Marty Robbins – Singing the Blues: The Moment a Country Star Crossed Over with a Melancholy Riff and a Broken Heart
Ah, Marty Robbins. Just the name itself conjures up the golden age of country music—a time when the lines between Nashville and the mainstream were beginning to blur in the most exciting of ways. And no song exemplifies that thrilling transition more perfectly than his 1956 recording of “Singing the Blues.” This tune, delivered with Robbins’ signature sincerity and a distinct early rock-and-roll bounce, was not just a runaway smash; it was a watershed moment that catapulted him into the national spotlight and paved the way for the sophisticated, genre-spanning career that would follow with classics like “El Paso.”
The story of this song is a fascinating piece of music history, a tale of two simultaneous chart conquerors. The song was penned by the incredibly talented and young Arkansas songwriter Melvin Endsley in 1956. Marty Robbins was the first artist to record and release it for Columbia Records, immediately recognizing the track’s potent blend of deep country sorrow and catchy pop rhythm. His intuition proved sound: the Marty Robbins version soared to the top of the country charts, spending a phenomenal 13 weeks at No. 1 on the Billboard C&W Best Sellers chart in late 1956 and early 1957. More crucially for his career, it became his first major crossover success, reaching No. 17 on the US Pop chart.
However, the song’s story doesn’t end there, which only adds to its legendary status. Released almost simultaneously, the version by pop singer Guy Mitchell became an even bigger pop hit, spending ten weeks at No. 1 on the U.S. Billboard chart. For us listeners, though, it’s Robbins’ touch—his genuine, down-home vocal delivery—that forever stamped this song with its original character.
At its core, “Singing the Blues” is a straightforward, heartfelt expression of lost love and profound loneliness, cloaked in an upbeat melody that was common in the pre-rock era. The genius lies in the contrast: the music is bright, almost cheerful, while the lyrics are steeped in desolation.
“Well the moon and stars no longer shine The dream is gone that I thought was mine There’s nothin’ left for me to do But cry-why-why over you”
That “cry-why-why” is pure, unadulterated yearning. It’s the sound of a man who’s trying to whistle past the graveyard, trying to convince himself—and us—that he’s just “singing the blues” instead of openly weeping. The simplicity of the emotion is what resonates so deeply. In the mid-1950s, amidst the burgeoning prosperity and the dizzying speed of cultural change, this song offered a relatable moment of stillness and familiar heartache.
For those of us who remember buying the 45-rpm record, whether it was the Robbins or the Mitchell version, the song represents that beautiful moment when country music was stretching its legs, ready to embrace a broader audience without losing its soulful roots. Marty Robbins delivered the song with an undeniable swagger and a lightness of spirit that suggested, yes, he was sad, but he was going to sing his way right through it. It’s a wonderful example of how, sometimes, the deepest sorrows are best expressed with a rhythm that keeps your feet tapping, lest your heart stop entirely. It remains a joyful, melancholic gem from one of country music’s true renaissance men.
Music Legend