Music history has a weird way of flattening things out. We look back at 1984 and see big hair, spandex, and synthesized drums, but then there's that one song. It starts with those cold, atmospheric synthesizers—an Oberheim OB-Xa, for the gear nerds—and suddenly Lou Gramm’s voice cuts through the fog. When he sings i wanna feel what love is, it doesn't sound like a pop star looking for a paycheck. It sounds like a guy standing at a crossroads at 3:00 AM, wondering if he’s ever actually been happy.
It’s raw.
Most people don't realize that Foreigner was under massive pressure when they recorded this. They were a rock band. A hard rock band, mostly. They did "Hot Blooded" and "Juke Box Hero." They weren't supposed to be the "gospel choir ballad" guys. But Mick Jones, the band's founder and primary songwriter, was going through a personal transition. He was searching for something deeper than the typical "rock star" lifestyle of the early eighties. He wrote the song in the middle of the night, fueled by a spiritual craving he couldn't quite name.
The Gospel Secret Behind the Sound
You can’t talk about this track without mentioning the New Jersey Mass Choir. That was a huge gamble. Back then, crossing over into gospel wasn't a standard move for stadium rockers. Jones had heard a gospel choir and became obsessed with the idea of adding that communal, soaring energy to his private vulnerability.
The choir wasn't just background noise. They provided the emotional weight that makes the hook—i wanna feel what love is—feel like a universal prayer rather than just another breakup song. Interestingly, the legendary Jennifer Holliday, famous for Dreamgirls, was also involved in the backing vocals. If you listen closely to the climax of the track, you can hear that Broadway-caliber soul pushing the song into a territory that most 80s rock bands simply couldn't touch.
It’s the contrast that works. You have this very British, polished rock sensibility meeting the raw, unbridled passion of an American gospel choir. It’s a collision of worlds.
Why We Are Still Obsessed Decades Later
Why does it still work? Honestly, it's because the lyrics are terrifyingly honest. Most love songs are about "I love you" or "I miss you." This song is about not knowing what love is. It’s an admission of failure.
"I gotta take a little time / A little time to think things over."
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That’s not a romantic sentiment. That’s a mid-life crisis. It’s someone realizing they’ve spent years "reading between the lines" and coming up empty. In a world of Instagram filters and "perfect" relationship goals, there is something incredibly refreshing about a song that says, "I'm successful, I'm famous, and I have no idea how to connect with another human being."
Psychologists often talk about the difference between "limerence" (the honeymoon phase) and actual companionate love. The song seems to be stuck in the gap between the two. It’s the sound of someone who has had plenty of the former but is starving for the latter.
Production Choices That Shouldn't Have Worked
If you look at the production credits, it's a "who's who" of the era. Alex Sadkin and Mick Jones produced it. They spent an absurd amount of time on the atmosphere. If the song had been too "rock," it would have felt cheesy. If it had been too "pop," it would have felt thin.
They landed on this thick, hazy wall of sound.
The drums don’t even kick in for a long time. It builds. And builds. By the time the choir comes in for the final chorus, the emotional payoff is earned. It's a masterclass in tension and release.
- The opening pads: Use of the Oberheim OB-Xa created a "cold" feeling.
- The vocal delivery: Lou Gramm was told to keep it restrained at first.
- The choir: Recorded at Right Track Studios in New York, giving it that massive room sound.
The "Mick Jones" Perspective
Mick Jones has said in multiple interviews, including conversations with Rolling Stone and Songfacts, that the song felt like it was being "written through him." He describes the experience as almost spiritual. He wasn't trying to write a hit; he was trying to save his own soul.
There’s a famous story about him playing the song for his mother for the first time. She reportedly started crying and said it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever done. When a hard-nosed rock songwriter gets that kind of reaction from family, they know they’ve tapped into something that transcends the charts.
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And it did transcend. It hit Number 1 in both the US and the UK. It knocked Madonna’s "Like a Virgin" off the top spot in the States. Think about that for a second. A gospel-infused rock ballad about emotional confusion beat out the biggest pop icon of the century at her peak.
Common Misconceptions About the Meaning
Some people think i wanna feel what love is is a song about a guy begging a woman to show him affection. That’s a bit of a shallow read.
If you look at the spiritual undertones—the choir, the language of "searching," the "climb this mountain"—it’s much more about a universal or even divine love. It’s about the human condition of feeling isolated. It’s about the wall we build around ourselves to survive and the desperate desire to tear that wall down.
It’s a song about vulnerability as a strength.
In the 1980s, masculinity was often defined by bravado. You had hair metal bands singing about girls, girls, girls. Then you had Foreigner standing there saying, "I'm tired, I'm lonely, and I need help." That was a radical act of emotional honesty for a group of guys who were famous for "Double Vision."
Actionable Insights for the Modern Listener
If you’re diving back into this track or discovering it for the first time, don’t just listen to the radio edit. Find the full album version.
- Listen for the layer shifts. Notice how the synthesizers gradually give way to the human voices. It represents the transition from isolation to connection.
- Compare it to the covers. Everyone from Mariah Carey to Wynonna Judd has covered this. Mariah’s version brings a heavy R&B influence, but arguably loses some of the "rock" grit that makes the original feel so desperate.
- Check out the live versions. Seeing Lou Gramm perform this in the mid-80s is a lesson in vocal control. He hits the high notes, but it’s the quiet parts that actually hurt.
- Use it as a litmus test. If you find yourself rolling your eyes at the "cheesiness," you might be missing the point. The "cheese" is actually just unfiltered sincerity. Try listening to it when you're actually feeling a bit burnt out on the world. It hits differently.
The legacy of the song isn't just that it sold millions of copies. It’s that it gave people permission to admit they don't have it all figured out. It’s a 12-string acoustic and a synthesizer-driven prayer for anyone who feels like they’re just going through the motions.
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When you strip away the 80s production and the big hair, you're left with a very simple, very human question: Is there something more than this?
How to Apply the "Foreigner" Mindset to Life
You don't have to be a rock star to feel that void. The song teaches a few practical lessons about emotional intelligence:
- Admit the search: There is power in saying "I don't know what I'm doing."
- Seek out community: Just as Jones brought in the choir to elevate his song, we often need others to help us find our "voice."
- Embrace the build: Great things (and great relationships) take time to develop. Don't rush the "drums." Let the atmosphere settle first.
The song ends on a fade-out of the choir repeating the hook. It doesn't give you a neat resolution. It doesn't say "and then he found love and lived happily ever after." It leaves you in the search. And honestly, that’s much more realistic. We are all just people trying to figure out how to feel something real in a world that often feels synthetic.
To truly understand the impact of Foreigner's masterpiece, look at the credits beyond the band. People like Tom Bailey (of the Thompson Twins) contributed to the synthesizer work, and the legendary Arif Mardin—who worked with everyone from Aretha Franklin to Norah Jones—helped with the arrangements. This was a collaborative effort to capture a very specific, very elusive feeling. It worked then, and it works now.
The next time the song comes on the radio, don't change the station. Let it play. Listen to the way the bass enters. Listen to the choir's breath. It’s a reminder that even in the middle of a commercialized music industry, true soul can still find a way through the noise.
For those looking to explore the discography further, the album Agent Provocateur is where this track lives. While it was the commercial peak, it represents a band willing to risk their "tough" image for something much more enduring. You can find high-fidelity remasters on most streaming platforms that bring out the nuance of the gospel vocalists, which is where the true heart of the track resides.
Ultimately, the song serves as a cultural touchstone because it refuses to pretend. It’s a five-minute-long admission of a universal truth: we all want to be seen, we all want to be known, and most of us are still just trying to figure out how to get there.