The Greatest Oldies Music

Oldies Musics

‘I Want A Love I Can See’ by The Temptations

About the Song

In the realm of soul music, few groups stand as tall and iconic as The Temptations. With their silky harmonies, infectious rhythms, and deeply emotive lyrics, they have captivated audiences for generations. Among their extensive discography, one particular song stands out as a testament to their enduring artistry: “I Want a Love I Can See.”

Released in 1965, “I Want a Love I Can See” is a soul ballad that captures the essence of longing and desire. The song’s opening notes, a delicate interplay of piano and strings, set the stage for a heartfelt plea for genuine connection. As David Ruffin’s lead vocals soar, he paints a vivid picture of a love that transcends superficiality, a love that is visible in actions and unwavering devotion.

A testament to the power of vulnerability, “I Want a Love I Can See” strips away the pretense and lays bare the singer’s emotional yearning. The lyrics, penned by the songwriting duo of Whitfield and Holland, are achingly honest, revealing a deep-seated desire for a love that is not just felt but seen and experienced in every facet of life.

The song’s arrangement masterfully complements the emotional depth of the lyrics. The instrumentation, characterized by a gentle groove and subtle flourishes, provides a warm and inviting backdrop for Ruffin’s impassioned vocals. The backing vocals, sung by the other Temptations, add layers of harmony and support, further emphasizing the song’s message of heartfelt connection.

“I Want a Love I Can See” is more than just a love song; it’s a universal anthem for anyone who has ever craved a love that is genuine, unwavering, and demonstrably real. It speaks to the human need for connection, for a love that goes beyond words and gestures and manifests itself in tangible actions and unwavering support.

The song’s enduring popularity is a testament to its timeless message and its ability to resonate with listeners across generations. It has been covered by numerous artists, each bringing their own interpretation to the song while staying true to its core message of emotional authenticity.

“I Want a Love I Can See” is a soul classic that stands the test of time. It is a song that speaks to the heart, reminding us of the power of genuine connection and the importance of seeking a love that is not just felt but seen and experienced in every aspect of our lives.

Video 

Lyrics: I Want A Love I Can See

I want a love I can see. (Ah-Pow-Pow)
That’s the only kind that means a thing to me. (Ah-Pow-Pow)
Don’t want a love you have to tell me about. (Ah-Pow-Pow)
That kind of loving I can sure do without. (I can sure do without)Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeahI want a love I can feel. (Doo-Doo)
That’s the only kind of loving I think it’s real. (Doo-Doo)
Don’t want to be quoted by something I heard now. (Doo-Doo)
‘Cause baby action speaks louder than words. (Ah, louder than words)

Yeah, yeah, yeah

I want a love that’s mine. (I want a love, that’s mine)
In the rain or in sun, sun, sunshine. (I want a love, that’s mine)
A love to keep warm when it’s cold. (I want a love, that’s mine)
The kind of love that will never grow old. (Never grow old)

Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, oh-uh-huh

(Don’t you know I want a love)
(Why don’t you know I want a love)
(Why don’t you know I want a love)

Yeah, yeah, yeah

Want a love I can see. (I wanna love I can see)
The kind of love you can give to me. (Give to me)
The kind of kisses to make, make me melt. (Ooo, make me melt)
The kind of love that can really be felt, now. (Really be felt)

Yeah, yeah, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby… I
Yeah, I want her love now.
The kind of love that can be felt.
Uh-huh. Yeah

Yeah, yeah, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby… I
Yeah
No I, I, I, I… I wanna love her.
Uh-huh. Yeah

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RCA’s doors stayed closed to Dottie West, enough to shake any performer’s confidence in Nashville. Her stints with Starday and Atlantic had left her with little beyond empty pockets and unpaid bills. By 1961, she and her husband, steel guitarist Bill West, were living in a small house in West Nashville. It felt less like a home than a place to make one last, desperate attempt. For years, they had driven back and forth from Cleveland, spending time and money on trips that brought them no closer to getting through the industry’s doors. At that house, Dottie began taking a different approach. Instead of chasing executives, she fed hungry songwriters. Willie Nelson, Roger Miller, and Red Lane started coming over, finding something at her kitchen table that the labels hadn’t offered: someone willing to listen. Auditions gave way to suppers, with Dottie hearing unfinished verses as her guests unpacked their battered guitar cases. If she couldn’t get into the business, she would bring it into her home. Each meal was a deliberate investment in the songwriting Nashville claimed to value but had yet to recognize in her. Things changed the night Jim Reeves heard her song, ‘Is This Me?’ and took it to Chet Atkins. One straightforward exchange over a melody opened a path that had been blocked for years. It wasn’t simply a lucky break. It grew out of her decision to stop asking for a place and create one herself. When she became the first woman to win a country Grammy, the award meant more than recognition. It confirmed that those lean years in the West Nashville house had produced some of the most important work of her life.

Oldies Musics

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.