Shaped By Songs
#4 Otis Redding, I’ve Been Loving You Too Long
Things I would include in a capsule to be shot into space (note: it would have to be guaranteed to be found by aliens — otherwise, what’s the point?):
- A video of Carlos Alberto’s goal in the 1970 World Cup Final
- A bottle of old (at least 40 years) single malt whisky, ideally an Islay, possibly Bowmore
- Otis Redding’s voice
I haven’t decided on the best way to include Otis’s voice yet. A recording would be the obvious route, but somehow that wouldn’t do it justice. Otis Redding’s voice is one of the Wonders of the Natural World. Up there with Niagara Falls or the Northern Lights. Or Mick Jagger’s hips. If we wanted to convince an alien race that mankind had some inherent worth — if they were ever thinking of pulverising or colonising or sucking out our brains through our ears — then surely the sound of Otis would be enough to give them pause for thought? Throw in the Carlos Alberto goal and the booze and suddenly, instead of an enemy, we’d have a brand new set of intergalactic pals.
The Otis song that does it for me is I’ve Been Loving You Too Long. I like that it’s simple, but with just enough curveballs to keep things interesting. For example, it’s only at the very end of the main progression (fairly straightforwardly in A major) where Otis and co-writer Jerry Butler chuck in a rogue F chord, which jars beautifully against the preceding D.
The other trick the song pulls — which I only realised when I looked up the chords — is a sneaky key change towards the end. Not the (far more popular) patented ‘Louis Walsh Key Change’ (i.e. the moment, in your standard boy band ballad, where there is a key change so powerful it propels the singers off their stools, onto their feet, until they’re almost beating their chests with beatific awe at the majesty of their own achievement — see Westlife, Flying Without Wings). But the other kind of key change. The unobtrusive key change in Dark End Of The Street. Or the various subtle key changes in Fever. It’s a key change to gently nudge the song along, giving it just enough lingering momentum to get to the end. Blink and you miss it.
At university, I used to listen to I’ve Been Loving You Too Long in the early hours of the morning with my then girlfriend (now wife). We’d sit in the silent darkness of her room, knocking back cheap red wine, feeling probably a lot more cool than we actually were. At the time, I’ve Been Loving You Too Long seemed like the most romantic song ever recorded.
We must not have been listening too closely to the words though.
“I’ve been loving you too long,” Otis sings, “to stop now.” As opening lines go, it’s pretty strong. And that’s before the horn section kicks in with that long, inevitable ascending scale that finally erupts with Otis howling: “You are tiiiiiiii-red…”
The words that follow are achingly sad: “…[You are tired] and you want to be free. My love is growing stronger as you become a habit to me…” and later, “You are tired and your love is growing cold, my love is growing stronger as our affair grows old”.
It’s that moment in the relationship where the initial fireworks are over and things either settle down into something more stable and solid, or disintegrate altogether. Otis wants something long-term; the girl doesn’t.
What strikes me when I read the lyrics is how different — how much more mature — this sentiment is to the majority of popular music. Pop songs are generally about the fireworks, the first kisses, the first loves. Not the moment where love becomes an established ‘habit’.
Put in this context, the way Otis sings the song changes from simply impressive to heart-exploding-through-your-ribcage amazing. The precision of the phrasing, the violence counterpoised with the almost whispered sections, the sheer depth of emotion he manages to infuse into his vocal performance. He captivates you, makes you feel the pain in the words.
And if that voice rang out from a capsule, in the depths of interstellar space, you’d have to conclude that the human race knew something of the nature of love, beauty and heartache. Wouldn’t you?
