Everyone asks the same thing. For thirty years, it’s been the punchline of every classic rock conversation and the burning question at every 90s trivia night. What is the "that"? You know the line. Meat Loaf screams it with enough passion to shake the rafters of a cathedral, promising he’d do anything for love, but he won't do that.
People honestly thought he was being cryptic. They thought Jim Steinman, the Wagnerian mastermind behind the song’s lyrics, was hiding some dark, unspeakable secret in the subtext. But the truth is actually staring you right in the face if you just listen to the verses. It isn't a mystery. It never was.
The "That" in I'd Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That)
The song is basically a series of negotiations. It's a six-minute (or twelve-minute, if you're listening to the album version) operatic dialogue. Every time Meat Loaf mentions something he won't do, he prefaces it clearly. He won't forget the way you feel right now. He won't forgive himself if they don't go all the way tonight. He won't do it better than he does it with you.
Then comes the big one at the end. Lorraine Crosby, the powerhouse vocalist who provided the female counterpart (credited simply as "Mrs. Loud" on the original pressing), asks if he’ll eventually stray. She predicts that after the honeymoon phase fades, he’ll start looking around. She says, "After a while you'll be looking around." Meat Loaf’s response? "I won't do that."
It’s about fidelity. It’s about not outgrowing the passion. It’s about not becoming the very thing he hates—a guy who moves on when the spark gets a little dim.
Jim Steinman used to get incredibly frustrated when people asked him what the "that" was. He felt like he'd written the most literal song of his career, yet the world decided it was a puzzle. Meat Loaf even used a blackboard and a pointer during VH1 Storytellers to explain it because he was so tired of the question. He pointed to the lyrics. He showed the math. It’s all right there in the rhyming couplets.
The 1993 Comeback Nobody Saw Coming
By the early 90s, Meat Loaf was sort of a relic. Bat Out of Hell was a titan of the 70s, but the 80s hadn't been kind to him. Lawsuits, vocal cord issues, and a changing musical landscape had pushed him to the fringes. Then 1993 hit.
Enter Bat Out of Hell II: Back into Hell.
The lead single, "I'd Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)," was an absolute monster. It didn't just chart; it dominated. It hit number one in 28 countries. In the UK, it was the biggest-selling single of the year. This was the era of grunge. Nirvana was everywhere. Pearl Jam was king. And yet, here was this 46-year-old man in a ruffled shirt, singing a twelve-minute rock opera about gothic romance.
It shouldn't have worked.
The music video, directed by Michael Bay before he became the "explosions guy," was a high-budget retelling of Beauty and the Beast. It cost a fortune. It looked like a feature film. Meat Loaf spent hours in a makeup chair to look like a tragic monster, hiding in a crumbling mansion while police chased him on motorcycles. It was peak MTV. It was camp. It was glorious.
Why the Song Still Works (And Why it Almost Didn't)
There’s a specific chemistry to a Steinman and Meat Loaf collaboration that nobody has ever been able to replicate. Steinman wrote songs that were "too much." They were too long, too loud, too dramatic. Most singers would sound ridiculous performing them. They’d sound like they were doing musical theater in a dive bar.
Meat Loaf was different. He had this incredible ability to sell the absurdity with 100% conviction. When he sang, you believed his heart was actually going to explode from the sheer weight of his emotions.
Interestingly, the female vocals almost went to someone else. They recorded the track with several different singers, but the guide vocal recorded by Lorraine Crosby was just too good to replace. She happened to be in the studio at the time, a singer from Newcastle who just did it as a "scratch" track. They ended up keeping her voice because nobody else could match the grit and the soaring heights required to stand up to Meat Loaf’s bellow.
The Legacy of the Power Ballad
We don't really get songs like this anymore. In a world of two-minute tracks designed for TikTok algorithms, a sprawling epic like "I'd Do Anything for Love" feels like a cathedral in a neighborhood of tiny houses.
It’s a reminder of a time when rock music wasn't afraid to be "uncool." It wasn't trying to be edgy or minimalist. It was trying to be massive.
The song earned Meat Loaf a Grammy for Best Rock Vocal Performance, Solo. It cemented his legacy not just as a one-hit-wonder of the 70s, but as a legitimate titan of the genre. Even today, you can't go to a karaoke bar without seeing someone try—and usually fail—to hit those soaring notes.
The complexity of the arrangement is often overlooked. You’ve got the motorcycle-revving guitar sounds, the cascading piano riffs that were Steinman’s trademark, and a choral arrangement that sounds like it belongs in an opera house. It’s a dense wall of sound.
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Understanding the Steinman Style
To really get why "I'd Do Anything for Love" resonates, you have to look at Jim Steinman’s philosophy. He didn't believe in "less is more." He believed in "more is more."
- He wanted the drums to sound like cannons.
- He wanted the lyrics to feel like Shakespearean tragedies.
- He wanted the listener to feel exhausted by the end of the song.
When you listen to the track now, notice the tempo shifts. It starts with that driving, insistent beat, then breaks down into a delicate piano melody, then builds back up into a crashing crescendo. It’s a roller coaster.
Most people only know the five-minute radio edit. If you really want the full experience, you have to listen to the twelve-minute version. It’s where the narrative actually breathes. It’s where the "that" is most clearly defined. The radio edit cuts out so much of the dialogue that it actually contributes to the confusion about what he won't do.
Actionable Takeaways for the Curious Listener
If you're revisiting this classic or discovering it for the first time, there are a few things you should do to truly appreciate the craftsmanship:
- Listen to the full album version. Forget the radio edit. The twelve-minute version on Bat Out of Hell II is the intended experience. It includes the full instrumental bridge and the complete back-and-forth dialogue at the end.
- Watch the Michael Bay video. It is a masterclass in early 90s excess. The cinematography is stunning, and it’s a fascinating look at a director's style before he moved into big-budget action movies.
- Pay attention to the lyrics during the final two minutes. Instead of wondering about the "that," listen to the specific fears the female character expresses. He responds to each one. It's a lyrical mirror.
- Explore the rest of the Steinman catalog. If you like this, listen to "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" (Celine Dion) or "Total Eclipse of the Heart" (Bonnie Tyler). You’ll hear the same DNA—the same dramatic pauses and explosive choruses.
Meat Loaf passed away in 2022, but this song remains his most enduring monument. It’s a testament to the power of being over-the-top. It’s a song that refuses to be ignored. And no, he still won't do that.