Album Review: Operator Long Distance Please You’re Not Supposed To Be Here by Barbara Mandrell (1982)
Alright, buckle up, y’all. We’re about to dive into Barbara Mandrell’s Operator Long Distance Please You’re Not Supposed To Be Here, a country gem from 1982 that somehow feels like it was tailor-made for both heartbreak and road trips. Produced by the legendary Tom Collins and penned by Dennis W. Morgan and Kye Fleming—two names you might not know but trust me, they knew how to write lyrics that stick like gum on your shoe—this album is pure ‘80s country gold with just enough folk vibes sprinkled in to keep things interesting.
First off, let’s talk tracks. The title track, “You’re Not Supposed To Be Here,” hits hard because honestly, who hasn’t had that moment where someone waltzes back into their life uninvited? It’s got this slow-burn melody that sneaks up on you, kinda like when your ex shows up at your door holding a pizza. You’re mad… but also intrigued. Barbara’s voice drips with emotion here, and if you don’t feel at least a little lump in your throat, check your pulse—you might be dead.
Then there’s “Long Distance Please.” Oh boy. This one sticks out like a sore thumb because who else remembers the agony of long-distance phone calls before cell phones existed? Yeah, I’m talking rotary dials and collect calls. The song nails that bittersweet mix of missing someone while trying to stay strong. Plus, the pedal steel guitar? Chef’s kiss. It adds this twangy layer of longing that makes you wanna grab a cowboy hat and cry into a beer bottle—even if you’ve never touched alcohol in your life.
What’s wild about this record is how timeless it feels despite being so rooted in its era. Sure, Barbara sings about payphones and letter writing, but the emotions are universal. Heartache doesn’t care what decade it is. And props to MCA Records for letting her shine without overproducing everything. Sometimes less really is more.
So yeah, this album isn’t perfect—it’s a bit cheesy in places, and some of the production choices scream “early ‘80s!” louder than leg warmers—but dangit, it works. By the time you hit play on these songs, you’ll realize they’re like old friends showing up after years apart: familiar, comforting, and maybe a tiny bit awkward.
Final thought? If aliens ever invade Earth and ask us to explain human feelings through music, we should probably hand them this album. Just don’t forget to include instructions on how to use a rotary phone first.
