The Manhattans | Spotify

Introduction:

“I Kinda Miss You” is a timeless soul ballad originally recorded by the legendary vocal group The Manhattans in 1977. The song, penned by the prolific songwriting duo of Ashford & Simpson, perfectly captures the bittersweet ache of longing and the lingering memories of a lost love.

Released on their album “It Feels So Good,” “I Kinda Miss You” became a significant hit, showcasing the group’s signature blend of smooth harmonies and heartfelt delivery. The song’s enduring popularity can be attributed to its relatable lyrics, which resonate with anyone who has experienced the pain of separation and the yearning for a lost connection.

The Manhattans, formed in 1962, have consistently delivered soulful music that has captivated audiences for decades. Their smooth vocal blend and heartfelt interpretations have earned them a place among the greatest vocal groups in music history. “I Kinda Miss You” stands as a testament to their enduring legacy and their ability to convey raw emotion through their music.

The song’s impact extends beyond its initial release, with numerous artists covering the song over the years, further solidifying its place in music history. Its timeless message of love, loss, and longing continues to resonate with listeners, proving that the power of music to connect with the human experience remains timeless.

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THE LAST TIME THE CROWD ROSE FOR MERLE HAGGARD — HE WOULD NEVER WALK ONSTAGE AGAIN. They carried him through the doors wrapped in the very flag he once sang about — and in the stillness that followed, there was something almost audible… a fragile echo only lifelong listeners could feel in their bones. Merle Haggard’s story closed the same way it opened: unpolished, honest, and deeply human. From being born in a converted boxcar during the Great Depression to commanding the grandest stages across America, his life unfolded like a country ballad etched in grit, regret, resilience, and redemption. Every lyric he sang carried the weight of lived experience — prison walls, hard roads, blue-collar truths, and hard-earned second chances. Those who stood beside his casket said the atmosphere felt thick, as if the room itself refused to forget the sound of his voice. It wasn’t just grief in the air — it was reverence. A stillness reserved for someone whose music had become stitched into the fabric of ordinary lives. One of his sons leaned close and murmured, “He didn’t really leave us. He’s just playing somewhere higher.” And perhaps that’s the only explanation that makes sense. Because artists like Merle don’t simply vanish. They transform. They become the crackle of an AM radio drifting through a late-night highway. They become the soundtrack of worn leather seats and long stretches of open road. They live in jukebox corners, in dance halls, in quiet kitchens where memories linger longer than the coffee. Somewhere tonight, a trucker tunes in to an old melody. Somewhere, an aging cowboy lowers his hat and blinks back tears. And somewhere in that gentle hum of steel guitar and sorrow, a whisper carries through: “Merle’s home.”