Dream with Dean' this Valentine's Day

Hey pallies, likes yesterday's Dino-devotion took us 'bout two dozen years to find it's way into print here at ilovedinomartin, so I guess we oughtn't feel quite as bad that today's has taken two years to get shared here at our humble little Dino-pad.  Recently we were guided to put the tags Dean Martin and Valentine's Day into the google search engine and once of the intriguin' thin's that we discovered is primo prose from Mr. Ben Cates at "BURG weekly entertainment guide" which calls Lynchburg, VA their home pad.

Mr. Cates swank scribin's, "Dream with Dean' this Valentine's Day," as you will note below, is from his music column "Welcome to What the World Needs Now."  Ben is News & Advance's sports writer, and it is clear that also has a powerful passion for music.  Likes as you read Mr. Cates wise 'n wonderful words it is crystal clear that he "gets Martin" and we loves it so so much when he concludes that "Martin’s 1964 record 'Dream with Dean' "was, and still is, the perfect Valentine’s Day album."  We couldn't 'gree more pallies.

Likes all youse Dino-holics will totally thrill to read Ben's touchin' 'n tender testimony to the powerful effect our Dino's croons on this awesome al-b-um awesomely accented  Ben's long term relationship with a special girl.  We coulda goes on and on 'bout how much we deeply digs Mr. Ben Cates diggin' of our most beloved Dino in general, and most specifically for this coolest of cool classic Dino-al-b-um.

We can hardly find words to properly say thanks to Mr. Ben Cates for remarkable review of "Dream With Dean" and his deepest delight in our King of Cool and his wonderful way of croonin' tunes of amore.  To checks this out in it's original source, likes simply clicks on the tag of this Dino-gram.

We remain,

Yours in Dino,

Dino Martin Peters




Dream with Dean' this Valentine's Day

BEN CATES Feb 10, 2016

Editor’s note: Welcome to What the World Needs Now, a music column from News & Advance sports writer, and music lover, Ben Cates. Here, he’ll discuss new songs and albums, profile artists both past and present and dust off old material to offer historical perspectives across various genres. It’s all about songs you should add to your playlist, albums to appreciate and artists you need to discover.

We stood holding each other, dancing slowly by candlelight in an apartment overlooking Rivermont Avenue, while Dean Martin sang quietly in the background.


Moments earlier, we had taken a walk to the then-vacant Villa Maria.

Now, with Martin’s 1964 record “Dream with Dean” spinning on a turntable, we kissed in shadow, the newness of love on our lips.

It was, and still is, the perfect Valentine’s Day album.

“Dream with Dean” is a classic concept record from start to finish. It was a rarity in its time, not because it’s thematic in nature, but because it is unapologetically and incessantly slow. Other than an upright bass, an electric guitar and drums, it’s just Dino, whose voice rises above the muted instruments to create a dreamy, sleepy scene.

I never could dance. But turn on “Dream with Dean” and I didn’t have to. All I had to do was move lazily around the room with that girl. The music did the rest.

In that old apartment, we felt like we were the only two people who mattered in the world; like two lovers closing down a dimly-lit bar while a few lonely stragglers sat nearby, gazing down into near-empty glasses, not yet ready to go home.

I’ve been listening to the album a lot lately and my approach to it is, basically, still the same. Martin’s silky velvet voice is filled with experience. He knows the intricacies and the pain of love, but he goes for it anyway.

He’s far removed from the swinging jolts that would define much of his career, away from the horns and the background vocals and the upbeat, sometimes hokey tunes present on other albums. Here, he’s the consummate jazz singer, singing his lines softly and lazily like it’s 2 a.m., the lights are dimming and the lounge is thinning out.

Producer Jimmy Bowen, who also worked with Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. before moving to Nashville years later to record George Strait and Garth Brooks, is content to let Martin’s voice carry much of the 30-minute record.

Other than the vocalist, guitarist Barney Kessel is by far the most active member of the band. He worked in jazz circles with Billie Holiday and Oscar Peterson and later played on many of the Beach Boys’ biggest hits.

On “Dream” he adds simple solos and doesn’t stray far from the framework of the 12 standards, but his guitar is bright and oozing with sentimental dreaminess.

There are standards like “Smile,” “Blue Moon,” and “Fools Rush In.” And “Everybody Loves Somebody” became Martin’s first big single.

But it’s the fourth track, “If You Were the Only Girl (In the World)” that’s always stuck with me most.

On that song, the world could’ve come crashing down and we wouldn’t have known it. There was just me and that beautiful girl, wrapped in each other’s arms.

That’s how life is when you’re in your 20s. You’re in love and everything else seems distant and irrelevant. The world was ours and we didn’t even know it. All we cared about in that moment, and many others like it, was each other.


“Fools rush in,” Martin croons, “Where wise men never go/But wise men never fall in love/So how are they to know/When we met, I felt my life begin/So open up your heart and let this fool rush in.”

Dean Martin made us swoon. Dean Martin helped start a relationship that was foolish in its own right. That evening ushered in countless others just like it, but it also brought about a grueling on-and-off-again relationship; years of pain, sleepless nights and hours spent praying she’d be mine once and for all.

Her love would often prove an impenetrable fortress — sometimes I could force open an unlocked window, but most of the time everything was securely locked down.

Ultimately, things didn’t work out with that girl. After nearly a decade, our relationship came crashing down.

She moved on. And, eventually, so did I. Other women, too, came and went.

But sometimes, when I drive down Rivermont Avenue past the Villa Maria and it’s late and everything is quiet, I go back to that moment years ago. When there wasn’t a care in the world, except to make that certain someone mine alone. I scorn my foolish youthfulness and kick myself for letting that girl slip away.

But I also know that, somewhere out there, there are two other young lovers who think they, too, are the only ones in the world. Just one boy and one girl.

And I hope it lasts.