The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

Roy Orbison – ‘Crying’

About the Song

Roy Orbison’s 1961 ballad, “Crying”, transcends the boundaries of a simple love song. It’s a raw and desperate plea, a torrent of emotions laid bare through Orbison’s signature soaring vocals and dramatic composition. The song became a defining moment in his career, establishing him as a master of portraying heartache and vulnerability.

“Crying” opens with a sense of urgency. The driving rhythm section and Orbison’s yearning vocals capture the desperation of a man consumed by his emotions. He describes a frantic drive, fueled by a feverish need to reach his love. The lyrics paint a vivid picture of longing, with lines like “This fever for you was just burning me up inside” leaving no room for doubt about the intensity of his feelings.

The song’s emotional core lies in the constant refrain, “Crying over you” . Orbison repeats the line with a heartbreaking sincerity, conveying the depths of his despair. The vulnerability he exposes resonates with anyone who has ever experienced the all-consuming pain of heartbreak.

“Crying” isn’t just about romantic love; it’s about the universal human experience of yearning and loss. Orbison’s dramatic delivery, often described as operatic, adds a layer of grandeur to the song’s emotional intensity. The orchestral flourishes and dramatic pauses in the arrangement further emphasize the emotional turmoil within the lyrics.

“Crying” became a signature song for Orbison, a staple of his live shows and a cornerstone of his musical legacy. It has been covered by countless artists across genres, each adding their own interpretation to the timeless themes of love and loss.

“Crying” is more than just a song; it’s an emotional journey. It’s a testament to Roy Orbison’s ability to capture the depths of human emotion and translate them into powerful music. With its raw vulnerability and dramatic flair, “Crying” continues to resonate with listeners, solidifying its place as a classic of the heartbreak genre.

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Lyrics: Crying

I was all right for awhile
I could smile for awhile
But I saw you last night
You held my hand so tight
As you stopped to say, “Hello”Oh, you wished me well
You, you couldn’t tell
That I’d been crying over you
Crying over youWhen you said, “So long”
Left me standing all alone
Alone and crying, crying
Crying, cryingIt’s hard to understand
But the touch of your hand
Can start me cryingI thought that I was over you
But it’s true, so true
I love you even more
Than I did before

But, darling, what can I do?
For you don’t love me
And I’ll always be crying over you
Crying over you

Yes, now you’re gone
And from this moment on
I’ll be crying, crying
Crying, crying
Yeah, crying, crying
Over you

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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.