I learned the truth at seventeen/
That love was meant for beauty queens.

As Janis Ian explains, life isn’t all it seems “At Seventeen”. Somehow this song did not become a huge hit. It is a haunting song that contrasts the haves vs the have nots in high school. Ian points out that high school is a vastly different experience for those who are beautiful compared to those who are not.

Those who are beautiful marry into what they need while those who are not beautiful are left to invent lovers on the telephone to pretend that they are busy Saturday nights. It turns out life will continue this way: being good-looking is a huge advantage throughout life, but at seventeen, it seems all the more cruel.

The song is not demanding vocally, but it still packs a punch, primarily due to the message and the good melody. Ian sings the song as if it is extremely meaningful to her, which is one of the most important characteristics of any vocal.

It is more interesting because I think Ian is good looking—though she was not strikingly beautiful. The outro/solo adds an interesting twist to the song. “At Seventeen” gets a little more jazzy as some horns and shakers are added in before the final note dies away.

At Seventeen Lyrics

I learned the truth at seventeen,
That love was meant for beauty queens.
And high school girls with clear skinned smiles,
Who married young and then retired.

The valentines I never knew,
The Friday night charades of youth.
Were spent on one more beautiful,
At seventeen I learned the truth.

And those of us with ravaged faces
Lacking in the social graces,
Desperately remained at home,
Inventing lovers on the phone.
Who called to say “Come dance with me”.
And murmured vague obscenities,
It isn’t all it seems…
At seventeen.

A brown eyed girl in hand-me-downs,
Whose name I never could pronounce.
Said, “Pity, please, the ones who serve,
They only get what they deserve.”

And the rich relationed hometown queen,
Marries into what she needs.
With a guarantee of company,
And haven for the elderly.

Remember those who win the game,
Lose the love they sought to gain.
In debentures of quality,
And dubious integrity.
Their small-town eyes will gape at you,
In dull surprise when payment due
Exceeds accounts received,
At seventeen.

To those of us who knew the pain,
Of valentines that never came.
And those whose names were never called,
When choosing sides for basketball.

It was long ago and far away,
The world was younger than today.
When dreams were all they gave for free,
To ugly duckling girls like me.

We all play the game, and when we dare,
To cheat ourselves at solitaire.
Inventing lovers on the phone,
Repenting other lives unknown.

They call and say, “Come dance with me”,
And murmur vague obscenities,
At ugly girls like me
At seventeen.

written by Janis Ian