He stood there at Fenway Park, April 2007. It was the Red Sox home opener. Robert Goulet, 73 years old and just months away from the end, opened his mouth to sing. He didn't do the National Anthem. He did the song. You know the one. The Impossible Dream.
His voice was a bit weathered by then, sure. But the power? Still there. That resonant, floor-shaking baritone that had defined an entire era of American masculine poise. It’s kinda wild to think that a song about a delusional knight from a 1965 musical became the unofficial anthem for basically every underdog in history. And while a lot of people recorded it—Elvis, Sinatra, even Cher—there is something about the song The Impossible Dream Robert Goulet version that just feels... right.
What Most People Get Wrong About the "Original"
Actually, here's a fun bit of trivia for your next dinner party: Robert Goulet did not originate this song on Broadway.
That honor goes to Richard Kiley, who played Don Quixote in the 1965 debut of Man of La Mancha. Kiley was incredible, don’t get me wrong. He won a Tony for it. But Goulet? He owned the airwaves. He took that Mitch Leigh and Joe Darion composition and turned it into a "Goulet Standard."
He recorded it for his 1967 album On Broadway, Volume 2. By the time that record hit the shelves, Goulet was already a massive star thanks to Camelot. People associated his face—those piercing blue eyes and that "matinee idol" mustache—with the idea of the questing hero.
Why his version stuck
- The Dynamics: He starts almost in a whisper, like he's telling a secret to himself.
- The "Build": Around the line "To be willing to march into hell," he shifts gears. It’s not just singing anymore; it's a declaration of war.
- The Finish: Most singers go for the high note and hope for the best. Goulet lived in that high note. He sat on it. He made it clear that the "unreachable star" was, in fact, within his grasp.
The Lyrics: More Than Just a "Heavenly Cause"
Let's be real for a second. The lyrics to The Impossible Dream are objectively intense. "To fight the unbeatable foe." "To bear the unbearable sorrow." It's heavy stuff.
Joe Darion wrote these words to reflect the spirit of Miguel de Cervantes' protagonist, a man who chooses to see the world not as it is, but as it should be. In the mid-60s, this resonated hard. You had the Civil Rights Movement, the Vietnam War, and the Space Race. Everyone was trying to reach an unreachable star of some kind.
Goulet’s delivery stripped away the "theatre" of it all. When he sang about being "scorned and covered with scars," it didn't feel like a costume piece. It felt like he was talking about the human condition. Honestly, that’s why it became a staple of his live shows for forty years. Whether he was playing a showroom in Vegas or a telethon for Jerry Lewis, people didn't leave until they heard those opening chords.
A Career Defined by the Quest
If you look at Goulet’s trajectory, it's almost poetic. He was this kid from Massachusetts who moved to Canada, studied at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto, and then "burst" onto the US scene in 1960.
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He played Sir Lancelot. He sang "If Ever I Would Leave You." He was the "American Dream" personified. But as the 70s and 80s rolled in and musical tastes shifted toward rock and disco, Goulet became a bit of a throwback. A "crooner" in an age of synthesizers.
Instead of fading away, he leaned into it. He became a parody of himself in The Simpsons and The Naked Gun 2½. He showed he had a sense of humor about the "big voice" persona. But when the lights dimmed and he started the song The Impossible Dream Robert Goulet would remind everyone why he was there in the first place. You can’t fake that kind of vocal authority.
The technical side of the 1967 recording
The production on the On Broadway, Vol. 2 track is peak 1960s Columbia Records. You’ve got the lush strings, the swelling brass, and that specific reverb that makes it sound like he's singing in a cathedral.
It reached #145 on the Billboard 200, which might not sound like a chart-topper today, but remember: this was an album of show tunes competing with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. The fact that a baritone crooner was even in the conversation tells you everything you need to know about his grip on the public's ear.
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Why We Still Listen in 2026
We live in a world that’s pretty cynical. We’re taught to "be realistic." "Manage expectations."
Then you put on this track. You hear that brass fanfare. You hear a man who sounds like he could punch a hole through a mountain just by singing at it. It’s a temporary escape from the "good enough" culture.
The song isn't actually about winning. Read the lyrics again. It’s about trying. It’s about striving "with the last ounce of courage." Goulet understood that. His final performances, even when he was struggling with pulmonary fibrosis, were testament to that "last ounce."
How to experience the best of Goulet’s "Dream" today:
- Skip the digital remasters at first. If you can, find a vintage vinyl copy of On Broadway, Volume 2. The analog warmth captures the "texture" of his voice in a way Spotify sometimes flattens.
- Watch the 1989 MDA Telethon clip. You can find it on YouTube. It’s Goulet in his prime Vegas era. The tuxedo, the confidence—it's a masterclass in stage presence.
- Listen for the breath control. Notice how he handles the phrase "To reach the unreachable star" at the very end. He doesn't take a breath between "unreachable" and "star." That’s pure technical skill.
- Compare versions. Play Richard Kiley’s original cast recording, then Goulet’s. Kiley is the actor; Goulet is the singer. Both are valid, but Goulet is the one that makes you want to go buy a sword and find a windmill.
Stop looking for the "perfect" modern cover. They don't make voices like this anymore. Just go back to the source. Turn it up loud enough to make the windows rattle, and let Robert Goulet tell you why it's okay to follow that star, no matter how hopeless or how far.