Marty Robbins – Love Is Blue: A Country Legend’s Unexpected Turn Toward Universal Sorrow
There is a particular kind of beautiful melancholy that settled over the late 1960s, a wistfulness that transcended genre, and few artists were better equipped to embody that feeling than the masterful storyteller, Marty Robbins. Known universally as the voice of the American West with his legendary gunfighter ballads, it’s a quiet and wonderful surprise to find him lending his profound emotional depth to a song like “Love Is Blue”. It’s an unexpected turn, a detour from the dusty trails and desperate riders of El Paso into the more universal, yet equally poignant, landscape of lost love and regret.
For those of us who cherish Robbins’ body of work, this track—released on his 1968 album By the Time I Get to Phoenix—showcases his remarkable versatility. The original song, titled “L’amour est bleu,” was a French composition by André Popp with lyrics by Pierre Cour, first made famous by Greek singer Vicky Leandros at the 1967 Eurovision Song Contest. However, it was the stunningly successful instrumental version by French orchestra leader Paul Mauriat that became a worldwide phenomenon, topping the US Billboard Hot 100 in 1968—a rare feat for an instrumental piece.
It was this tremendous cross-over popularity that prompted many artists to record their own vocal interpretations, using the English lyrics penned by Brian Blackburn. And here is where Marty Robbins steps in, transforming what could have been a simple pop cover into a resonant piece of country-tinged sorrow. Though Marty Robbins’ version did not replicate the massive chart success of Mauriat’s instrumental, its inclusion on the 1968 album By the Time I Get to Phoenix helped that record climb to Number 8 on the US Country Chart, positioning his take on the song squarely in the heart of the country music listening world.
The genius of the English lyrics—which Robbins delivers with such heartfelt simplicity—lies in the direct, colorful metaphors for heartbreak:
Blue, blue, my world is blue, Blue is my world since I’m without you. Grey, grey, my love is grey, Cold is my heart since you went away.
Robbins’ rendition is a masterclass in understated grief. Unlike the more dramatic, narrative style he employed for his Western epics, here his voice is soft, almost whispering the sadness. It’s the voice of a man sitting alone at a kitchen table, recounting his sorrow not with theatrical flourish, but with the quiet, devastating honesty of profound regret.
For those of us who’ve lived through decades of relationships and losses, the song’s meaning is clear and immediate. It’s about the full emotional spectrum of a failed romance. The “red, red” eyes of weeping, the “green, green” of a jealous heart that doubted the loved one, and finally, the blackness of utter despair. It speaks to the universal truth that we often destroy the very love we cherish through our own human frailties—jealousy, doubt, and pride.
When you listen to Marty Robbins sing “I doubted you and now we’re apart,” you don’t just hear a lyric; you hear the lifetime of regret that only a mature voice can convey. It reminds us that even the toughest gunfighter—the man who could stare down a desperado in a dusty cantina—is ultimately vulnerable to the pain of a broken heart. In a career defined by storytelling, “Love Is Blue” sees Marty Robbins telling the shortest, but perhaps most deeply felt, story of all: the brief, vibrant life of a love that died too soon, leaving behind only the cold, quiet shades of blue and grey. It’s a treasured reminder that the best music—regardless of its origin—is the music that simply speaks the truth about the heart.