The year 1964 was a seismic one for American pop music. The transatlantic tide had turned, and the precise, dramatic orchestrations that defined the Brill Building era were starting to feel the pressure of the raw, electric pulse of the British Invasion. It was into this shifting cultural and sonic landscape that Gene Pitney, a figure who had practically defined the melodramatic and multi-tracked heartbreak of the early 60s, launched a song that was both a last hurrah for his US Top 10 run and a curious stylistic pivot: “It Hurts To Be In Love.”
It doesn’t open with the familiar, sweeping strings or the mournful horn blasts of his earlier ballads like “Town Without Pity.” Instead, it’s a sudden, kinetic rush—a burst of rock and roll energy that feels almost breathless. The song immediately establishes a pace that suggests panic, a lover sprinting to outrun an unavoidable emotional truth. This piece of music arrived as the title track of his eighth studio album, It Hurts To Be In Love and Eleven More Hit Songs, released on the Musicor label.
Pitney’s career up to this point had been marked by a magnificent, almost manic vulnerability, often selling the high-stakes emotional tales penned by the era’s greatest songwriters, including Bacharach-David and Goffin-King. But as the early 60s turned mid-decade, his popularity, particularly in his American homeland, was beginning to face headwinds. He was, however, simultaneously cementing his status as a colossal star overseas, especially in the UK and Italy. “It Hurts To Be In Love” served as a bridge: retaining the structural elegance of pop craftsmanship while adopting an undeniable rock-and-roll urgency.
The song’s backstory, often cited in music histories, adds a layer of fascinating, almost accidental genius to the track. Written by the powerhouse team of Howard Greenfield and Helen Miller, the song was initially intended for Neil Sedaka. Due to a contractual snag, Sedaka’s recording—which reportedly already included the backing track, arrangement, and his own vocal—couldn’t be released by his label. Pitney, seizing the opportunity, famously went into the studio, had Sedaka’s lead vocal erased, and dubbed his own unmistakable voice over the existing instrumental accompaniment. This means the foundational sound of a great Gene Pitney track is, in a very real sense, a Neil Sedaka production, with Pitney’s towering vocal performance grafted onto it.
And what a performance. Pitney’s voice, a piercing, panic-stricken tenor, is doubled and tripled, giving the emotional urgency a physical weight. His trademark vibrato is deployed not just for pathos, but for power, riding the crest of the arrangement like a flag in a stiff wind. The whole track is less than two-and-a-half minutes long, giving the listener the dizzying sensation of being tossed headlong into a high-drama scene.
The arrangement, likely arranged by Sedaka himself, is lean and propulsive. The rhythm section is tight and insistent, featuring a quick-fire drum pattern that drives the tempo. A bright, compressed piano line acts as the melodic anchor, providing the sharp, major-key counterpoint to Pitney’s anguished delivery. Crucially, it replaces the lush string sections of his signature ballads with brass—sharp, declarative horn stabs that punctuate the verses like flashes of self-realization. These brass accents, alongside the prominent backing vocalists (often cited as the Cookies, Sedaka’s usual female backing group), give the track a raw, almost garage-pop edge that distinguishes it from the operatic flair of “Twenty Four Hours From Tulsa.”
The guitar work is relatively simple but effective: an electric rhythm guitar strumming on the backbeat, adding texture without demanding attention. This is a sound engineered for volume and radio punch, not intricate soloing. It’s a pure shot of mid-sixties excitement, proof that the Brill Building formula could, when pushed, deliver a premium audio experience that was just as visceral as the invading Liverpudlians.
The lyrical content is classic Pitney—the recognition of an agonizing emotional truth: “When you know that he’s been cheating / And you know that he’s been stepping ’round.” The pain is not a gentle ache but a sharp, undeniable fact shouted over the din. It’s the sound of a man who can’t talk himself out of his feelings, even as his logical mind knows better. This tension, the contrast between the intellect’s awareness and the heart’s stubborn insistence, is the core of Pitney’s genius.
“The true brilliance of Pitney’s 1964 recordings is how they capture the exact moment when high-end pop production had to learn to rock.”
The single found substantial success, peaking just outside the Top 5 on the US charts. This success, paired with the subsequent, more dramatically rendered, “I’m Gonna Be Strong” later that year, confirmed that Pitney could still command the American airwaves, even as the landscape was rapidly changing. While his US momentum would slow soon after, his career, fueled by this transatlantic popularity and a willingness to explore new territory (including country music and recording in multiple languages), was far from finished. This song is the high-energy document of that pivot. It deserves to be listened to not as a relic, but as a thrilling, vibrant musical hybrid—a masterful pop vocal poured over a surprising, propulsive rock track.
Listening Recommendations (Similar Mood/Era/Arrangement):
- Neil Sedaka – “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do” (1962): Shares the same immediate, bouncy Brill Building construction and piano-led arrangement.
- The Crystals – “He’s a Rebel” (1962): For its sheer, urgent, doubled-vocal power and early-60s cinematic pop intensity.
- Roy Orbison – “Oh, Pretty Woman” (1964): Another high-energy, mid-60s track where a distinctive vocal dominates a driving, punchy rhythm.
- Del Shannon – “Keep Searchin’ (We’ll Follow the Sun)” (1964): Features a similar manic, desperate energy and driving drum work, moving toward a harder sound.
- The Walker Brothers – “The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore” (1966): Represents the continuing, glorious tradition of orchestral, highly-dramatic male vocal pop, which Pitney helped pioneer.