SOME CALLED HER WILD — RANDY OWEN CALLED HER A SONG. They say every Southern anthem starts with a woman who doesn’t ask for permission to be remembered — and for Randy Owen, that woman was never polished, never quiet, and never meant to stay. The story goes that one humid night in Fort Payne, Randy sat outside a roadside bar, guitar balanced on his knee, watching a woman dance barefoot on the gravel while the jukebox fought the cicadas. Her hair smelled like smoke and summer rain. She laughed like tomorrow didn’t exist. Randy nudged his bandmate and said, “That’s not trouble. That’s a chorus waiting to happen.” When his voice finally carried that spirit onto the radio, it wasn’t about perfection or promises — it was about motion. About the kind of woman who makes a man believe the road has a heartbeat and every goodbye sounds like a verse. The lines weren’t written to tame her. They were written to follow her. Behind the stadium lights and polished harmonies, there was always that same truth: Randy Owen sang about people who lived loud and loved fast. Not legends. Not saints. Just the kind of souls who turn small towns into music. And maybe that’s why his songs still feel like summer nights — warm, restless, and impossible to hold onto for long. Who was the barefoot woman on the gravel road… and which Randy Owen song was born from her that night?
admin SOME CALLED HER WILD — RANDY OWEN CALLED HER A SONG They say every Southern anthem begins with a woman who never asks for permission to be remembered. For Randy…