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Then He Kissed Me – The Crystals

Phil Spector's American soul singing group The Crystals, from left to right; Barbara, Dee Dee, Fran and La La, all wrapped up at London Airport for...

About the Song

In the realm of pop music, there are songs that capture the fleeting essence of a moment, and then there are those that transcend time and genre, becoming anthems that encapsulate the very essence of love, longing, and youthful exuberance. “Then He Kissed Me” by The Crystals is undoubtedly one of the latter, a song that has stood the test of over six decades, captivating audiences worldwide with its infectious melody, innocent lyrics, and timeless message.

Released in 1962, “Then He Kissed Me” marked a turning point in the evolution of pop music. Its doo-wop infused sound, characterized by its close harmonies, handclaps, and a driving beat, was a departure from the more traditional pop ballads of the era. It was a sound that resonated with a generation of teenagers, capturing the raw emotions and unrestrained joy of first love.

The song’s lyrics, penned by Phil Spector and Bob B. Mann, are a simple yet evocative ode to the power of a kiss. The narrator, a young woman, recounts the moment her beau surprises her with a kiss, sending shivers down her spine and setting her heart ablaze. The language is direct and unadorned, devoid of flowery metaphors or complex imagery, yet it speaks volumes about the transformative power of physical touch and the innocence of young love.

The Crystals‘ rendition of “Then He Kissed Me” is nothing short of electrifying. The group’s four vocalists, Darlene Love, Barbara Jean Love, La La James, and Patsy Murray, deliver the song with an infectious energy and unbridled enthusiasm that is impossible to resist. Their voices intertwine seamlessly, creating a wall of sound that is both powerful and delicate.

The song’s impact on popular culture is undeniable. It has been covered by countless artists, from The Beatles and Cher to Bruce Springsteen and Dolly Parton, each infusing it with their own unique interpretation. It has appeared in numerous films and television shows, providing a soundtrack to countless coming-of-age stories.

“Then He Kissed Me” is more than just a pop song; it is a cultural touchstone, a reminder of a time when love was simple, pure, and unadulterated. It is a song that has the power to transport listeners back to their youth, evoking memories of first crushes, stolen kisses, and the intoxicating feeling of being young and in love.

In a world that often seems jaded and cynical, “Then He Kissed Me” stands as a beacon of hope, a reminder of the transformative power of love and the simple joys of life. It is a song that deserves to be cherished for generations to come.The Crystals - Wikipedia

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Lyrics: Then He Kissed Me

Well, he walked up to me and he asked me if I wanted to dance
He looked kinda nice and so I said I might take a chance
When he danced he held me tight
And when he walked me home that night
All the stars were shining bright
And then he kissed meEach time I saw him I couldn’t wait to see him again
I wanted to let him know that he was more than a friend
I didn’t know just what to do
So I whispered “I love you”
And he said that he loved me too
And then he kissed meHe kissed me in a way that I’ve never been kissed before
He kissed me in a way that I wanna be kissed forever moreI knew that he was mine so I gave him all the love that I had
And one day he took me home to meet his mom and his dad
Then he asked me to be his bride
And always be right by his side
I felt so happy I almost cried
And then he kissed meThen he asked me to be his bride
And always be right by his side
I felt so happy I almost cried
And then he kissed me
And then he kissed me
And then he kissed me

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HIS FATHER TOLD HIM TO PUT DOWN THE GUITAR. NASHVILLE FORGOT HIM. TWICE. HE CAME BACK IN A WHEELCHAIR AND STILL WOULDN’T SHUT UP. Vern Gosdin grew up hauling rocks and chopping cotton in Woodland, Alabama. His father tried music once, failed, and forbade his son from ever touching a guitar. Vern left home and never looked back — never saw his father again. He moved to California. Then Chicago. Then Nashville. Two record labels went bankrupt under him. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. So he quit, moved to Georgia, and sold glass for a living. But he kept a guitar in his truck. In the late ’70s, he crawled back to Nashville — older, broker, and angrier than every pretty boy on country radio. He didn’t sound trendy. He sounded like a man who’d been through hell and could prove it. Then he wrote “Chiseled in Stone” and beat every superstar in town for CMA Song of the Year. Tammy Wynette called him “the only singer who can hold a candle to George Jones.” In 1998, a stroke stole his voice. He kept writing from a wheelchair. 101 songs. Still fighting. They called him “The Voice.” Nashville called him too late. Does knowing how many times Vern Gosdin had to start over make “Chiseled in Stone” hit even harder now?

SHE WAS A BRIDE AT FIFTEEN, A MOTHER AT SIXTEEN, AND THE FIRST WOMAN NASHVILLE EVER HAD TO CALL “ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR” — THEN SHE NAMED HER BABY AFTER THE BEST FRIEND SHE’D JUST BURIED, AND THAT BABY SPENT A LIFETIME MAKING SURE NEITHER VOICE WAS FORGOTTEN. Loretta Lynn came out of Butcher Hollow, Kentucky, with nothing but a coal miner’s last name and a voice that could pin a grown man to his chair. Married before she could drive. Four children by twenty-two. Then she wrote songs that scared Nashville half to death — about cheating husbands, birth control pills, and women who’d had enough. Sixteen number-ones. Presidential Medal of Freedom. The whole world calling her the Coal Miner’s Daughter. In 1963, her best friend Patsy Cline died in a plane crash. The next year, Loretta gave birth to twins. She named one of them Patsy. That little girl grew up backstage, between tour buses and honky-tonks. She formed The Lynns with her twin sister Peggy. Earned CMA nominations. Then she did something quieter and heavier — she stepped behind the glass and co-produced her mother’s final albums alongside Johnny Cash’s son. Loretta died October 4, 2022. That first birthday without her, Patsy woke up reaching for a phone call that wasn’t coming — her mama singing “Happy Birthday,” the way she always had. Does knowing Loretta named her daughter after a ghost she never stopped grieving make “I Fall to Pieces” feel like it belongs to both of them now?

“YOU MAKE THE COFFEE, I’LL MAKE THE BED.” — GLEN CAMPBELL DIDN’T NEED A LOVE POEM. HE JUST NEEDED AN OKLAHOMA MORNING. In December 1971, Glen Campbell released “Oklahoma Sunday Morning.” It peaked at #15 on the country charts—not his biggest hit by a long shot. But something about this track stuck. It wasn’t about fame or tragedy; it was about coffee, making the bed, and packing a lunch. It was the kind of love that doesn’t make headlines. But the way Glen sang it, you realized he wasn’t just describing a routine. He was singing about the only place that truly felt like home. A kid from a sharecropper’s family of twelve in Delight, Arkansas—who went on to sell 45 million records—poured something deeply personal into this quiet track. Fifty years later, folks across Oklahoma still know every word. Some songs don’t need to reach #1. They just need to be true.

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HIS FATHER TOLD HIM TO PUT DOWN THE GUITAR. NASHVILLE FORGOT HIM. TWICE. HE CAME BACK IN A WHEELCHAIR AND STILL WOULDN’T SHUT UP. Vern Gosdin grew up hauling rocks and chopping cotton in Woodland, Alabama. His father tried music once, failed, and forbade his son from ever touching a guitar. Vern left home and never looked back — never saw his father again. He moved to California. Then Chicago. Then Nashville. Two record labels went bankrupt under him. Nobody called. Nobody came looking. So he quit, moved to Georgia, and sold glass for a living. But he kept a guitar in his truck. In the late ’70s, he crawled back to Nashville — older, broker, and angrier than every pretty boy on country radio. He didn’t sound trendy. He sounded like a man who’d been through hell and could prove it. Then he wrote “Chiseled in Stone” and beat every superstar in town for CMA Song of the Year. Tammy Wynette called him “the only singer who can hold a candle to George Jones.” In 1998, a stroke stole his voice. He kept writing from a wheelchair. 101 songs. Still fighting. They called him “The Voice.” Nashville called him too late. Does knowing how many times Vern Gosdin had to start over make “Chiseled in Stone” hit even harder now?

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THEY LOOKED LIKE FOUR OUTLAWS WHO COULD OUTRUN TIME ITSELF. BUT WHEN YOU WATCH THE HIGHWAYMEN SING “BIG RIVER” TODAY, THE EMPTY MICROPHONES BREAK YOUR HEART. Onstage, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Willie Nelson looked untouchable. Four weathered men, four different wounds, four voices that made country music sound dangerous, honest, and free. When they traded verses on Cash’s “Big River,” it wasn’t just another performance. It was four old brothers chasing the same song down the same river, each one carrying a piece of the road in his voice. Cash brought the thunder. Waylon brought the grit. Kris brought the broken-poet soul. Willie floated above it all with that calm, aching grace only he could carry. Back then, the stage lights made it easy to believe they would always be there. That was the beautiful lie of watching legends stand side by side. But time does what no outlaw ever could: it catches everyone. Today, Cash is gone. Waylon is gone. Kris has crossed the river too. Willie is the only one left, still playing, still standing, still carrying a brotherhood that can never fully gather again. That is why “Big River” feels different now. It is no longer just a song about chasing something you cannot hold. It feels like time itself moving past four men we were not ready to lose. The song remains. But three microphones are empty. Does “Big River” feel heavier now that Willie is the only one left to sing it?

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SHE WAS A BRIDE AT FIFTEEN, A MOTHER AT SIXTEEN, AND THE FIRST WOMAN NASHVILLE EVER HAD TO CALL “ENTERTAINER OF THE YEAR” — THEN SHE NAMED HER BABY AFTER THE BEST FRIEND SHE’D JUST BURIED, AND THAT BABY SPENT A LIFETIME MAKING SURE NEITHER VOICE WAS FORGOTTEN. Loretta Lynn came out of Butcher Hollow, Kentucky, with nothing but a coal miner’s last name and a voice that could pin a grown man to his chair. Married before she could drive. Four children by twenty-two. Then she wrote songs that scared Nashville half to death — about cheating husbands, birth control pills, and women who’d had enough. Sixteen number-ones. Presidential Medal of Freedom. The whole world calling her the Coal Miner’s Daughter. In 1963, her best friend Patsy Cline died in a plane crash. The next year, Loretta gave birth to twins. She named one of them Patsy. That little girl grew up backstage, between tour buses and honky-tonks. She formed The Lynns with her twin sister Peggy. Earned CMA nominations. Then she did something quieter and heavier — she stepped behind the glass and co-produced her mother’s final albums alongside Johnny Cash’s son. Loretta died October 4, 2022. That first birthday without her, Patsy woke up reaching for a phone call that wasn’t coming — her mama singing “Happy Birthday,” the way she always had. Does knowing Loretta named her daughter after a ghost she never stopped grieving make “I Fall to Pieces” feel like it belongs to both of them now?

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“YOU MAKE THE COFFEE, I’LL MAKE THE BED.” — GLEN CAMPBELL DIDN’T NEED A LOVE POEM. HE JUST NEEDED AN OKLAHOMA MORNING. In December 1971, Glen Campbell released “Oklahoma Sunday Morning.” It peaked at #15 on the country charts—not his biggest hit by a long shot. But something about this track stuck. It wasn’t about fame or tragedy; it was about coffee, making the bed, and packing a lunch. It was the kind of love that doesn’t make headlines. But the way Glen sang it, you realized he wasn’t just describing a routine. He was singing about the only place that truly felt like home. A kid from a sharecropper’s family of twelve in Delight, Arkansas—who went on to sell 45 million records—poured something deeply personal into this quiet track. Fifty years later, folks across Oklahoma still know every word. Some songs don’t need to reach #1. They just need to be true.