The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

Immersing Yourself in the Energetic Vibes of “Shout” by The Isley Brothers

Introduction

“Shout,” the electrifying anthem by The Isley Brothers, is a timeless masterpiece that continues to ignite dance floors worldwide. Originally released in 1959, this dynamic song encapsulates the essence of rock and roll with its infectious rhythms and soulful vocals. Join us as we delve into the captivating story behind The Isley Brothers’ iconic hit and its lasting impact on music history.

Did You Know?

Fascinating Insights into “Shout” and The Isley Brothers

  • Origins of the Song: “Shout” was initially recorded by The Isley Brothers in 1959 as a gospel-inspired track before they reimagined it into the energetic rock and roll anthem it is known as today.
  • Chart-Topping Success: Upon its release, “Shout” soared to the top of the charts, solidifying The Isley Brothers’ status as pioneers of the rock and roll genre.
  • Cultural Influence: With its infectious energy and call-and-response format, “Shout” became an instant party favorite, inspiring generations of music lovers to dance and sing along.
  • Legacy of The Isley Brothers: Renowned for their innovative sound and electrifying performances, The Isley Brothers have left an indelible mark on music history, with “Shout” standing as a testament to their enduring talent.

Video

Lyrics: Shout 

Well
You know you make me wanna (Shout)
Kick my heels up and (Shout)
Throw my hands up and (Shout)
Throw my head back and (Shout)
Come on now (Shout)

Don’t forget to say you will
Don’t forget to say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
(Say you will)
Say it right now, baby
(Say you will)
Come on, come on
(Say you will)
Say that you
(Say you will)
Come on now

(Say) Say that you love me
(Say) Say that you need me
(Say) Say that you want me
(Say) You wanna please me
(Say) Come on now
(Say) Come on now
(Say) Come on now

(Say) I still remember
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
When you used to be 9 years old
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
Yeah, yeah
I was a fool for you, from the bottom of my soul, yeah
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)

Now that you’ve grown up
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
Grown enough to know, yeah, yeah
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop-wop-wop-wop)
You wanna leave me, you wanna let me go
(Shooby-doo-wop-do-wop)

I want you to know
I said, I want you to know right now, yeah
You been good to me baby
Better than I been to myself, hey, hey
And if you ever leave me
I don’t want nobody else, hey, hey
I said I want you to know, hey
I said I want you to know right now, hey, hey

You know you make me wanna
(Shout, whoo) Hey, yeah
(Shout, whoo) Yeah, yeah, yeah
(Shout, whoo) All right
(Shout, whoo) All right
(Shout, whoo) Come on now
(Shout) Come on now
(Shout) Yeah, yeah, yeah
(Shout) Yeah, yeah, yeah (Good sound)
(Shout) Yeah, yeah, yeah (Good sound)
(Shout) Yeah, yeah, yeah (Good sound)
(Shout) All right (Good sound)
(Shout) All right (Good sound)
(Shout) All right (Good sound)
(Shout) All right

Now wait a minute
I feel all right (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
(Ooh)
Now that I got my woman
I feel all right (Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah)
Every time I think about you
You been so good to me
You know you make me wanna
(Shout, whoo) Lift my heels up and
(Shout, whoo) Throw my head back and
(Shout, whoo) Kick my heels up and
(Shout, whoo) Come on now
(Shout, whoo) Take it easy
(Shout, whoo) Take it easy
(Shout, whoo) Take it easy (Higher)

(Shout) A little bit softer now (Whoo)
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now
(Shout) A little bit softer now

(Shout) A little bit louder now
(Shout) A little bit louder now
(Shout) A little bit louder now (Ooh)
(Shout) A little bit louder now
(Shout) A little bit louder now
(Shout) A little bit louder now
(Shout) A little bit louder now (Whoo)
(Shout) A little bit louder now (Whoo)
(Shout) A little bit louder now (Whoo)
(Shout) A little bit louder now (Whoo)
(Shout) A little bit louder now (Whoo)
(Shout) A little bit louder now
(Shout)

Hey, hey, hey, hey
(Hey, hey, hey, hey)
Hey, hey, hey, hey
(Hey, hey, hey, hey)
Hey, hey, hey, hey
(Hey, hey, hey, hey)
Hey, hey, hey, hey
(Hey, hey, hey, hey)

Jump now
Jump up and shout now (Whoo)
Jump up and shout now (Whoo)
Jump up and shout now (Whoo)
Jump up and shout now (Whoo)
Jump up and shout now (Whoo)
Everybody shout now
Everybody shout now
Everybody, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout, shout (Oh, whoa, yeah)
Shout, shout, shout, shout (Oh, yeah)
Shout, shout, shout, shout
Everybody shout now (Ooh)
Jump up and shout now
Shout, shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout, shout
(Shout)

Related Post

Nothing about the ticket said farewell. On June 19, 1977, thousands entered Omaha’s Civic Auditorium expecting what they had come for many times before: Elvis Presley onstage. There was another concert ahead, another city, another tour date. Nobody in that audience had been told they were watching a man with less than two months left to live.

Some of the saddest photographs of Elvis Presley are not the ones in which he looks tired. They are the ones in which he is smiling. By then, he had everything his younger self could once have dreamed about: money, Graceland, worldwide fame and audiences that still screamed his name. Yet success had never taught him how to replace the people and pieces of life he had lost along the way.

Some Elvis stories are remembered because they happened beneath enormous stage lights. Others survive because they supposedly happened when almost nobody was watching. One such story tells of Elvis noticing an elderly woman struggling with groceries and stopping to help her. For a man accustomed to people noticing him, the striking detail is that he noticed someone else first.

You Missed

Country

FRED FOSTER WARNED DOLLY PARTON THAT GETTING MARRIED WOULD DESTROY HER CAREER, BUT SHE CHOSE A WHITE CHEVY OVER THE BUSINESS SUITS OF NASHVILLE. Fred Foster was a man who understood the machinery of country music better than almost anyone, and he knew exactly what he wanted for his star investment. He told Dolly Parton that a wedding ring would kill her appeal before it even truly began, urging her to wait at least a year. He saw her as a product to be polished, a rising brand that required the appearance of total availability to climb the charts. To Foster, the industry was a ladder, and he believed a husband was nothing more than an anchor that would drag her back down to the red clay. Dolly heard the corporate advice, nodded, and then headed straight for the state line. On a May morning in 1966, she and Carl Dean slipped away to Ringgold, Georgia, accompanied only by her mother. They ducked into a small Baptist church to trade vows, effectively choosing their own life over the carefully orchestrated image Monument Records had mapped out for her. It was a private rebellion that happened far from the neon glare of Music Row. While Dolly ascended to global fame, Carl stayed in the shadows of his asphalt business, stepping away from the spotlight he never asked for. He became the silence behind her roar, the man waiting in an RV, not a dressing room. When the heavy curtains closed and the stadium lights dimmed, she returned to the only world that actually mattered.

Country

While the world obsessed over the wigs, the rhinestone suits, and the global machinery of Dolly Parton, Carl Dean stayed behind in a quiet patch of Tennessee asphalt. He never walked a red carpet, never sat in the front row of the Opry, and never traded his steady work as a paving contractor for the glare of the flashbulbs. He was a man who understood the fundamental weight of a promise made at a Nashville laundromat in 1964, long before the industry tried to turn his wife into a commodity. For fifty years, the tabloids hunted for a crack in the foundation, convinced that her lifelong, inseparable bond with Judy Ogle was something nefarious. They waited for Carl to perform the role of the threatened husband, demanding he force a wedge between the two women who had been friends since they were eight. They wanted a scandal to sell papers, but Carl gave them nothing but a shrug and a warm pot of coffee. He saw no threat in a friendship that predated his own presence in her life. He understood the difference between ownership and partnership. While the cameras turned their lenses toward the manufactured mysteries of their marriage, he remained unmoved, shielding the sanctity of their home from the noise. He was satisfied with the reality of a quiet life that existed entirely apart from the lights of the stage, content to let the world have the icon while he kept the woman.

Country

JIM REEVES DIED IN A PLANE CRASH IN 1964, YET HIS VOICE RULED THE COUNTRY CHARTS FOR TWO DECADES AFTER HE WAS GONE. The silence that followed the wreckage near Nashville was supposed to be final. Mary Reeves, his wife of nearly twenty years, stood amidst the ruins of a life built on touring and radio airplay, left holding nothing but master tapes and half-finished ideas. While most widows would have shuttered the studio doors, Mary chose to treat the vault not as a graveyard, but as an extension of the man himself. She stepped into the producer’s chair, working with engineers to layer modern orchestration over vintage vocals, refusing to let the career end just because the artist had. By 1966, ‘Distant Drums’ topped the charts, sounding as fresh as any current hit on the radio. As the years turned into decades, Mary maintained a rigorous schedule of releases, eventually even pairing Jim’s voice with Patsy Cline’s for a duet that sounded as if they were standing in the same room. Fans didn’t hear ghosts; they heard the smooth, steady baritone that had become the heartbeat of their living rooms. She managed the museum, organized the archives, and navigated the delicate line between honoring a husband and curating an immortal brand. When she finally stepped back, she left behind a legacy that defied time itself. The man was buried in Nashville, but the singer simply never stopped working.

Country

“I CAN’T JUST LEAVE HER WITHOUT TELLING HER HOW IT IS,” RAY PRICE WHISPERED TO HIS ENGINEER IN THE STUDIO DARKNESS. He didn’t care about the chart positions or the industry accolades that had defined his career since the fifties. He needed the technology to capture a sincerity he had spent decades hiding behind the polish of the Ray Price Sound, ensuring the silence of his house wouldn’t be absolute. Ray Price and Janie Phillips shared a life defined by the rhythmic hum of the honky-tonk circuit and the quiet machinery of the music business. By 2012, however, the terminal weight of pancreatic cancer began to dictate the pace of their days. While the chemotherapy drained the vitality from his frame, Ray insisted on returning to the microphone. He chose a collection of love songs that felt like a long-overdue confession, building them out in a Nashville studio while keeping the project shielded from the one person who had been his professional and personal anchor for decades. Janie was kept at a distance, unaware that the distance was intentional. Ray was crafting a final, hidden correspondence. Each session at the microphone required a monumental effort, a man straining against his own biology to ensure the pitch remained true and the phrasing stayed sharp. He finished the work in October 2013, exhausted but satisfied, calling the record the finest thing he had ever managed to capture. He died in December, before the world ever heard a note. When the record eventually surfaced, Janie found herself standing in the spotlight she had spent forty-three years avoiding. She stepped into the radio stations and the silence of their home, carrying the voice of a man who had finally learned how to say what mattered most once he was no longer there to speak it himself.