It was 1972. Marlo Thomas was tired of reading bedtime stories to her niece that ended with a princess waiting for some guy to show up. She wanted something better. Something that didn't tell kids they had to fit into a tiny, suffocating box based on whether they were a boy or a girl. So, she called up some friends. Not just any friends—we’re talking Mel Brooks, Diana Ross, Alan Alda, and Shel Silverstein.
The result? Free to be You and Me music.
If you grew up in the seventies or eighties, that title probably triggers an instant sensory memory of a grainy vinyl record or a brightly colored book. But here’s the thing: it wasn't just a "kids' album." It was a massive cultural disruption disguised as catchy tunes. People think of it as this sweet, soft-hearted relic of the hippie era, but if you actually listen to the lyrics, it’s surprisingly radical. Even now. Honestly, maybe especially now.
The Weird, Wonderful Origin of the Songs
The project started because Marlo Thomas realized the media landscape for children was basically a desert of stereotypes. Boys were brave; girls were pretty. End of story. Thomas used her clout from That Girl to bankroll a project through the Ms. Foundation for Women.
She didn't want preachy, boring lectures. She wanted bops.
She recruited Bruce Hart and Stephen Lawrence to help shape the sound. They didn't go for the "nursery rhyme" vibe. Instead, they leaned into folk, pop, and even some vaudeville-style comedy. When you listen to the title track, "Free to Be... You and Me," performed by The New Seekers, it sounds like a quintessential 70s anthem. It’s airy, optimistic, and wide-open. It tells you that you can be anything. It sounds simple, but in 1972, telling a boy it was okay to cry or a girl she could be a "rancher" was a localized earthquake in American living rooms.
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Why "William’s Doll" Was the Ultimate Gate-Crasher
You can't talk about Free to be You and Me music without talking about the song that made some parents lose their minds: "William’s Doll."
Sung by Alan Alda and Marlo Thomas, it tells the story of a little boy who wants a doll. Not because he’s "broken," but because he wants to practice being a father. His dad buys him a basketball and a train set instead. His grandmother eventually steps in and buys him the doll.
It’s a masterclass in songwriting because it addresses the fear head-on. It doesn't ignore the dad's discomfort; it explains why the discomfort is misplaced. When Alda sings about how William needs to practice being a "good father one day," it pivots the whole conversation from gender roles to the basic human skill of caretaking.
The Shel Silverstein Connection
Shel Silverstein, the guy who wrote The Giving Tree and Where the Sidewalk Ends, contributed "Sisters and Brothers." It’s a messy, loud, honest look at family dynamics. It wasn't polished. It felt real. That’s the recurring theme of this music—it treats children like people who have brains and complicated feelings. It doesn't talk down.
The Sound of 1972 (That Still Works)
Musically, the album is a weirdly effective time capsule.
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- "Parents Are People": Performed by Marlo Thomas and Harry Belafonte. It’s got this bouncy, almost calypso-adjacent rhythm. It reminds kids that their parents have lives, jobs, and dreams outside of just being "Mom" or "Dad."
- "When We Grow Up": Diana Ross and Michael Jackson (back when he was still a kid in the Jackson 5) sang this on the TV special. It’s about not wanting to change just to fit into an adult’s idea of success. It’s soulful and surprisingly moving.
- "Atalanta": This wasn't a song, but a spoken-word track featuring Marlo Thomas and Alan Alda. It’s a retelling of the Greek myth where the princess doesn't want to marry the guy who wins the race. They decide to just hang out and be friends instead.
Think about that. In the early 70s, the "happily ever after" was always a wedding. Free to be You and Me music said, "Hey, maybe the happily ever after is just being yourself and having a cool friend to talk to."
The Backlash and the Legacy
It wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Critics at the time—and some even now—argued that the project was "social engineering." They thought it was trying to erase the differences between men and women.
But if you look at the data and the impact, it did the opposite. It allowed for more room.
The album went Gold. It won an Emmy for the TV special. It’s been used in schools for five decades. Why? Because it’s not actually about "erasing" anything. It’s about permission. It’s the permission to be soft when you’re "supposed" to be hard, or loud when you’re "supposed" to be quiet.
The Letty Cottin Pogrebin editorial influence on the project ensured that the feminist roots were deep, but the execution remained joyful. It’s one of the few pieces of "educational" media that doesn't feel like eating your vegetables. It feels like a party where everyone is invited.
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How to Listen Today
If you’re looking to revisit this or introduce it to a new generation, don't just go for the YouTube clips. Try to find the original 1972 recording.
The production value is surprisingly high. You’ll hear the crispness of the percussion and the genuine warmth in the vocal performances. Harry Belafonte’s voice on "Parents Are People" is like a warm hug. It’s a reminder that these weren't just "actors who could sing"—these were world-class musicians putting their talent into a project they actually believed in.
Key Tracks to Revisit:
- "Free to Be... You and Me" (The New Seekers) - The quintessential anthem.
- "Girl Land" (Jack Cassidy and Shirley Jones) - A creepy, carnival-style song about the "trap" of traditional femininity. It’s surprisingly dark and brilliant.
- "My Dog is a Plumber" (Dick Cavett) - A witty poem about how gender doesn't dictate your job.
- "Dudley Pippin and the Principal" (Billy De Wolfe) - A hilarious take on school bureaucracy and individuality.
Actionable Steps for the Modern Listener
If you want to bring the spirit of Free to be You and Me music into 2026, here’s how to do it without it feeling like a history lesson:
- Create a "Permission" Playlist: Mix these tracks with modern artists who carry the same energy. Think Janelle Monáe, Brandi Carlile, or even some of the more progressive tracks from Steven Universe. The goal is to show that the conversation never stopped; it just evolved.
- Watch the 1974 TV Special: It’s available on various streaming platforms and DVD. Seeing the fashion and the 70s-era animation adds a layer of context that makes the music hit even harder. The "It's All Right to Cry" segment with Rosey Grier—a massive, tough NFL player—singing about emotions is still one of the most powerful things ever broadcast on television.
- Use it as a Conversation Starter: If you have kids (or even if you don’t), listen to "William’s Doll" and then talk about what toys were "off-limits" when you were growing up. It’s a great way to bridge the generational gap and realize how much has changed—and how much hasn't.
- Support the Ms. Foundation: The project originally funded the Ms. Foundation for Women. Checking out their current initiatives is a way to see where that 1970s energy is headed today.
The music works because it’s honest. It acknowledges that the world is big and sometimes scary, but it’s a lot easier to navigate when you aren't pretending to be someone else. That’s a message that doesn't expire. It’s not just a 70s thing. It’s a human thing.