Roy Orbison
the hits

THE REVIEW

Hello everyone, guys, aboard my yacht in the company of my gals, under the Mediterranean sun, we will soon sail to Formentera for a visit to the Balearics, but I would like to talk a little about a singer from the past because I'm listening to him right now:
Let's go back a little, to those retro Hollywood movies of the '50s, with that languid romanticism, Humphrey Bogart, James Dean, Rita Hayworth, Marilyn Monroe, vintage black-and-white.
Listening to this mythical collection feels almost like witnessing the (false) portrayals of life from the doo-wop era, the Chordettes' "Mr. Sandman," Perry Como's “Magic Moments” redone by Orbison, and the suburban houses.
But the '50s are everywhere on this record, in the imaginary settings, in the costumes, in the cars. When women still wore skirts, today they are either nude like my gals or dressed as men both in body and spirit, alas.
Roy Orbison, the anti-Elvis but also the king of ballads: like Blue Bayou, It's Over, Only the Lonely.
California Blue, a run on a beach in an America that was starting to appear corrupted in the eyes of the world.
The Crowd, let yourself be embraced, you woman unknowingly lost among the sphinxes of man-apes of the 2000s, so small and extremely mean and superficial.
Men halfway between self-pity for a lost mission. Being true men.
In Dreams, brought to new life by Lynch's Blue Velvet, Dream Baby, with its Presleyan flair, impossible not to move to its rock and roll beat, impossible not to do the pelvic thrust.
Working for the Man, captivating with its doo wap wap choruses.
Claudette and your ancestors are on the floor in pre-coital rituals (while today it’s first coitus and if there's time left, Eminem dances).
Melancholic nostalgia and what's left of these glimpses of life and lost loves, true orchestral melodramas.
Running Scared, emphatic liturgy with Orbison’s sumptuous voice, and cascading orchestral sounds like one of those Sinatra-style ceremonies between retro mafia glamour and sequins.
Oh Pretty Woman, a big hit of the summer of 1964, brought to new life in 1990 by the film of the same name with Richard Gere and Julia Roberts.
Blue Angel, still so much looove
Mean Woman Blues live cover of Presley's captivating rock and roll
Love Hurts, an old snapshot of a great imaginary Hollywood film from the '50s, Rita Hayworth, tear on the face, funeral, watches your funeral, under the weight of this melancholic litany, and you who are actually not dead but orchestrated everything, watch your funeral from afar in the rain, light a Cuban, as a novice Brando with a smirk of intimate satisfaction, smile and walk away.
Crying, Spanish version in David Lynch's film Mulholland Drive, for those who don't know, it is sung at the theater by a Spanish opera singer singing a cappella in playback.
They are all legendary pieces, oh my God
Anything You Want You Got It, single of Orbison's artistic rebirth in the '80s, who hasn't sung the chorus, raise your hand?
Who knows if today there are still some old school folks who dance the slow dances to these otherworldly melodies?
I still do it even though I am a young one from the so-called X generation, and believe me, I make love like a sea urchin... because to women of great class, these things still touch fortunately, but only those of class,
like Annie for example, the blonde of Orbison’s ballads, Annie, you never gave it to me, but it was still magnetic to sniff you on these notes.
The sun is frying my laptop, and it's time to wrap up, also because the gals are calling me, do they want to change course? De eh eh eh, or is it just that they want some of Daddy Vic and some woooods?
Greetings from Vic Sorriso, until next time.