Elvis Presley

“Don’t Talk to Him” is a classic pop ballad that has stood the test of time. It is a song that is sure to continue to be enjoyed by listeners for many years to come.

Here are some additional details about the song:

  • The song was recorded in London, England.
  • The song was produced by Norrie Paramor.
  • The song’s B-side was “Do You Want to Dance”.
  • The song was a commercial success, reaching number two on the UK Singles Chart and number one in Australia.
  • The song has been covered by many artists, including The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and The Beach Boys.

Here are some interesting facts about the song:

  • The song was originally written for Cliff Richard’s film Summer Holiday.
  • The song was inspired by the film’s plot, which features a love triangle.
  • The song was a major hit in the UK and Australia, and it helped to establish Cliff Richard as one of the most popular singers in the world.

The Shadows interview: 'Cliff Richard was always one of us'

Video

Lyrics: Don’t Talk to Him

If some guy tells you, I don’t careAnd tells you lies, while I’m not thereDon’t talk to him
And if he tells you, I’m untrueThen darling, here’s what you must doDon’t talk to him
And if he tells you, I’ve been seenWalking round with Sue and JeanHe’s lying again (lying again)
Do anything that you want toBut darling, this I beg of youDon’t talk to him
If you hear the words he has to sayHe’ll break your heartLet your love for me prove strongWhile we are far apart
So just remember what I sayAnd trust in me, while I’m awayFor I’ll be true
And just rememberMy true love is brighter than the moon aboveFor only you
And if this guy should try to sayMy love for you is only playMerely a whim (merely a whim)
Just close your eyes and count to tenThink of me againBut don’t you talk to him
And if he tells you, I’ve been seenWalking round with Sue and JeanHe’s lying again (lying again)
Do anything that you want toBut darling, this I beg of youDon’t talk to him
If you hear the words he has to sayHe’ll break your heartLet your love for me prove strongWhile we are far apart
So just remember what I sayTrust in me, while I’m awayFor I’ll be true
And just rememberMy true love is brighter than the moon aboveFor only you
And if this guy should try to sayMy love for your is only playMerely a whim (merely a whim)
Close your eyes, count to tenThink of me againBut don’t you talk to him

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Tucked away in a private drawer, far from the polished sets of her television show, lay a bundle of 341 letters. These were not press clippings or scripts; they were brittle, handwritten testimonies from servicemen stationed in remote barracks, deep in war-torn tunnels, and across desolate battlefields. During the long years of the Second World War, as Hollywood presented a glossy, curated image of American life, Donna Reed spent her nights reading these letters and, more remarkably, personally answering them. This was the quiet, invisible work that defined her, long before the public labeled her the quintessential television mother. Behind the camera during her production years, Reed was a different person entirely. She was rarely seen holding a script for a scene; she was more likely to be found hunched over lighting diagrams or studying the intricacies of cinematography. She possessed an uncredited producer’s mind, constantly analyzing how the frame could better reflect the reality of the family she was trying to depict. The studio environment was frequently cold and high-pressured, but she moved through it with a meticulous attention to detail that frustrated those who wanted to treat her as merely another pretty face in the cast. These tactile remnants—the stacks of ink-stained paper and the forgotten notes on camera angles—tell the story of a woman who never truly fit the box Hollywood built for her. While the world remembers the steady, comforting image of a television home, she lived a life carved out of hard labor and deep empathy. She carried the weight of those soldiers’ stories and the technical burdens of the studio floor until her final days, forever balancing the fragility of her public image against the demanding, gritty reality of her actual life.