A Haunting Ballad of Longing and Social Judgment
On In Dreams, the 1963 album by Roy Orbison, the tender undercurrent of desire meets the sharp edges of reputation in “(They Call You) Gigolette.” Though not released as a major single or chart-topping hit, the song resides as a quietly powerful gem among Orbison’s more celebrated works—particularly in an era when his singles like “In Dreams” (which reached No. 7 on the Billboard Hot 100) garnered the spotlight.
In the opening strains of this track, Orbison’s voice floats like a lamentation, drenched in reverie and regret. He sings of a woman labeled “gigolette”—a euphemism tinged with moral judgment, suggesting a free spirit whose sexuality and heart are both enigmatic and dangerous. The word “gigolette” itself carries weight, evoking in its French origin a figure both alluring and condemned.
Although there’s little documented about a specific real-life “gigolette” who inspired the song, the imagery Orbison paints in his lyrics is vivid and emotionally rich. Lines such as “they say your lips are soft and warm … but that you’re a butterfly flying from guy to guy” capture the paradox of the woman’s nature—majestic yet transient, deeply sensual yet seemingly untethered. The narrator is entranced, even though society warns him to beware: he knows she’s perceived as dangerous, even destructive.
Musically, the arrangement underscores this emotional tension. The orchestration—lush strings, delicate touches of melancholy—mirrors the push and pull of fascination and caution. Orbison’s vocal delivery is gentle but fervent; he never outright condemns her, even when speaking of her as “the devil’s pet” or describing her heart as made of stone. Instead, there’s a sense that he is bewitched, helpless in the face of both her charm and her reputation.
At its core, “(They Call You) Gigolette” is a meditation on the collision between personal longing and public judgment. The woman in question may live outside conventional morality, but to the narrator, her freedom is not a vice—it’s part of what makes her irresistible. He calls on her to hold him close, to kiss him, even as he acknowledges that tomorrow she may be gone, “out of sight.”
In the larger tapestry of Orbison’s career, the song reflects his recurring fascination with lonely hearts, complicated love, and the shadows that linger behind beauty. It’s not as commercially famous as “Oh, Pretty Woman” or “Only the Lonely,” but it remains deeply emblematic of his gift: to find exquisite vulnerability in characters who are often judged, misunderstood, or mourned.
Listening to “(They Call You) Gigolette” is like reading a delicate confession—one that trembles with both passion and fear, longing and resignation. It’s a testament to Orbison’s artistry that he can turn a seemingly simple narrative into an emotional universe, rich with nuance and unresolved ache.