Song1

“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”

Introduction

My first introduction to the haunting melody of “Devil Woman” came from my grandfather, a lifelong country music fan. His worn-out vinyl record of Marty Robbins’ greatest hits played endlessly on his old turntable, each song etching itself into my memory. Among them, “Devil Woman” stood out with its dark lyrics and captivating rhythm, a testament to the storytelling prowess of Marty Robbins.

About The Composition

  • Title: Devil Woman
  • Composer: Marty Robbins
  • Premiere Date: 1962
  • Album/Opus/Collection: Devil Woman
  • Genre: Country, Country-pop ballad

Background

“Devil Woman” was written and performed by the legendary American country singer-songwriter Marty Robbins. Released in 1962, it quickly rose to the top of the country charts and even crossed over to the pop charts, showcasing Robbins’ ability to weave captivating stories through his music. The song was inspired by Robbins’ fascination with the femme fatale archetype, a woman who uses her charm and allure to bring about a man’s downfall.

Initially, “Devil Woman” was met with mixed reviews. Some critics found its theme and lyrics too dark for the typical country music audience, while others praised its unique blend of country and pop elements. Despite this, the song’s popularity solidified its place as one of Robbins’ signature tunes and a classic in the country music repertoire.

Musical Style

“Devil Woman” is a slow tempo ballad, characterized by its haunting melody and Robbins’ distinctive baritone vocals. The instrumentation includes acoustic and electric guitars, bass, drums, and backing vocals, creating a rich and atmospheric sound. The song’s structure follows a traditional verse-chorus format with a bridge, building tension and emotion through its gradual crescendo. Robbins’ masterful storytelling shines through in his emotive delivery, painting a vivid picture of a man captivated and ultimately destroyed by a woman’s love.

Lyrics/Libretto

The lyrics of “Devil Woman” narrate the tale of a man ensnared by a woman with “eyes that burn like fire.” He recognizes her destructive nature, comparing her to a “devil woman” who brings him nothing but misery. Yet, despite knowing the pain she causes, he remains hopelessly drawn to her, unable to break free from her spell. The lyrics are both poetic and evocative, expressing the complex emotions of love, obsession, and despair.

Performance History

“Devil Woman” became one of Marty Robbins’ most popular and enduring songs. It has been covered by numerous artists across various genres, demonstrating its lasting appeal and impact. Robbins himself performed the song countless times throughout his career, and it remains a staple in the repertoires of many country music artists today.

Cultural Impact

The song’s influence extends beyond the realm of country music. It has been featured in films, television shows, and commercials, solidifying its place in popular culture. “Devil Woman” also exemplifies the crossover potential of country music, demonstrating its ability to resonate with a broader audience.

Legacy

“Devil Woman” remains a powerful testament to Marty Robbins’ storytelling ability and his talent for crafting memorable melodies. Its exploration of love, obsession, and the destructive power of a femme fatale continues to resonate with audiences today, securing its place as a timeless classic in the country music canon.

Conclusion

“Devil Woman” is more than just a song; it’s a captivating story brought to life through Marty Robbins’ emotive vocals and masterful songwriting. Its haunting melody and poignant lyrics have transcended time, offering a powerful reflection on the complexities of love and human emotions. If you haven’t experienced the magic of “Devil Woman,” I highly recommend giving it a listen, and perhaps, like me, you’ll find yourself transported by its timeless allure.

Video

Lyrics

I told Mary about us
I told her about our great sin
Mary cried and forgave me
Then Mary took me back again
She said if I wanted my freedom
I could be free evermore
But I don’t want to be
And I don’t want to see Mary cry anymore
Oh, devil woman
Devil woman, let go of me
Devil woman, let me be
And leave me alone
I want to go home
Mary is waitin’ and weepin’
Down in our shack by the sea
Even after I’ve hurt her
Mary’s still in love with me
Devil woman it’s over
Trapped no more by your charms
‘Cause I don’t want to stay
I want to get away
Woman let go of my arm
Oh, devil woman
Devil woman, let go of me
Devil woman, let me be
And leave me alone
I want to go home
Devil woman, you’re evil
Like the dark coral reef
Like the winds that bring high tides
You bring sorrow and grief
You made me ashamed to face Mary
Barely had the strength to tell
Skies are not so black
Mary took me back
Mary has broken your spell
Oh, devil woman
Devil woman, let go of me
Devil woman, let me be
And leave me alone
I want to go home
Runnin’ along by the seashore
Runnin’ as fast as I can
Even the seagulls are happy
Glad I’m comin’ home again
Never again will I ever
Cause another tear to fall
Down the beach I see
What belongs to me
The one I want most of all
Oh, devil woman
Devil woman, don’t follow me
Devil woman let me be
And leave me alone
I’m goin’ back home

Related Post

Emmylou Harris Returned to the Ryman After the Balcony Had Become Too Dangerous to Use In 1970, Emmylou Harris was serving drinks at the Hi-Hat Lounge near the Ryman Auditorium. Her daughter was an infant. Harris had not yet found a durable place in the music business, and customers sometimes came into the lounge after attending shows at the Ryman. She later remembered thinking that perhaps she would see a performance inside the building someday. Twenty-one years later, she entered through the stage door with a new acoustic band and recording equipment. The Grand Ole Opry had moved away in 1974. Although preservation work had begun on the Ryman’s exterior, the interior remained badly neglected. The balcony was considered unsafe, and no audience member could sit in it or beneath it. Only about 200 people were placed in a narrow section of the lower floor. From April 30 through May 2, 1991, Harris and the Nash Ramblers played three concerts there. The band included Sam Bush, Roy Huskey Jr., Larry Atamanuik, Al Perkins and a young Jon Randall. Instead of building the performances around Harris’s radio hits, they prepared country, bluegrass and folk material that was largely new to their stage set. The conditions shaped the sound. Acoustic instruments moved through a room built before electronic amplification. The empty balcony and unused pews became part of the recording’s air. The musicians could hear why singers had once regarded the Ryman as an instrument of its own. Released in 1992, At the Ryman won a Grammy. More importantly for the building, the album and accompanying film allowed the public to see the old auditorium as a working music room rather than an obsolete shrine. In March 1993, its owner announced a full interior rehabilitation. The Ryman reopened as a concert hall and museum in June 1994. Harris did not restore the building by herself; preservationists, owners, architects and workers carried that responsibility across many years. What she did was place live music back inside before the renovation was certain. The balcony remained empty for those three nights. The room below it proved the building was not finished.

Marty Robbins suffered his first major heart attack in August 1969, at forty-three. Five months later, doctors opened his chest for coronary bypass surgery, a procedure still new enough that survival could not be treated as routine. Between those two events, Robbins recorded “My Woman, My Woman, My Wife.” The woman was Marizona Baldwin, whom he had married in 1948. She had known him before “El Paso,” the Grand Ole Opry, television shows and the stock cars he drove at speeds few heart patients would have considered sensible. By 1969, they had been married for more than twenty years and had raised two children. Robbins later connected the song to his hospitalization, saying the experience showed him what a woman endured across a shared life. Over time, the story hardened into the image of him writing the entire lyric from a hospital bed. His biographer found evidence that the song existed earlier and was likely refined during his illness. Robbins himself once told Ralph Emery that he had written it on a bus. The less cinematic truth carries more weight. The heart attack did not necessarily create the song. It changed what Robbins understood himself to be saying. He recorded it on January 2, 1970. On January 27, surgeons operated on his blocked coronary arteries. He recovered quickly enough to receive an Academy of Country Music award three months later and returned to NASCAR competition that October. “My Woman, My Woman, My Wife” reached No. 1 and earned Robbins the Grammy for Best Country Song. Its language belonged to an older style of marriage, but its gratitude was specific: a restless man acknowledging the person who had absorbed the consequences of his restlessness. Robbins would live with heart disease for the remainder of his life. He kept touring, recording and racing until shortly before his death in 1982. The song survived as a love letter to Marizona. It did not need to have been born beside a hospital bed. The man who carried it into the studio already knew the words. The failing heart taught him how little time he might have left to mean them.

WHEN WILLIE NELSON’S CHILDHOOD CHURCH WAS PUT UP FOR SALE, AN OLD FRIEND CALLED HIM In 2006, only a handful of worshippers remained inside the small Methodist church in Abbott, Texas. The denomination decided to close it. The white wooden building where Willie Nelson and his sister Bobbie had sung as children was placed on the market and could have been moved away for use as a wedding chapel. A longtime Abbott resident named Bernice Pope heard what was happening and contacted Don Reed, one of Willie’s oldest friends. Reed called Willie. Willie’s instruction was brief: make an offer. He purchased the church and entrusted Reed with keeping it open. This was not intended to become a Willie Nelson museum or another performance property. Willie wanted it to remain a church for the town that had raised him. The building contained some of his earliest musical education. Willie and Bobbie had been raised by their grandparents, who brought them to services and encouraged their music. Bobbie played the church piano. Willie sang hymns, learned guitar and absorbed songs long before Nashville knew either sibling’s name. The reopened church was celebrated with a Sunday service in July 2006. Willie stood beside Bobbie’s piano, joined by family, friends and Leon Russell. They sang “Uncloudy Day,” “I’ll Fly Away,” “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” and “Precious Memories.” After the famous visitors left, the building returned to smaller work. Don and Joyce Reed cared for the property. Services continued. The church helped support scholarships for local students. Management later passed to another caretaker chosen before Reed’s death. Willie also bought Abbott’s old cash grocery around the same time because he did not want the town to lose its store. Neither purchase could reverse every force emptying small American communities. They kept two doors from closing. Years later, Willie and Bobbie returned to the sanctuary and performed “Family Bible” around the piano. By then they had played stages across the world. In Abbott, the room still asked only that Bobbie sit down and Willie stand beside her.

You Missed

At 2:30 One Afternoon, the Traffic Outside Angel Delgadillo’s Barbershop Disappeared Angel Delgadillo remembered the time because a barber learns the rhythm outside his window. Before September 22, 1978, approximately 9,000 vehicles passed daily through Seligman, Arizona, on Route 66. At busy hours, Delgadillo sometimes waited ten or fifteen minutes for a break in traffic before crossing the street. Then Interstate 40 opened around the town. The cars did not gradually thin. They moved to the new highway a few miles away. Delgadillo later recalled that by midafternoon, residents could stand in the old road without needing to step aside. His barbershop depended on travelers, railroad employees and townspeople whose incomes came from the same traffic. Motels, filling stations and restaurants began closing. When the railroad later reduced its Seligman operations, another part of the customer base disappeared. Delgadillo remained behind his chair. During the following years, occasional visitors began finding the old road. They entered the shop carrying memories of family vacations, roadside signs and the slower America they associated with Route 66. Listening while he cut their hair, Delgadillo realized that the abandoned highway still possessed value—but only if travelers could find it. In February 1987, he gathered fifteen business owners to form the Historic Route 66 Association of Arizona. They lobbied for signs and official recognition of the surviving road between Seligman and Kingman. Later that year, Arizona designated the section Historic Route 66. Similar organizations formed elsewhere. What began among merchants trying to keep small businesses alive developed into a preservation movement extending across the old highway’s eight states. Congress later established a Route 66 preservation program within the National Park Service. Delgadillo’s barbershop became a visitor center and gift shop. The chair remained, but travelers now came from around the world to hear how the road had vanished and returned. The interstate had offered speed by removing Seligman from the journey. A barber put the town back on the map by asking drivers to leave the interstate on purpose.

Emmylou Harris Returned to the Ryman After the Balcony Had Become Too Dangerous to Use In 1970, Emmylou Harris was serving drinks at the Hi-Hat Lounge near the Ryman Auditorium. Her daughter was an infant. Harris had not yet found a durable place in the music business, and customers sometimes came into the lounge after attending shows at the Ryman. She later remembered thinking that perhaps she would see a performance inside the building someday. Twenty-one years later, she entered through the stage door with a new acoustic band and recording equipment. The Grand Ole Opry had moved away in 1974. Although preservation work had begun on the Ryman’s exterior, the interior remained badly neglected. The balcony was considered unsafe, and no audience member could sit in it or beneath it. Only about 200 people were placed in a narrow section of the lower floor. From April 30 through May 2, 1991, Harris and the Nash Ramblers played three concerts there. The band included Sam Bush, Roy Huskey Jr., Larry Atamanuik, Al Perkins and a young Jon Randall. Instead of building the performances around Harris’s radio hits, they prepared country, bluegrass and folk material that was largely new to their stage set. The conditions shaped the sound. Acoustic instruments moved through a room built before electronic amplification. The empty balcony and unused pews became part of the recording’s air. The musicians could hear why singers had once regarded the Ryman as an instrument of its own. Released in 1992, At the Ryman won a Grammy. More importantly for the building, the album and accompanying film allowed the public to see the old auditorium as a working music room rather than an obsolete shrine. In March 1993, its owner announced a full interior rehabilitation. The Ryman reopened as a concert hall and museum in June 1994. Harris did not restore the building by herself; preservationists, owners, architects and workers carried that responsibility across many years. What she did was place live music back inside before the renovation was certain. The balcony remained empty for those three nights. The room below it proved the building was not finished.

Marty Robbins suffered his first major heart attack in August 1969, at forty-three. Five months later, doctors opened his chest for coronary bypass surgery, a procedure still new enough that survival could not be treated as routine. Between those two events, Robbins recorded “My Woman, My Woman, My Wife.” The woman was Marizona Baldwin, whom he had married in 1948. She had known him before “El Paso,” the Grand Ole Opry, television shows and the stock cars he drove at speeds few heart patients would have considered sensible. By 1969, they had been married for more than twenty years and had raised two children. Robbins later connected the song to his hospitalization, saying the experience showed him what a woman endured across a shared life. Over time, the story hardened into the image of him writing the entire lyric from a hospital bed. His biographer found evidence that the song existed earlier and was likely refined during his illness. Robbins himself once told Ralph Emery that he had written it on a bus. The less cinematic truth carries more weight. The heart attack did not necessarily create the song. It changed what Robbins understood himself to be saying. He recorded it on January 2, 1970. On January 27, surgeons operated on his blocked coronary arteries. He recovered quickly enough to receive an Academy of Country Music award three months later and returned to NASCAR competition that October. “My Woman, My Woman, My Wife” reached No. 1 and earned Robbins the Grammy for Best Country Song. Its language belonged to an older style of marriage, but its gratitude was specific: a restless man acknowledging the person who had absorbed the consequences of his restlessness. Robbins would live with heart disease for the remainder of his life. He kept touring, recording and racing until shortly before his death in 1982. The song survived as a love letter to Marizona. It did not need to have been born beside a hospital bed. The man who carried it into the studio already knew the words. The failing heart taught him how little time he might have left to mean them.

WHEN WILLIE NELSON’S CHILDHOOD CHURCH WAS PUT UP FOR SALE, AN OLD FRIEND CALLED HIM In 2006, only a handful of worshippers remained inside the small Methodist church in Abbott, Texas. The denomination decided to close it. The white wooden building where Willie Nelson and his sister Bobbie had sung as children was placed on the market and could have been moved away for use as a wedding chapel. A longtime Abbott resident named Bernice Pope heard what was happening and contacted Don Reed, one of Willie’s oldest friends. Reed called Willie. Willie’s instruction was brief: make an offer. He purchased the church and entrusted Reed with keeping it open. This was not intended to become a Willie Nelson museum or another performance property. Willie wanted it to remain a church for the town that had raised him. The building contained some of his earliest musical education. Willie and Bobbie had been raised by their grandparents, who brought them to services and encouraged their music. Bobbie played the church piano. Willie sang hymns, learned guitar and absorbed songs long before Nashville knew either sibling’s name. The reopened church was celebrated with a Sunday service in July 2006. Willie stood beside Bobbie’s piano, joined by family, friends and Leon Russell. They sang “Uncloudy Day,” “I’ll Fly Away,” “Will the Circle Be Unbroken” and “Precious Memories.” After the famous visitors left, the building returned to smaller work. Don and Joyce Reed cared for the property. Services continued. The church helped support scholarships for local students. Management later passed to another caretaker chosen before Reed’s death. Willie also bought Abbott’s old cash grocery around the same time because he did not want the town to lose its store. Neither purchase could reverse every force emptying small American communities. They kept two doors from closing. Years later, Willie and Bobbie returned to the sanctuary and performed “Family Bible” around the piano. By then they had played stages across the world. In Abbott, the room still asked only that Bobbie sit down and Willie stand beside her.