Alright, let’s dive into this. Windows of the World What Love Can Do by Myrna Rose—yeah, that’s a mouthful—is one of those albums you either stumble across in some dusty thrift shop or hear about from your weird uncle who still rocks vinyl. Released in 1967 under Philips (UK), it’s got this dreamy ballad vibe that feels like someone dipped pop music in honey and served it with a side of nostalgia. Conducted by Wally Stott, who clearly knew how to tug at heartstrings without being too obvious about it.
Now, let’s talk tracks. First up: “What Love Can Do.” Man, this song sticks to you like gum on a hot summer sidewalk. It’s slow, kinda syrupy, but damn if it doesn’t hit different when Myrna belts out those high notes. The orchestration is lush as hell, all strings and soft piano lines, making you feel like you’re floating through clouds while questioning every bad decision you’ve ever made in love. You know what I mean? Like, it’s not just sappy—it’s real. And yeah, maybe it leans a little heavy on the drama, but isn’t that what ballads are supposed to do? Make you feel stuff so hard you wanna call your ex at 2 AM? Exactly.
Then there’s “Windows Of The World,” which honestly slaps harder than it has any right to for something so mellow. This track grabs you by the soul and shakes it awake. Lyrically, it’s poetic as f—all these metaphors about seeing life through different perspectives, blah blah—but it’s the delivery that kills me. Myrna’s voice cracks in all the right places, like she’s holding back tears but also trying to keep it together for the sake of art. Respect. Plus, the arrangement builds up so subtly you don’t even realize you’re bawling until the crescendo hits. Brutal. Beautiful.
Here’s the thing though—this album ain’t perfect. Sometimes it veers into overly sentimental territory, and you might catch yourself rolling your eyes if you’re not in the mood. But hey, that’s 1967 pop for ya. They weren’t exactly reinventing the wheel; they were polishing it till it gleamed.
Thinking about it now, listening to this record feels like stepping into another era—an age where people actually took time to sit down and feel music instead of skipping tracks after ten seconds. Maybe we could learn something from that. Or maybe I’m just getting old. Either way, give this one a spin if you want to cry ugly tears over forgotten loves and missed chances. Oh, and if anyone asks why you’re sobbing uncontrollably on your couch, blame Wally Stott. That guy was a genius—and probably a sadist too.
