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Dion And The Belmonts – ‘Little Diane’

Dion and the Belmonts - Wikipedia

About the Song

Dion & The Belmonts were an American doo-wop group that was popular in the late 1950s and early 1960s. The group was formed in the Bronx, New York, and consisted of Dion DiMucci (lead vocals), Angelo D’Angelo (tenor), Carlo Mastrangelo (bass), and Freddie Milano (baritone). The Belmonts were one of the first rock and roll groups to achieve mainstream success, and their music has had a lasting impact on popular culture.

“Little Diane” is one of Dion & The Belmonts’ most popular songs. It was written by Dion and released in 1962. The song reached number eight on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and has been covered by many artists over the years. The song is a classic example of doo-wop music, and it features Dion’s powerful vocals and The Belmonts’ smooth harmonies.

The lyrics of “Little Diane” are about a young man who is in love with a girl named Diane. He sings about her beauty, her personality, and his love for her. The song is full of teenage angst and longing, and it captures the essence of young love.

“Little Diane” is a timeless classic that has been enjoyed by generations of listeners. It is a song that is sure to put a smile on your face and make you want to dance.

Here are some additional details about the song:

  • The song was recorded in New York City in 1961.
  • The song was produced by Laurie Records.
  • The song’s B-side was “I Wonder Why”.
  • The song was a commercial success, reaching number eight on the Billboard Hot 100 chart.
  • The song has been covered by many artists, including The Beach Boys, The Beatles, and Elton John.

Here are some interesting facts about the song:

  • The song was inspired by Dion’s real-life crush on a girl named Diane.
  • The song was originally written as a ballad, but it was sped up at the suggestion of Dion’s producer.
  • The song was used in the 1973 film American Graffiti.

Video

Lyrics: Little Diane

Diane, down deep inside, I cryDiane, without your love, I’d dieDiane, you know you drive me wild, DianeYou’re such a little evil child, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, I wanna pack and leave and slap your faceBad girls like you are a disgraceWay down deep inside, I cryWithout you, little Diane, I’d die
I should drag you down ’cause you’re no goodYou’re two-faced, your heart’s made of woodBut way down deep inside, I cryWithout you, little Diane, I’d die
Listen to my heartOh, you’re tearin’ it apartOh, why don’t you understand?Why don’t you stop it?Stop itStop it if you can
I want to spread the news that you’re untrueBut Diane, what good would it do?‘Cause way down deep inside, I cryWithout you, little Diane, I’d die, I’d die
Yeah, don’t you understand, Diane?
I said, yeah, yeah, yeah
I said, listen to the beatOh, I feel it in my feetOh, now it’s my heart, DianeWhy don’t you stop it?Stop itStop it if you can
I want to spread the news that you’re untrueBut Diane, what good would it do?‘Cause way down deep inside, I cryWithout you, little Diane, I’d die, oh
YeahOhOh, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

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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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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.