Meat Loaf was a giant. He wasn't just a singer; he was a theatrical force who treated every stage like a Shakespearean battlefield. But for decades, one specific question dogged him more than any other. People wanted to know: what exactly was the "that" in the song I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That)?
It’s kind of funny when you think about it. The song is twelve minutes long in its original album version. It’s an epic. Jim Steinman, the legendary songwriter behind the Bat Out of Hell trilogy, didn't write mysteries; he wrote over-the-top rock operas. Yet, for some reason, the world decided Meat Loaf was being cryptic. They thought he was hiding a secret, maybe something scandalous or weirdly specific. Honestly, the answer was right there in the lyrics the whole time.
The Literal Answer to the Meat Loaf Mystery
If you listen to the song—I mean really listen—the "that" changes. It’s not one single thing. It’s a series of things he promises never to do to the woman he loves.
Take the first verse. He sings about how he'll never forget the way she feels right now. Then he says he'll never forgive himself if they don't go all the way tonight. Each time he reaches the chorus, he's responding to a specific fear or a hypothetical situation mentioned just seconds earlier.
Breaking down the lyrics
In the final section of the song, the female vocalist (Lorraine Crosby, though she was credited as "Mrs. Loud" on the original pressing) starts asking him direct questions. She’s skeptical. She’s seen it all before. She predicts that after a while, he’ll start looking around. She says, "After a while you'll forget everything... you'll see it's time to move on."
Meat Loaf’s response? "I won't do that."
She then suggests that he’ll eventually cheat or "screw around." Again, he bellows, "No, I won't do that!" It’s a defensive promise. It’s a vow of loyalty.
Jim Steinman used to get frustrated by the confusion. He once explained in an interview that he felt the lyrics were incredibly straightforward. He thought it was the most literal song he’d ever written. You’ve got a guy being interrogated by the woman he loves, and he’s just trying to reassure her. He’s saying he’ll do the crazy stuff—the "anything"—but he won't do the things that would break her heart or end the relationship.
Why the Confusion Persisted for Decades
So why did we all get it so wrong?
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Part of it was the music video. Directed by Michael Bay—yes, that Michael Bay—it was a high-budget, Gothic retelling of Beauty and the Beast. You have Meat Loaf in heavy prosthetics, riding a motorcycle through a misty castle, being chased by police. It was visual overload. When the imagery is that dense and dramatic, people start looking for metaphors. They assume the "that" must be something equally dramatic or perhaps something "adult" in nature.
Radio edits didn't help.
Most people heard the five-minute version. When you chop a twelve-minute rock opera down to fit a Top 40 slot, you lose the narrative arc. You lose the call-and-response at the end where the specific "thats" are actually identified. Without the context of Lorraine Crosby’s verses, the chorus just sounds like a vague refusal.
It became a meme before memes were a thing. It was a cultural shorthand for "setting boundaries," but nobody knew where the boundaries were.
The Meat Loaf and Jim Steinman Partnership
You can't talk about I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That) without talking about the relationship between the singer and the songwriter. They were two halves of a whole. Steinman was the architect; Meat Loaf was the construction crew.
Steinman’s songs were notoriously difficult to sing. They required a massive vocal range and the stamina of a marathon runner. Meat Loaf, born Marvin Lee Aday, had that background in musical theater (Hair, The Rocky Horror Show). He understood that these weren't just pop songs. They were monologues.
When they recorded Bat Out of Hell II: Back into Hell in the early 90s, they were trying to catch lightning in a bottle for the second time. The first Bat Out of Hell was a slow burner that eventually became one of the best-selling albums in history. The sequel needed a lead single that captured that same Wagnerian-rock energy.
I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That) delivered. It hit number one in 28 countries. It won a Grammy. It proved that in an era of grunge and stripped-down alternative rock, there was still a massive audience for leather jackets, motorcycles, and six-minute piano intros.
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Real-World Impact and Misinterpretations
It’s sort of wild how much this song has permeated the culture. It’s been used in countless commercials (M&Ms famously parodied it). It’s a karaoke staple, though usually, people realize halfway through that they don't have the lungs to finish it.
I’ve heard people argue that "that" refers to something specific Meat Loaf wouldn't do in the bedroom. That’s been a popular theory in bars for thirty years. Meat Loaf himself eventually started carrying a chalkboard on stage or using a pointer during TV interviews to explain the lyrics line-by-line because he was so tired of that specific rumor.
He’d point to the lyric: "I'll never stop dreaming of you every night of my life."
Then he'd point to the hook: "I won't do that." (Meaning, he won't stop dreaming).
It’s basic grammar. But I guess "Grammar: The Song" doesn't have the same ring to it.
The Legacy of the Song Today
Meat Loaf passed away in 2022, but the song hasn't aged a day. It still feels huge. It still feels like it’s about to burst at the seams.
In a world where music is often made to be "chill" or "background vibes," this track demands you pay attention. It’s loud. It’s sweaty. It’s desperate. It reminds us that love isn't just a feeling; it’s a series of promises and boundaries.
Interestingly, the song also highlights the "Steinman Sound"—that wall of sound production with heavy piano, operatic backing vocals, and dramatic pauses. It’s the same energy Steinman brought to Bonnie Tyler’s "Total Eclipse of the Heart." It’s maximalism at its finest.
What we can learn from the "That"
The whole "mystery" teaches us something about how we consume art. We often look for complexity where there is clarity because we want to feel like we’ve "solved" something. But sometimes, the artist is telling you exactly what they mean.
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Meat Loaf wasn't playing a game. He was playing a character who was deeply, madly, and slightly pathologically in love. And that character had lines he wouldn't cross. He wouldn't lie. He wouldn't forget. He wouldn't move on.
Actionable Insights for Fans and Listeners
If you want to truly appreciate the song or the artist, here’s how to do it right.
Listen to the full album version. Seriously. Stop listening to the radio edit. The full 12-minute version on Bat Out of Hell II is a completely different experience. You need the long instrumental buildup to understand the emotional payoff of the finale.
Watch the VH1 Storytellers performance. Meat Loaf was at his best when he was explaining his craft. His Storytellers episode is legendary because he breaks down the theatricality of his music. He addresses the "won't do that" question with humor and genuine insight into his collaboration with Steinman.
Explore the Lorraine Crosby connection. The female vocals on the track are essential. Crosby was actually just a session singer who happened to be at the studio when they were recording the demo. Her "guide vocal" was so good they kept it on the final track. She never appeared in the video (that was an actress named Dana Patrick lip-syncing), but her voice is half the reason the song works.
Check out the rest of the trilogy. If you like the drama of this song, you need to hear Bat Out of Hell (1977) and even the often-overlooked Bat Out of Hell III: The Monster Is Loose (2006). They all carry that same DNA of "more is more."
Understand the boundaries. Apply the Meat Loaf logic to your own life. Loving someone "anything" doesn't mean losing your identity or your values. It means knowing what you won't do is just as important as what you will do.
The song isn't a riddle. It’s a manifesto. It’s about the limits of devotion and the strength of a promise. Next time it comes on the radio, you can be the person who actually knows what’s going on. Just don’t be too annoying about it at the karaoke bar. Or do. Meat Loaf probably would have appreciated the theater of it.