The Heartbreak Behind the Big Black Glasses: Roy Orbison’s Soulful Rendition of “The Great Pretender”
A masterclass in concealing deep sorrow behind a cheerful facade.
There are certain songs, woven into the very fabric of the American musical experience, that belong to everyone, yet somehow manage to belong utterly to the voice that sings them. Roy Orbison’s haunting 1962 recording of “The Great Pretender” is one such masterpiece. While the original version by The Platters—a huge R&B and Pop hit in 1955, peaking at No. 1 on the Billboard Top 100—was a doo-wop anthem of heartbreak, Orbison’s take transforms it into a profound, almost gospel-tinged confession, perfectly fitting the persona of the solitary, tragic figure behind the dark glasses.
The song, written by The Platters’ manager and songwriter Buck Ram, tells a simple yet universally relatable story. Ram famously penned the tune in a rush in a Las Vegas hotel washroom, needing a quick follow-up to “Only You (And You Alone).” The lyrics speak of a man who is “lonely but no one can tell,” a character who has mastered the art of “laughin’ and gay like a clown” while “wearing my heart like a crown”—a symbol of both his pride and his visible, though misunderstood, pain. It’s a powerful reflection on vulnerability and the social mask we wear to hide deep emotional wounds.
Orbison’s version, released in 1962 on his album Crying, was a cover, not a chart single for him at the time. Therefore, it did not register its own chart position upon release as a single, instead living within the rich tapestry of the album, which itself reached No. 21 on the Billboard Pop Albums chart. Nevertheless, the track has become one of the most beloved non-single recordings of his Monument era. Orbison was always the great conjurer of heartbreak, and when he sang “Oh-oh, yes, I’m the great pretender,” his iconic voice—that effortless, swooping falsetto—seemed to tear away the very fabric of the pretense itself.
The genius of Roy Orbison was his ability to take a song and amplify its underlying sorrow tenfold. Unlike the light, almost upbeat rhythm of The Platters’ original, Orbison’s rendition is slowed, deliberate, and steeped in the “Nashville Sound” of the early sixties. His producer, Fred Foster, expertly crafted the arrangement on the Monument Records label, featuring the kind of sweeping, orchestral accompaniment that became a signature of Orbison’s sound, providing a dramatic counterpoint to his stark, emotional vocals.
The song’s meaning shifts subtly in Orbison’s hands. For The Platters, the pretense is a performance—a way to move on in the world. For the Big O, the pretense is the tragedy. His high-note cries and ethereal vibrato do not sound like a man fooling anyone; they sound like a man in such profound, private agony that his attempts to hide it only make the heartache louder. The listener, privy to the secret behind the sunglasses and the soaring vocals, becomes an unwilling accomplice to his sorrow. It’s a connection that resonates deeply with an older audience, who know the quiet struggle of putting on a brave face, of feeling “too real… what my heart can’t conceal.”
The lasting power of “The Great Pretender” is not merely in its melody, but in its truth. It’s the sound of a generation navigating life’s disappointments with dignity, choosing the role of the smiling clown over the weeping fool. For anyone who has ever had to face the world with a broken heart hidden deep inside, Roy Orbison’s voice remains the most honest expression of this timeless charade. His legacy, and this song in particular, proves that sometimes, the greatest truth is revealed in the performance of a lie.
Oldies Songs