The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics Rock

Wally Tax and The Outsiders: Legends of Dutch Rock

Introduction

The Outsiders, a timeless rock band, gave us the unforgettable song “Respectable” that has left an indelible mark on music enthusiasts around the world. In this article, we delve into the roots of this iconic track, exploring its significance and the story behind its creation. So, sit back and get ready to journey through the soulful sounds of The Outsiders as we explore the song “Respectable”.Time Won't Let Me - Wikipedia

Did You Know?

Did you know that “Respectable” was originally recorded by The Isley Brothers in 1966? However, it was the Dutch rock band The Outsiders who truly made the song their own when they covered it in 1967. The Outsiders’ rendition injected a new sense of urgency and energy into the track, turning it into a rock ‘n’ roll classic. Their version of “Respectable” remains one of the most iconic covers in music history.

About The Outsiders

The Outsiders, hailing from the Netherlands, were known for their unique take on the rock music of the ’60s. Led by the charismatic singer Wally Tax, the band enjoyed widespread recognition for their electrifying performances and unforgettable melodies.

A Dutch Band’s International Impact

“Respectable” by The Outsiders was not only a hit in their home country but also gained international acclaim. The song’s powerful lyrics and the band’s electrifying performance resonated with audiences far and wide, making The Outsiders a name to reckon with in the global music scene.Time Won't Let Me” Tuesdays – The Outsiders Interviews Part 2 of 4 - Goldmine Magazine: Record Collector & Music Memorabilia

Video

Lyrics: Respectable

What kind of girl is this?
She’s never ever been kissed
Rubbidy rub dub dub
She’s never ever been in love
She’s never been in the moonlight
Watchin’ the stars above
What kind of girl is this?
She’s never been out on a date
What kind of girl is this?
She’s never ever come home late
But I begged her on my knees to please go out with me
And she did
Did ya love her? (No, no, no, no!)
Did ya hug her? (No, no no no no!)
Did ya kiss her? (No, no, no, no!)
Did ya squeeze her? (No, no no no no!)
What kind of girl is this?
She’s never ever been kissed
What kind of girl is this?
Let me tell you
She’s the kind you can’t resist
But I lover her, can’t you see?
She’s the kind of girl for me
She’s so respectable!

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.