It was 1974. Ray Stevens was sitting in his home in Nashville, probably not realizing he was about to bottle lightning—or rather, bottle the image of a naked man running through a grocery store. The song they call him the streak wasn't just a gimmick. It was a cultural thermometer.
Streaking was everywhere.
Seriously, people were dropping their clothes at basketball games, graduation ceremonies, and even the Academy Awards. When David Niven was introducing Elizabeth Taylor at the 46th Oscars, a guy named Robert Opel ran across the stage behind him, flashing a peace sign and absolutely nothing else. The world was weird. Ray Stevens, being the sharp-eyed observational comic he was, saw the chaos and wrote a masterpiece of novelty songwriting.
The Story Behind The Streak
Ray Stevens didn't just wake up and write a hit. He saw a news report about the "streaking" craze and realized it was the perfect fodder for a song. He actually recorded the whole thing in a single session. If you listen closely to the track, you hear that high-pitched, frantic voice of the witness—that's Ray. The deep, rumbling voice of the reporter? Also Ray. He was a one-man production powerhouse.
The song follows a guy named Ethelbert—"Ethel" for short—who keeps taking his wife to public places only to be interrupted by a man wearing nothing but a smile. It’s a classic setup. You have the "Boogity, Boogity" hook that gets stuck in your head for days, and then you have the play-by-play commentary that feels like a 1970s evening news broadcast gone wrong.
It hit number one on the Billboard Hot 100 in May 1974. Think about that. In a year where ABBA was winning Eurovision and David Bowie was releasing Diamond Dogs, a song about a naked man in a supermarket was the biggest thing in America.
Why the humor actually worked
Comedy music is hard. Most of it ages like milk. But they call him the streak survives because it’s a character study. It’s not just about the runner; it’s about the horrified, yet strangely observant, witness.
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"Don't look, Ethel!"
That line became a national catchphrase. It captured the exact middle-class anxiety of the era. People were terrified of the changing social norms, the "loose" morals of the 70s, and the general breakdown of public decorum. Ray Stevens took that fear and made it ridiculous. He turned the "threat" of a naked hippie into a punchline.
Technical Brilliance in a "Silly" Song
Don't let the subject matter fool you. Ray Stevens is a legitimate musical genius. He wasn't just a funny guy; he was a top-tier arranger and producer.
The arrangement of they call him the streak is tight. It uses a driving, upbeat tempo that mimics the frantic energy of a chase. The "Boogity, Boogity" chant serves as a rhythmic anchor. It’s catchy because it’s built on a rock-solid foundation of country-pop production. Stevens played almost all the instruments himself on his early hits, showing a level of craftsmanship that most novelty acts never even attempt.
He understood the "theatre of the mind."
When you hear the crowd noise in the background, or the sound of the reporter’s microphone, you aren't just listening to a song. You’re listening to a radio play. This was the same era as The Rocky Horror Picture Show and the rise of Saturday Night Live. Audiences were hungry for satire that felt immersive.
The impact on the 1974 charts
The success was staggering. It wasn't just a US hit; it went to number one in the UK, Canada, and New Zealand. It stayed at the top of the charts for three weeks in the States. To put that in perspective, he knocked "The Loco-Motion" by Grand Funk Railroad out of the top spot.
People needed the laugh. The early 70s were heavy. We had Watergate, the tail end of the Vietnam War, and an energy crisis. They call him the streak provided three minutes of pure, unadulterated nonsense. It was a release valve for a country that was stressed out.
Is Streaking Still a Thing?
Honestly, not really. Not like it was.
Sure, you’ll get the occasional "pitch invader" at a Champions League final or a stray fan running across the field at a baseball game. But the cultural phenomenon of streaking—where it was almost a political statement of freedom—is dead. Today, if you streak, you don’t get a catchy song written about you. You get a lifetime ban from the stadium and a spot on a specific government registry.
But the song remains a time capsule.
When you play they call him the streak today, it immediately evokes a specific aesthetic: polyester suits, sideburns, and the smell of old station wagons. It’s one of the few novelty songs that doesn’t feel mean-spirited. It’s poking fun at everyone—the streaker, the shocked onlookers, and the media frenzy surrounding it all.
Key takeaways from the Ray Stevens era
- Timing is everything. Had he released this in 1971 or 1977, it might have flopped. He caught the peak of the trend right as it was dominating the news cycle.
- Character matters. The "Ethel" and "The Streak" personas gave the audience someone to visualize.
- Production quality counts. Even a joke song needs to sound professional to get radio play. Stevens never cut corners on the audio quality.
How to Appreciate This Classic Today
If you’re looking to revisit the track or introduce it to someone who only knows modern pop, don't just stream it on a phone speaker. Find a version with the original 1974 mixing. Listen for the layers. Notice how Stevens switches voices seamlessly.
It’s easy to dismiss novelty music as "disposable." We do it all the time with viral TikTok hits. But there is a reason we aren't talking about most of the viral hits from three years ago, yet we are still talking about a song from fifty years ago. Ray Stevens understood the assignment. He wrote a song that was funny on the first listen and musically competent enough to survive the five-hundredth listen.
If you're a musician or a songwriter, there’s a massive lesson here: Don't be afraid of the absurd. Sometimes the weirdest thing in the news is exactly what people want to hear a song about.
Next Steps for Music History Buffs:
- Listen to the full Ray Stevens catalog: Check out "Gitarzan" and "Everything is Beautiful" to see his range from pure comedy to Grammy-winning serious songwriting.
- Watch the 1974 Oscars clip: Search for the Robert Opel streaking incident to see the real-world event that mirrored the song's energy.
- Analyze the structure: If you're a producer, break down how Stevens used Foley sounds (crowds, sirens) to create a narrative environment within a three-minute pop song.
The legacy of they call him the streak isn't just about a guy with no clothes. It’s about the power of humor to capture a moment in time better than any history book ever could. It’s a reminder that even when the world feels like it’s going crazy, we can still find something to sing—and laugh—about.