The year is 1959. Rock and roll was still a visceral, slightly dangerous promise, but in the mainstream of American pop, a different sound held court—something softer, more manicured, and overwhelmingly romantic. This was the domain of the teen idol, and at the absolute peak of that pantheon stood Paul Anka, a songwriting prodigy with a voice that managed to sound simultaneously world-weary and impossibly young.
It was a drizzly Saturday night when I first truly heard “It’s Time To Cry.” Not just as background filler in a forgotten diner, but truly heard it. The track spilled out of a pair of vintage studio headphones, the kind with heavy earcups that make the outside world disappear, and the sudden isolation amplified the sheer, unapologetic melodrama of the arrangement. This wasn’t a song for subtle heartbreak; it was a score for a flood.
The Teen Idol as Oracle
“It’s Time To Cry” was released as a single in October 1959 on ABC-Paramount, hot on the heels of the massive success of “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” and “Lonely Boy.” It was another self-penned testament to Anka’s astounding precociousness, written when he was barely out of his teens. This song wasn’t part of a formal studio album at the time of its initial release, but rather a standalone powerhouse that quickly became a staple on his first major compilation, Paul Anka Sings His Big 15.
This particular period—late 1959 into early 1960—represented Anka at his commercial zenith, solidifying his transition from a novelty sensation with “Diana” to a genuine, formidable songwriter. The track was reportedly produced by Sid Feller and Don Costa, two titans of orchestral pop production whose influence is immediately evident in the recording’s rich texture. It peaked on the Billboard Hot 100 at number 4, a remarkable feat in a crowded field, cementing the nineteen-year-old’s place in the pop firmament.
Anatomy of a Crescendo
The track’s initial sound is the essence of restraint. It opens on a stark, deliberate tempo, around 74 beats per minute, setting a mood of solemn reflection. A hushed brass section and the low register of the strings create a somber bed for Anka’s vocal entrance. The instrumentation is designed to slowly build tension, pulling the listener into the drama.
Anka’s voice, which carries that slight, charming tremolo, sounds closer than on many of his contemporaries’ records. It’s an intimate performance, almost whispered at first, delivering the raw narrative: the dawning, painful realization of a breakup. The role of the piano in the early bars is crucial, playing simple, descending figures that sound like the heavy tolling of a small, sad bell. It provides harmonic guidance before the full orchestra takes over.
As the lyric progresses into the first chorus—“It’s time to cry / It’s time to be lonely / It’s time to forget about the one and only…”—the arrangement blooms. The woodwinds flutter in, and the string section swells, moving from background atmosphere to foreground character. This contrast is the song’s brilliance: the simple, relatable lyrical premise of heartache is given a soundtrack of overwhelming, Hollywood-scale grandeur.
The Cinematic Sweep
The full orchestral arrangement, the signature of the Don Costa/Sid Feller style, is what turns this piece of music from a simple pop ballad into a cinematic experience. It’s a masterclass in dynamic control. We hear the full sweep of violins and cellos rising and falling, a controlled catharsis that mirrors the turmoil of the emotion being described. Crucially, the arrangement avoids clutter; even at its loudest points, every instrumental voice has its place, from the muted trumpets to the faint, plucked bass guitar line providing the harmonic foundation.
The second verse is the emotional pivot. Anka’s delivery gains conviction, his tone shifting from wounded vulnerability to a resigned, almost instructional maturity. He’s telling the listener—and himself—exactly what must happen now. The crying is not an option; it is a necessity. This is the kind of powerful, empathetic pop songwriting that secured Anka future commissions for giants like Frank Sinatra.
“The crying is not an option; it is a necessity.”
For a teenager sitting alone, perhaps with the latest 45 single revolving on a turntable, this song was validation. It gave structure to feelings that felt formless and overwhelming. It was permission to grieve not quietly, but dramatically. When the French horn enters for the dramatic bridge, soaring above the rest of the orchestra, it’s the sonic equivalent of tearing up the picture of an ex-flame and throwing the pieces into the wind.
A Tear-Stained Legacy
The enduring power of “It’s Time To Cry” is found in its perfect equilibrium between glamour and grit. The recording quality is spotless, perfectly capturing the sheen of the late 50s’ sound, but the sentiment is utterly primal. It is the sound of a generation learning to process loss under the bright lights of the American Dream. Even today, I find myself drawn to its precision.
In an age where a music streaming subscription offers limitless choice, putting on this song feels deliberate. It takes you away from the hyper-speed consumption of algorithms and forces a moment of genuine, focused reflection. It reminds us that even the most mass-produced pop music can possess incredible emotional depth and compositional sophistication. The way Anka structured the verse-chorus cycle—constantly escalating the drama only to pull back momentarily—was not accidental. It was the mark of a composer who understood tension and release, a trick he’d later deploy writing “My Way.”
This sophisticated structure means that students taking piano lessons can appreciate the deceptively simple chord progressions that underpin the orchestral complexity. It’s a beautifully crafted artifact of popular music history, proof that a three-minute song can hold the emotional weight of a much longer work. It is an elegy delivered with impeccable showmanship, a beautifully sad, perfectly rendered memory.
Listen again. Go past the surface level of the teen idol image. Hear the precise arrangement, the conviction in that earnest, young voice, and realize that this is not just a relic of the past, but an immortal guide to surviving a broken heart.
Listening Recommendations
- Bobby Vinton – “Roses Are Red (My Love)”: Shares the lush, sweeping string arrangement and romantic melodrama of the era.
- Neil Sedaka – “Breaking Up Is Hard to Do” (Ballad Version): Another self-penned teen idol hit with a similarly direct, vulnerable lyrical approach.
- Frankie Avalon – “Venus”: A prime example of the clean, orchestrated sound and romantic tenor of the post-Doo Wop teen pop movement.
- Connie Francis – “Where The Boys Are”: Captures the parallel emotional depth and orchestral power found in the era’s great female pop vocalists.
- Roy Orbison – “Crying”: Features a masterful vocal performance and similar grand, cathartic orchestration dealing with deep sadness.
- Johnny Mathis – “Chances Are”: Highlights the pure, pristine vocal style and sophisticated musicality that influenced Anka’s maturity.