I’m actually ashamed that I haven’t written about one of my favorite songs ever recorded, “I Want You” by Marvin Gaye. I think this song is beautiful from beginning to end, and no matter how many times I listen to it, there’s always something about it that pulls me back in.
I think we’ve all seen the video of Marvin rehearsing “I Want You” in Ostend, Belgium in 1981. You know the one—Marvin in his gray jogging suit, laying on the couch, ergonomically positioned. That video alone lets you know just how smooth he was as an artist. His aura literally leaks through the screen. There was just something about him.
But furthermore, what I’m really here to write about is something I noticed while listening to my jam for probably the 10,000th time.
I was running errands in the rain with the song turned up to the highest capacity, as usual, when I noticed the smallest intricacy while the intro was building.
At around the 39-second mark, Marvin starts snapping.
By about 42 seconds, the snapping gradually gets louder, and you can literally feel the recording palpitating through your speakers.
I was lost for words.
I’ve listened to this song HOW many times and never really noticed that?!
But that’s one of the things I love about “I Want You.” You can FEEL the music layering and coming together—the snapping, percussion, strings, background vocals and Marvin’s voice all building around each other to create this undeniable rhythmic longing.
That’s exactly what this song feels like to me.
Rhythmic longing.
It’s sensual, smooth and beautiful, but there’s this yearning underneath the entire record. You don’t just hear Marvin wanting someone, you feel it. And nearly 50 years later, I can still listen for the 10,000th time and discover the smallest detail that makes me fall in love with the song all over again.
Maybe that’s why the smallest intricacies in music can affect us so deeply. We recognize emotion before we ever put language to it. Longing, desire, anticipation, vulnerability—they’re all human behaviors we understand instinctively. Maybe I didn’t consciously hear that snap for all these years, but I’m almost certain I felt it. There’s something beautiful about the body understanding a song before the mind ever catches up.
That’s music.
And now, listen for that snap at 39 seconds.
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