The Greatest Oldies Music

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Hank Williams Jr. got to “A Little Less Talk and a Lot More Action” first. A year later, Toby Keith made it one of the hits that introduced him to country radio. Written by Keith Hinton and Jimmy Alan Stewart, the song appeared on Hank Jr.’s 1992 album *Maverick*. Toby included it on his self-titled debut in 1993, an album otherwise dominated by his own writing. Only this song and one other came from outside writers. Released on November 9, 1993, it followed “Should’ve Been a Cowboy” and “He Ain’t Worth Missing” as the album’s third single. It entered Billboard’s country chart at No. 66 that week and remained for twenty weeks. On February 19, 1994, it reached No. 2, held from the top by John Michael Montgomery’s “I Swear.” It also reached No. 25 in Canada and earned an RIAA gold certification. In less than three minutes, Toby brought his own energy to a song Hank Jr. had already recorded—and gave a growing audience another reason to remember his name.

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Released in 1993 on his self-titled debut album, this track became an instant classic, perfectly encapsulating a certain American spirit that resonated deeply with country music fans. But to truly…

Country

“Come here, June.” Johnny Cash called toward the wings at San Quentin on February 24, 1969, inviting his wife to join him before a room full of inmates. A British television crew was filming, and Johnny had been complaining about instructions on what to sing and where to stand. He turned the irritation into a joke: “Ol’ Johnny does best under pressure.” For this number, he chose a song written by John Sebastian of the Lovin’ Spoonful. Released by the band in 1966, it had begun as a gentle folk-pop recording about standing beside someone you love. Johnny and June had married the previous year, after spending years together on the road. As June stepped out and Carl Perkins played guitar, the couple shared the chorus while prisoners cheered. The promise in the song suited two singers whose partnership extended well beyond the performance. *At San Quentin* arrived that June, topping Billboard’s pop and country album charts and eventually earning triple-platinum certification. Three decades later, both Johnny and June contributed liner notes to the complete concert’s 2000 reissue, looking back on an afternoon preserved on record. Do you remember which song they sang together?

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It was February 24, 1969, and the dining hall at San Quentin State Prison was packed with inmates who had waited a long time for this day. Johnny Cash stood…

Country

Christmas came and went. So did New Year’s. Buck Owens was still at No. 1 with a cheerful song he had written himself. Its sixteen-week run stretched from October 1963 into February 1964. Another country song would not stay on top longer for forty-nine years. It was only Buck’s second chart-topper, a buoyant tune about loneliness giving way to the prospect of love. After entering the country chart at No. 16 in September, it reached No. 1 four weeks later and settled in for the winter. During that run, President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. Thanksgiving followed beneath the weight of national grief, then Christmas and the beginning of another year. Through those months, Buck’s record kept offering its small, uncomplicated promise of better days. Looking back, that contrast gives the song an unexpected poignancy. A man anticipating happiness remained on the radio through a season remembered for sorrow. Marty Robbins finally displaced it in February. For decades afterward, even ten weeks at No. 1 remained out of reach for country singles. If you heard Buck on the radio that winter, does the song still come straight back to you?

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In the late summer of 1963, Buck Owens released a song he had written by himself, a quick, cheerful number called “Love’s Gonna Live Here.” By the time it finally…

Country

The engineers had a problem when Patty Loveless returned to recording on her 36th birthday: her voice was overwhelming the microphone. Two and a half months earlier, she had wondered whether she would ever sing again. In the fall of 1992, Patty was preparing to leave for western tour dates when a Vanderbilt specialist warned that continuing could permanently damage her voice. She had resisted stopping, worried about disappointing everyone depending on her. On October 21, she underwent laser surgery on her vocal cords. Her thought going in was simple: “This can’t be over. I’ve got more to do.” A month of complete silence followed, including at home with her husband and producer, Emory Gordy Jr. Then a voice coach helped her begin again with gentle humming. Patty likened the exercises to stretching before running. On January 4, 1993, she stepped into the studio, with two doctors attending the session. The song she recorded would reach No. 1 on Billboard’s country chart. Emory told the engineers she was “blowing it out.” After months of fearing for her voice, Patty had come back strong enough to test their equipment.

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On January 4, 1993, her 36th birthday, Patty Loveless walked into the studio with her husband and producer, Emory Gordy Jr., and recorded “Blame It on Your Heart.” It was…

Country

Bonnie Owens wanted Merle Haggard to see her favorite singer. In 2006, several years into Alzheimer’s, she took his arm and led him to a photograph of the two of them behind her bed. They had married in 1965. Bonnie sang harmony beside him and kept paper handy whenever she sensed he was beginning a song. During a break after roughly ninety days touring Texas in the late 1960s, Merle told her at an airport that his heart had found its way back to her that day. Bonnie suggested reversing the phrase. “That gives you half of it,” he replied. Days later, in a Dallas motel room, he finished the song on a paper bag from a hamburger Bonnie had brought him. Released in 1968 as the B-side of a No. 1 single, it never charted for Merle but became his most covered composition. Their marriage ended in 1978, though Bonnie continued singing with him for years. Now she pointed to the photograph. “He’s my favorite,” she said, unable to recognize that the man she admired was standing beside her. Do you know which song grew from their conversation?

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In 2006, Bonnie Owens was several years into Alzheimer’s when she took Merle Haggard by the arm and led him to her room to show him a large photograph of…

Country

Johnny Cash didn’t remember Merle Haggard being on his San Quentin show. Merle explained why: he had been sitting in the prisoners’ audience. Their exchange became a story they could laugh about years later. On New Year’s Day in 1959, however, twenty-one-year-old Haggard had little reason to assume his life would lead to a friendship with the singer onstage. His troubles had deepened after his father’s death. Running away, riding freight trains, arrests and escapes became a pattern that followed him through adolescence. A botched burglary and another escape attempt eventually brought him to San Quentin, where he began recognizing how much of his future he could lose. Cash’s performance offered a direction he could imagine pursuing. Haggard later remembered it as an important moment, though changing his life required decisions that continued well beyond that afternoon. He worked in the prison textile mill, played in the prison band and improved his conduct. After his parole in 1960, he supported himself through labor jobs while working toward a place in music. The songs that eventually made his name often concerned people living with consequences: prisoners, wanderers and men trying to recover from their mistakes. He brought knowledge to those stories that required little invention. By the time he told Cash where they had first shared a room, Haggard had built the musical life he once watched from a prison seat. The joke worked because he could finally tell it as a fellow performer.

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MERLE HAGGARD SAW JOHNNY CASH AT SAN QUENTIN—AND FOUND A DIFFERENT WAY FORWARD On New Year’s Day in 1959, Merle Haggard sat inside San Quentin and watched Johnny Cash perform…

Country

Nine days into her marriage to Gregg Allman, Cher filed for divorce. Their Las Vegas wedding in June 1975 had been followed almost immediately by the reality of his heroin addiction. She loved him, but sharing a home made the problem impossible to overlook. The man she wanted a future with was struggling with something her affection could not resolve. Allman entered treatment, and Cher withdrew the filing. They reconciled, then welcomed their son, Elijah Blue, in July 1976. Parenthood gave them more to protect, though it did not remove the instability. Cher later explained that she wanted Gregg to be himself—sober. They also tried working together. Their album *Two the Hard Way* led to a joint tour, bringing two very different performers into the same musical partnership. The pressures within their marriage traveled with them, however, and by 1977 they had separated again. For Cher, concern about the children became decisive. She could no longer accept the unpredictability at home. Their divorce was finalized in 1979, ending a marriage that had involved considerably more effort than its famous nine-day beginning suggested. Affection remained afterward. Both remembered the relationship warmly at times, and they maintained a connection long after they stopped being husband and wife. Leaving had not required either of them to deny that they had loved each other. The first divorce filing became the detail people repeated. Less easily captured was the work between that filing and the final separation: treatment, reconciliation, a baby, shared music and further disappointment. Cher had kept trying to build a family with Gregg, until she reached the limit of what she could do. His recovery was something she could support, but could not accomplish on his behalf.

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CHER FILED FOR DIVORCE NINE DAYS AFTER MARRYING GREGG ALLMAN—BUT THEIR MARRIAGE WAS FAR FROM OVER Nine days after marrying Gregg Allman in Las Vegas in June 1975, Cher filed…

Country

Garth Brooks knew how to fill an arena. In 2001, he wanted to know his three daughters better. Years of touring had left him familiar with their faces and personalities, but less certain about the people they were becoming. After building one of country music’s biggest careers, he stepped away and returned to Oklahoma to take part in their everyday lives. He moved into a small bunkhouse on his ranch and arranged his days around fatherhood. School schedules and time together became priorities. The ordinary moments he had often missed were now the reason to stay home. People later asked how he could leave music at that level of success. For Garth, raising his children mattered more. He wanted to be present through the years he could never get back. His retirement included occasional performances and, eventually, a Las Vegas residency. Those appearances allowed some room for music while he continued keeping a full touring schedule on hold. He repeatedly said a major return would wait until his youngest daughter finished school. By 2013, that milestone was approaching. Looking back, he spoke about the time at home as a commitment he had wanted to fulfill. Touring could become part of his life again because he had given those growing years his attention. The crowds had helped define his working life. At home, the reward was quieter and more personal: knowing his daughters through the daily routines, conversations and changes he had chosen to stay and witness.

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GARTH BROOKS WALKED AWAY FROM THE BIGGEST CAREER IN COUNTRY MUSIC TO RAISE HIS DAUGHTERS In 2001, Garth Brooks stepped away from a career that had made him one of…

Country

Reba McEntire’s first question was whether everyone was all right. In a San Diego hotel room early on March 16, 1991, Narvel Blackstock had just told her that a plane carrying members of her touring party had crashed. He could offer little reassurance. The aircraft had struck Otay Mountain shortly after takeoff. Seven musicians, tour manager Jim Hammon and two pilots were killed. Reba’s husband and manager was now trying to explain a loss neither of them could fully absorb. These were people whose lives had been closely woven into hers through rehearsals, performances and years of travel. The faces audiences recognized behind her belonged to friends she knew far beyond the stage. Upcoming concerts were canceled as she and the victims’ families faced the immediate aftermath. At a memorial service in Nashville, Johnny Cash delivered the eulogy. Later that year, Reba released *For My Broken Heart*, dedicating it to those she had lost. Grief ran through the recording sessions. Asked whether the album would include happy songs, she answered no. Decades afterward, details of the hotel room remained vivid. She remembered Narvel pacing as they waited to learn more. Describing the crash as the hardest experience of her life, she continued honoring the anniversary and remembering the people who had died. Her career carried on through new albums, larger audiences and opportunities she could not have imagined that morning. None of it made those friendships replaceable or turned the crash into a closed chapter. The musicians and crew had already been family to her before the accident. Remembering them meant returning to the years they had shared—the work, the travel and the everyday companionship that a concert audience could only glimpse.

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REBA McENTIRE LOST EIGHT MEMBERS OF HER TOURING FAMILY IN ONE NIGHT In the early hours of March 16, 1991, Reba McEntire was still in a San Diego hotel when…

Oldies Musics

Failing bones and a body worn down by exhaustion could not extinguish the fierce, selfless devotion he held for the people sitting out in the dark. Millions saw the shimmering jumpsuits catch the stage lights, hearing that legendary voice ring out with the power to shake an entire arena, completely unaware of the quiet, agonizing battles raging beneath the surface. Walking out past the velvet curtain required a monumental, bone-deep courage that the screaming crowds could never truly fathom. Yet, night after night, as the applause washed over him, he refused to let them see the cracks. He poured every remaining drop of his fading strength into those performances, choosing to spend what was left of his vitality bringing joy to strangers, carrying his heavy, hidden pain in silence so that everyone else could leave the hall feeling a little less alone.

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The saddest thing about Elvis Presley is that even when his own body was failing him, he was still trying to make the world smile. Behind the dazzling jumpsuits, the…

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You Missed

Country

Hank Williams Jr. got to “A Little Less Talk and a Lot More Action” first. A year later, Toby Keith made it one of the hits that introduced him to country radio. Written by Keith Hinton and Jimmy Alan Stewart, the song appeared on Hank Jr.’s 1992 album *Maverick*. Toby included it on his self-titled debut in 1993, an album otherwise dominated by his own writing. Only this song and one other came from outside writers. Released on November 9, 1993, it followed “Should’ve Been a Cowboy” and “He Ain’t Worth Missing” as the album’s third single. It entered Billboard’s country chart at No. 66 that week and remained for twenty weeks. On February 19, 1994, it reached No. 2, held from the top by John Michael Montgomery’s “I Swear.” It also reached No. 25 in Canada and earned an RIAA gold certification. In less than three minutes, Toby brought his own energy to a song Hank Jr. had already recorded—and gave a growing audience another reason to remember his name.

Country

“Come here, June.” Johnny Cash called toward the wings at San Quentin on February 24, 1969, inviting his wife to join him before a room full of inmates. A British television crew was filming, and Johnny had been complaining about instructions on what to sing and where to stand. He turned the irritation into a joke: “Ol’ Johnny does best under pressure.” For this number, he chose a song written by John Sebastian of the Lovin’ Spoonful. Released by the band in 1966, it had begun as a gentle folk-pop recording about standing beside someone you love. Johnny and June had married the previous year, after spending years together on the road. As June stepped out and Carl Perkins played guitar, the couple shared the chorus while prisoners cheered. The promise in the song suited two singers whose partnership extended well beyond the performance. *At San Quentin* arrived that June, topping Billboard’s pop and country album charts and eventually earning triple-platinum certification. Three decades later, both Johnny and June contributed liner notes to the complete concert’s 2000 reissue, looking back on an afternoon preserved on record. Do you remember which song they sang together?

Country

Christmas came and went. So did New Year’s. Buck Owens was still at No. 1 with a cheerful song he had written himself. Its sixteen-week run stretched from October 1963 into February 1964. Another country song would not stay on top longer for forty-nine years. It was only Buck’s second chart-topper, a buoyant tune about loneliness giving way to the prospect of love. After entering the country chart at No. 16 in September, it reached No. 1 four weeks later and settled in for the winter. During that run, President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas. Thanksgiving followed beneath the weight of national grief, then Christmas and the beginning of another year. Through those months, Buck’s record kept offering its small, uncomplicated promise of better days. Looking back, that contrast gives the song an unexpected poignancy. A man anticipating happiness remained on the radio through a season remembered for sorrow. Marty Robbins finally displaced it in February. For decades afterward, even ten weeks at No. 1 remained out of reach for country singles. If you heard Buck on the radio that winter, does the song still come straight back to you?

Country

The engineers had a problem when Patty Loveless returned to recording on her 36th birthday: her voice was overwhelming the microphone. Two and a half months earlier, she had wondered whether she would ever sing again. In the fall of 1992, Patty was preparing to leave for western tour dates when a Vanderbilt specialist warned that continuing could permanently damage her voice. She had resisted stopping, worried about disappointing everyone depending on her. On October 21, she underwent laser surgery on her vocal cords. Her thought going in was simple: “This can’t be over. I’ve got more to do.” A month of complete silence followed, including at home with her husband and producer, Emory Gordy Jr. Then a voice coach helped her begin again with gentle humming. Patty likened the exercises to stretching before running. On January 4, 1993, she stepped into the studio, with two doctors attending the session. The song she recorded would reach No. 1 on Billboard’s country chart. Emory told the engineers she was “blowing it out.” After months of fearing for her voice, Patty had come back strong enough to test their equipment.