Certain pieces of music possess an architectural quality, songs that don’t just unfold over time but build, brick by sonic brick, toward an impossible horizon. Andy Williams’s “Almost There” is one of them. Released in late 1964 as a standalone single (later included on the following year’s Dear Heart album), this song is not just a standard of the vocal pop era; it is a masterclass in controlled, ecstatic anticipation. It captures the very moment before the goal is reached, freezing that perfect, suspended state of yearning and eventual fulfillment.
Imagine a scene: an evening road trip in a 1960s convertible, the lights of the city just starting to glow on the horizon. The car radio is tuned just right, pulling this song out of the air. It’s a sonic memory, a feeling of promise that defined a specific kind of American romance. This was the landscape of Andy Williams’s career arc in the mid-1960s, a moment when he transitioned seamlessly from a top-tier nightclub crooner to an essential fixture of home audio and network television, hosting his own variety show and releasing a steady stream of sophisticated, cinematic records on Columbia.
The Architect of Anticipation: Mersey’s Arrangement
The song was the theme from Williams’s 1964 film I’d Rather Be Rich, and its success, like many of Williams’s classics, is inextricably linked to the meticulous work of his frequent collaborator, producer and arranger Robert Mersey. Mersey was a craftsman who understood that Williams’s clean, precise baritone was best served by a lush, yet disciplined, orchestral setting. The arrangement for “Almost There” is the engine that drives its emotional narrative.
The introduction is deceptively simple: a light, almost hesitant rhythm section led by a tick-tock high-hat and a gentle bass line. The initial melodic statement is carried by a delicate cascade of strings, providing a silvery texture that suggests a quiet journey beginning. It’s an aural curtain lifting on an expectation.
When Williams enters, his voice is warm and unforced, possessing that classic, restrained vibrato. He is not shouting his love; he is stating an intimate, confident truth. The verses are intentionally kept low-key, allowing the narrative—of patiently waiting for a kiss, for a shared destiny—to carry the weight. The phrasing is impeccable, carefully leaning into words like “wonderful” and “tenderness.”
The Central Contrast: Restraint vs. The Swell
The core dramatic device of this song is contrast. The verses are simple, almost conversational, built primarily over the rhythm section and soft piano chords. The piano work here is supportive, providing harmonic anchors without drawing undue attention, functioning as the bedrock of the melody.
The song’s power, however, resides entirely in the chorus’s monumental shift in dynamics and instrumentation. At the phrase “How wonderful, wonderful our love will be,” Mersey throws open the floodgates. The string section—violins and cellos—executes a soaring, cathartic swell. The brass flares gently, adding a burnished, golden tone that speaks of victory and arrival.
This is the sonic climax, yet it is instantly followed by a retreat. “Love has waited such a long time,” Williams sings, bringing the instrumentation back down to a near whisper, resetting the mood of private intimacy. This push-and-pull, the restraint followed by the emotional rush of the strings, mirrors the lyrical theme: the tension of the wait, rewarded by the certainty of the prize.
A Masterpiece of Vocal Pop Architecture
The song’s middle section features a stunning instrumental break. The melody, simple yet memorable (written by Gloria Shayne and Jack Keller), is picked up by a soaring flute or piccolo, weaving a high-pitched, romantic counterpoint to the underlying orchestral shimmer. There is no traditional guitar solo here; in this genre, the orchestra is the lead instrument, functioning much like a hero’s chorus in a Hollywood film score.
The final iteration of the chorus is a gorgeous, sustained ascent. Williams holds the final notes—*“Close your eyes for we’re almost there”—*with a perfect blend of power and tenderness, his voice sitting cleanly above the maximalist backing track.
“The greatest artistry in classic vocal pop is not in the surprise, but in the meticulous execution of the expected emotional payoff.”
To appreciate the clean mix and the separation between the lush strings, the woodwinds, and the focused vocal, one truly needs a great set of studio headphones. The complexity of Robert Mersey’s scoring is often lost on lesser playback systems. This piece of music is an intricate weaving of instrumental voices designed to wrap the listener in a blanket of warm, luxurious sound. It’s a testament to the high production values of Columbia Records during this time.
The Song’s Long Journey: Modern Resonance
Though it only reached a moderate peak on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100 and the Adult Contemporary chart in 1964, “Almost There” became a massive hit in the U.K., reaching the number two spot in 1965. This transatlantic appeal shows Williams’s broad power. In an era increasingly dominated by the raw energy of the British Invasion, Williams stood firm as the archetype of sophisticated, American vocal delivery.
Today, the song offers a potent dose of pure, un-ironic optimism. When a modern listener discovers this track, often via a film soundtrack or a curated music streaming subscription playlist focused on classic lounge or pop, it feels surprisingly fresh. It embodies the pre-cynical hope of a generation. It’s a micro-story of persistence—whether you’re finishing a marathon, closing a deal, or driving home after a long journey—the song becomes the soundtrack to that final, exhilarating push toward rest and fulfillment.
It’s the sound of a promise kept, a melodic surety that everything difficult is about to be over, and everything good is waiting right around the corner.
Listening Recommendations: Songs of Anticipation, Hope, and Grand Arrangement
- Jack Jones – “Wives and Lovers” (1963): Another mid-60s vocal pop standard, featuring a similar bright, jazzy arrangement and conversational vocal style.
- Frank Sinatra – “The Way You Look Tonight” (1964 re-recording): Shares the same mood of intimate, deeply committed romance delivered with orchestral sweep and vocal sincerity.
- Matt Monro – “Born Free” (1966): An epic, cinematic piece with a soaring vocal and a dramatic, brass-heavy arrangement that builds to a powerful climax.
- Vikki Carr – “It Must Be Him” (1967): Features a similar structure of a subdued, hopeful verse that explodes into a massive, emotionally charged orchestral chorus.
- Bobby Goldsboro – “Honey” (1968): Though more country-pop, it has the same sentimental, narrative focus and a strong, emotive orchestral backing.
- Tony Bennett – “I Left My Heart in San Francisco” (1962): A quintessential early 60s standard, showcasing a vocalist expertly navigating a lush, Robert Mersey-style arrangement.