The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

Guy Mitchell – Heartaches by the Number

About the Song

Guy Mitchell’s 1959 hit, “Heartaches by the Number,” is a poignant ballad that paints a vivid picture of unrequited love and enduring devotion. Written by the legendary country songwriter Harlan Howard, the song became a popular crossover hit, resonating with audiences across genres with its relatable lyrics and heartfelt delivery.

The song opens with a simple yet impactful statement: “Heartaches by the number, troubles by the score.” This line immediately sets the stage for a narrative of emotional pain and unfulfilled desires. Mitchell’s smooth vocals, imbued with a touch of melancholy, perfectly convey the protagonist’s heartache.

The lyrics that follow detail a series of disappointments, each adding to the protagonist’s emotional burden:

“First heartache, when you left me Second heartache, you came back but never meant to stay Third heartache, when you called me and said you were coming back to stay I waited for your knock on the door, but you lost your way.”

Each verse delves deeper into the cycle of hope and disappointment, highlighting the protagonist’s unwavering affection despite repeated heartbreak. The repeated chorus, “Yes, I’ve got heartaches by the number, a love that I can’t win,” becomes a powerful refrain, emphasizing the seemingly insurmountable nature of the protagonist’s unrequited love.

Despite the overwhelming sadness, the song also hints at a glimmer of hope. The line, “But the day that I stop counting, that’s the day my world would end,” suggests that even in the midst of pain, the protagonist’s love remains strong and unwavering.

Musically, “Heartaches by the Number” is a classic example of 1950s pop music. The gentle melody, accompanied by soft strings and a steady rhythm, creates a melancholic atmosphere that perfectly complements the emotional lyrics. Mitchell’s smooth and controlled vocals further enhance the song’s emotional depth, leaving a lasting impression on the listener.

“Heartaches by the Number” has transcended its time, becoming a timeless classic in the world of country and pop music. Its enduring popularity speaks to the universality of unrequited love and the resilience of the human spirit, making it a song that continues to resonate with listeners of all generations.

Facebook Caption

Video

Lyrics: Heartaches by the Number

Heartaches by the number, troubles by the score
Everyday you love me less, each day I love you more
Yes, I’ve got heartaches by the number, a love that I can’t win
But the day that I stop counting, that’s the day my world will endHeartache number one was when you left me
I never knew that I could hurt this way
And heartache number two was when you came back again
You came back but never meant to stay

Yes, I’ve got
Heartaches by the number, troubles by the score
Everyday you love me less, each day I love you more
Yes, I’ve got heartaches by the number, a love that I can’t win
But the day that I stop counting, that’s the day my world will end

Heartache number three was when you called me
And said that you were coming back to stay
With hopeful heart I waited for your knock on the door
I waited, but you must have lost your way

Yes, I’ve got
Heartaches by the number, troubles by the score
Everyday you love me less, each day I love you more
Yes, I’ve got heartaches by the number, a love that I can’t win
But the day that I stop counting, that’s the day my world will end

 

Related Post

Elvis Presley’s greatest musical gift was not putting words onto paper. It was hearing something inside a song that other people sometimes could not hear yet. Give him someone else’s melody and lyrics, and he could reshape the emotion through his phrasing, timing and voice until the recording felt intensely personal.

The musicians at RCA Studio B were ready to make records. They were not ready for the way Elvis Presley entered the room. During his celebrated Nashville sessions in 1970, bassist Norbert Putnam remembered Elvis appearing in dramatic fashion—wearing a flowing black cape and carrying an ornate cane. Putnam later recalled the impression that it was almost as though “a prince had walked into the room.”

STONEWALL JACKSON ASKED TOM T. HALL TO WRITE A PRISON SONG, BUT HALL COULD NOT DO IT BECAUSE HE HAD NEVER ACTUALLY BEEN TO PRISON. Tom T. Hall spent his early career turning out the kind of polished, commercial hits that Nashville publishers lived for. He could write what people expected, but he always felt like a fraud. When Stonewall Jackson approached him requesting a prison song—hoping to capture that rugged, authentic aura Johnny Cash was building—Hall hit a wall. He stared at his notepad, realized he had no genuine experience with a cell, and flatly refused to fake it. He was a songwriter, not an actor, and his pride kept him from writing about a world he didn’t know. His wife, Dixie, cut through the tension with a simple reminder: he had indeed spent a week in a county jail in Kentucky after a traffic violation. That memory was not cinematic or heroic. It was just mundane, quiet, and uncomfortable. It involved bad food, the sound of iron bars, and the slow, agonizing crawl of days where the jailer’s wife suddenly started looking like the most beautiful woman on earth. He stopped writing songs that invented generic situations and started reporting the people and places he actually encountered. The result was his first number one hit, written like a man telling a story across a kitchen table. Stonewall Jackson never got his song, but Hall finally found his own voice in the silence of that jail cell.

You Missed

Oldies Musics

Elvis Presley’s greatest musical gift was not putting words onto paper. It was hearing something inside a song that other people sometimes could not hear yet. Give him someone else’s melody and lyrics, and he could reshape the emotion through his phrasing, timing and voice until the recording felt intensely personal.

Oldies Musics

The musicians at RCA Studio B were ready to make records. They were not ready for the way Elvis Presley entered the room. During his celebrated Nashville sessions in 1970, bassist Norbert Putnam remembered Elvis appearing in dramatic fashion—wearing a flowing black cape and carrying an ornate cane. Putnam later recalled the impression that it was almost as though “a prince had walked into the room.”

Country

Lisa Marie Presley grew up in a house visited by some of the most famous people in the world, yet the person who mattered most to her was the man everyone else called the King. To millions, Elvis Presley was an untouchable superstar. To Lisa, he was the father who loved to spoil her, make her laugh and turn ordinary moments at Graceland into childhood adventures.

Country

BOB DYLAN AND JOHNNY CASH SHATTERED THE WALLS OF NASHVILLE WITHOUT FIRING A SINGLE SHOT. Columbia Studio A sat thick with the smell of stale coffee and cigarette smoke on a February morning in 1969. While the rock world was chasing ghosts in psychedelic haze, Bob Dylan stepped into the epicenter of American country music with a voice that sounded like it had been dragged across gravel. He wasn’t there to challenge the gatekeepers at the Opry; he was there to find the heartbeat of a sound he had loved from afar. Johnny Cash walked through the heavy studio doors, guitar in hand, and for two days, the rigid borders of genre simply dissolved into the air. They didn’t record some grand manifesto to change the industry. Instead, they sat on stools and tore through old folk standards and each other’s deep cuts, letting the microphones capture the loose, unvarnished truth of a collaboration that felt more like a porch gathering than a major label session. Carl Perkins added his own licks to the mix, blending the percussive snap of rock and roll with the lonesome ache of a country ballad. It was a deliberate, quiet rebellion that treated the traditions of both worlds as neighbors rather than strangers. When the tape stopped rolling, they walked away having proved that the lines drawn by radio programmers were mostly make-believe. The Ryman Auditorium stage eventually welcomed a new kind of guest, and the air in Nashville felt lighter, forever changed by two men who knew that music didn’t need permission to belong everywhere at once.