The air in Cosimo Matassa’s New Orleans studio must have felt different that day. Thicker, somehow. You can almost hear it in the magnetic tape’s gentle hiss—the sound of humidity and ambition clinging to every molecule in the room before a single note is struck. This is the space where the Big Bang of rhythm and blues happened, over and over again. But in 1958, the sound was changing.
For years, Antoine “Fats” Domino Jr. had been the genre’s most reliable, most affable hit machine. His partnership with producer and arranger Dave Bartholomew at Imperial Records was less a collaboration and more a kind of musical alchemy. They had perfected a formula of rolling triplet-based piano, a laconic Creole-inflected vocal, and a rhythm section that could swing a skyscraper. But “Wait And See” was a subtle, deliberate pivot.
This wasn’t the sound of a Saturday night party spilling onto the pavement. This was the sound of the slow dance after midnight, when all the pretenders have gone home. It was a ballad, but not a pleading one. It was a promise, delivered with the casual certainty of a man who knows he holds a winning hand. The song was released as a single and later appeared on the 1958 album Fats Domino Swings, an LP that saw the artist leaning further into this more polished, pop-friendly territory.
By this point, Domino was a global superstar, one of the foundational architects of rock and roll. But the landscape was shifting. The initial, anarchic blast of the mid-50s was beginning to codify. Artists were either flaming out or figuring out how to grow. For Fats and Bartholomew, growth meant expanding the sonic palette. It meant bringing in the strings.
The opening is pure Domino. That familiar, cushioned touch on the piano keys, laying down a chordal structure that feels as comfortable and lived-in as a favorite armchair. It’s not flashy, but it’s the anchor for the entire composition. For the first few bars, it’s a classic New Orleans R&B setup: Fats, a steady bassline, and the ghost of a rhythm guitar strum, present more as texture than as a distinct voice.
Then, they arrive. A full string section, sweet and soaring, enters not with a dramatic flourish but as a gentle tide rising. This is the song’s central narrative device. The strings don’t just accompany; they cocoon the listener. They are the sonic equivalent of reassurance, a lush, velvet blanket that transforms a simple love song into something cinematic.
This arrangement was Bartholomew’s genius. He understood that you could add a Hollywood sheen to a back-alley rhythm without sacrificing its soul. The strings elevate the sentiment, giving Fats’ easygoing confidence a touch of grandeur. It’s a delicate balance. Too much, and it becomes saccharine. Too little, and the effect is lost. Here, it is perfect.
“It was the sound of rock and roll putting on a tuxedo, not to sell out, but to prove it could own any room it walked into.”
Imagine hearing this for the first time in 1958. Maybe you’re a teenager, sitting in a parked car with the radio dial glowing, the signal fading in and out. After a blast of Jerry Lee Lewis, this quiet, confident piece of music drifts through the speaker. It’s a moment of calm in the teenage storm, a song that speaks not of rebellion, but of patience. It assures you that the right thing, the true thing, is worth the wait.
The instrumental break is a masterclass in restraint. The strings recede slightly, making way for a tenor saxophone solo, almost certainly the legendary Lee Allen. His tone is warm and breathy, the phrasing impeccable. He doesn’t wail or honk; he sings a counter-melody, a short, eloquent verse that mirrors the song’s romantic theme before gracefully handing the spotlight back to the orchestra and Fats’ vocal.
Domino’s performance is a study in understated charm. His voice, with its gentle vibrato, never strains. He delivers the simple lyrics—“You’re gonna be my little girl, you just wait and see”—not as a boast, but as a statement of fact. There is an immense warmth and sincerity in his delivery that sells the sentiment completely. It’s the sound of a man who isn’t trying to convince you of his love; he’s simply letting you know it’s there, solid and unshakable.
This recording technique, layering the raw energy of the New Orleans rhythm section with the polish of a string section, became a hallmark of late-50s pop. It was a way for R&B and rock artists to cross over, to find a home on mainstream radio and in the living rooms of America. Listening today on a quality home audio system, you can hear the brilliant separation in the mix—the way the resonant thud of the kick drum coexists with the delicate shimmer of the violins.
It’s easy to overlook a song like “Wait And See” in a discography filled with seismic hits like “Ain’t That a Shame” and “Blueberry Hill.” It doesn’t have the raw, propulsive energy that defined a genre. But its power is of a different sort. It’s the power of maturity, of an artist and producer so confident in their craft that they could whisper instead of shout and still command the world’s attention.
Listening with a good pair of studio headphones reveals the nuance in Bartholomew’s arrangement. You can pick out the subtle rhythmic interplay between the piano and the pizzicato strings, the quiet authority of the bass, the sheer warmth of the saxophone’s reed. It’s a recording that is both simple on its surface and deeply sophisticated in its construction.
In 1958, the world of popular music was in flux. Elvis was in the Army, and the first wild wave of rock was beginning to break. “Wait And See” was Fats Domino’s declaration that he was here to stay. He could evolve, he could adapt, and he could craft a ballad with as much skill and heart as any of his barn-burning rockers.
It’s a song for the quiet moments, a timeless expression of hope and devotion. It doesn’t demand your attention; it earns it, gently. Go back and listen again. Let the strings wash over you, and hear the sound of one of rock’s greatest architects building something not just for his time, but for all time.
Listening Recommendations
- Sam Cooke – “You Send Me” (1957): A similarly groundbreaking track that smoothed R&B’s edges with polished production for massive pop crossover success.
- Ray Charles – “Come Rain or Come Shine” (1959): Another piano-playing genius embracing a full orchestra to deliver a standard with breathtaking emotional depth.
- The Platters – “Smoke Gets In Your Eyes” (1958): A contemporary smash hit that shares the same DNA of lush, string-laden, and impeccably sung romanticism.
- Brook Benton – “It’s Just a Matter of Time” (1959): Features a rich baritone vocal floating over a bed of strings, echoing the patient, confident romanticism of Domino’s hit.
- Ricky Nelson – “Lonesome Town” (1958): Explores the other side of rock and roll balladry from the same year—spare, melancholic, and hauntingly beautiful.
- LaVern Baker – “I Cried a Tear” (1958): Blends a gospel-infused vocal performance and a wailing saxophone with a pop arrangement, showing another path R&B was taking at the time.