Cruising Down Memory Lane: The Big O’s Ode to Freedom and Self-Reliance
Ah, Roy Orbison. Just the name conjures up that singular voice, a sound both soaringly operatic and intimately wounded, capable of conveying a depth of emotion few of his contemporaries could touch. In the summer of 1965, as the world of pop music was shifting rapidly on its axis, a track emerged that, while perhaps not reaching the earth-shattering heights of a “Pretty Woman,” nevertheless offered a thrilling, slightly different ride from the Big O: “Ride Away.”
This spirited single marked a significant turning point in Orbison‘s storied career—it was his very first release under the new contract with MGM Records, following a hugely successful run with Monument. Released in 1965, the song showcased a rhythmic energy and a somewhat different thematic angle. It was the lead single from his MGM debut album, There Is Only One Roy Orbison, which came out in August of the same year. And while the US charts were perhaps a little slower to embrace this change of scenery, “Ride Away” still made a respectable showing, peaking at No. 25 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart and No. 17 in Record World. Overseas, the reception was even warmer, with the single climbing to No. 12 in Australia and a modest No. 34 in the UK.
What makes “Ride Away” so fascinating, particularly in the context of the Orbison catalog, is its lyrical departure. The song, co-written by Orbison and Bill Dees, is far less of a weeper than the iconic ballads for which he was best known. Instead of the familiar figure paralyzed by heartache and desperate loneliness, we meet a narrator who is, frankly, taking control. The song is described in contemporary reviews, such as in Cash Box, as a “rhythmic teen-angled ode about a somewhat ego-oriented lad who cuts-out on romance.” It’s a narrative of self-determination, a feeling deeply resonant with the spirit of the mid-sixties.
The story behind it isn’t one of grand tragedy, but of a man simply choosing his own path. He’s leaving a relationship where he feels his partner may be insincere—the lyrics speak of a girl who “thinks she needs me, she cries for me / But I know she’s lying, crying for others to see.” The core meaning is an assertive declaration of independence: “I’ll just Ride Away,” he sings, determined to escape the heartache and misery of a dishonest love. The open road becomes his sanctuary, his new beginning, with the roar of a “Big Motor Burnin'” serving as the driving beat of his liberation. It’s a road trip song for the broken-hearted, a decision to shed tears and sorrow for the possibility of a “True Love to Cling To” waiting somewhere “Way Over Yonder.” The production, though still grand with those signature Nashville strings and backing vocals, has a galloping rhythm that gives it a forward momentum, pushing the listener right out onto the highway with him.
For those of us who came of age during that vibrant time, this song captures a slice of that elusive freedom—the open road, the power of a machine, and the simple, profound act of deciding to leave the drama in the dust. Orbison was an artist of unparalleled depth, but here, he showed he could do more than just plumb the depths of despair; he could celebrate the clarity found in a clean break. The very fact that he would later suffer a profound, personal tragedy involving his beloved wife, Claudette, in a motorcycle accident less than a year after this release, adds a layer of unintentional poignancy to the song’s title, making the simple act of riding away feel heavy with fate and memory. Yet, in 1965, it was simply a call to independence, a beautifully arranged piece of rhythm and yearning that affirmed, “I’ll never be any one but me.”