Ignored Obscured Restored
Today is Valentine’s Day, so let’s discuss a certain type of love song.
Most songs about love affairs depend on secrecy. The thrill comes from what must be hidden, the drama from the risk of discovery. But a tiny handful of songs flip that premise entirely. Instead of fearing gossip, they name it outright — and either shrug it off or actively invite it. In these songs, public scrutiny isn’t the enemy of intimacy; it’s part of the charge.
Three recordings, spread across more than three decades and very different musical traditions, form a remarkably tight canon: “Let Them Talk” (in Gwen McCrae’s 1975 version), “After Midnight” by J.J. Cale (popularized by Eric Clapton), and “Something to Talk About” by Bonnie Raitt. What unites them is not just subject matter, but posture. Each narrator acknowledges an audience — and refuses to care what it thinks.
By the mid-1970s, Gwen McCrae was a seasoned soul singer with deep roots in the Southern R&B tradition. Born in Pensacola, Florida, and closely associated with the TK Records scene in Miami, McCrae had already scored a major hit with “Rockin’ Chair” and was known for a vocal style that balanced warmth, authority, and emotional clarity. Her version of “Let Them Talk” fits that profile perfectly.
The song wastes no time getting to its thesis. The refrain – “let them talk” — is not defensive or reactive. McCrae doesn’t argue with the gossip or attempt to correct it. Instead, she reframes it as irrelevant background noise to a relationship that needs no public validation. What’s striking is the absence of drama. There’s no sense that talk threatens the love; if anything, it confirms its visibility.
Musically, the track reinforces that composure. The groove is relaxed, the arrangement conversational rather than confrontational. McCrae’s vocal delivery is steady and unhurried, suggesting someone who has already made up her mind. This is confidence without explanation—a refusal to treat public opinion as something that requires engagement at all.
J.J. Cale, an Oklahoma-born songwriter and musician, built his career on understatement. By the time “After Midnight” appeared on his 1971 debut album Naturally, Cale had already developed the stripped-down, unflashy style that would become his signature and influence everyone from Eric Clapton to Mark Knopfler. His songs rarely sound like declarations; they sound like observations.
“After Midnight” approaches gossip from a different angle than McCrae’s song. Rather than responding to talk after it begins, Cale’s narrator predicts it in advance: “We’re gonna cause talk and suspicion / We’re gonna give an exhibition.” The choice of words matters. This is not accidental visibility; it’s behavior undertaken with full awareness that it will be noticed.
Yet the music itself remains almost studiously unexcited. The loping rhythm, light percussion, and casual vocal delivery drain the lyric of melodrama. The anticipation of talk is treated as a fact of life, not a source of anxiety or pride. If McCrae’s stance is serene dismissal, Cale’s is cool acceptance. Being seen is inevitable, and not worth raising one’s voice over.
When Bonnie Raitt recorded “Something to Talk About” for her 1991 album Luck of the Draw, she was already a veteran artist with a long history in blues, roots rock, and singer-songwriter circles. After years of critical respect and commercial frustration, the album marked a late-career breakthrough, bringing her voice — and her point of view — to a much wider audience.
Raitt’s song takes the logic of the previous two and pushes it outward. The title line is an invitation, not a response: “Let’s give them something to talk about.” The plural pronoun is key. This isn’t an individual shrug or private resolve; it’s a shared decision to provoke curiosity and speculation. Gossip becomes something to be generated deliberately, almost mischievously.
Musically, the song matches that extroversion. The rhythm is buoyant, the melody bright, and Raitt’s vocal carries a knowing smile. Unlike McCrae’s inward calm or Cale’s detached cool, Raitt sounds amused by the idea of being talked about. Visibility isn’t merely tolerated — it’s enjoyed.
Taken together, these songs outline three related but distinct responses to public scrutiny:
Acceptance (Let Them Talk): people will talk, and it doesn’t matter.
Anticipation (After Midnight): people will talk, and we know it.
Provocation (Something to Talk About): people will talk — so let’s make it interesting.
What’s remarkable is how rare this posture is. Popular music is full of songs about rumors, cheating, and reputation, but most frame gossip as threat, punishment, or tragedy. These three reject that framework entirely. They assume that intimacy can survive daylight — and might even thrive in it.
In that sense, they form a quiet counter-tradition: songs where love doesn’t hide, doesn’t apologize, and doesn’t flinch when the neighbors look over the fence. Instead, they look back — and keep going.
Enjoy… until next week.