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Evangelina – Toby Keith

Country Music Legend Toby Keith Dead at 62 After Stomach Cancer Battle

About the Song

Toby is quarantined down in Mexico and forgot his guitar in the 405, so he stopped by a furniture store and picked up an old guitar. Here’s his rendition of Hoyt Axton’s “Evangelina”.

Hoyt Axton’s soulful voice and heartfelt lyrics have captivated audiences for generations. Among his many memorable songs, “Evangelina” stands as a timeless classic that continues to resonate with listeners. Released in 1979, this poignant ballad tells a tale of love, loss, and longing that has touched the hearts of countless individuals.

The song paints a vivid picture of a love affair set against a backdrop of evocative imagery. Axton’s rich baritone voice conveys the deep emotions of a narrator who is both heartbroken and hopeful. The lyrics, filled with poetic language and metaphors, create a sense of nostalgia and melancholy. The story of Evangelina, a woman whose memory lingers long after she is gone, is one that many can relate to.

“Evangelina” is a prime example of Axton’s ability to craft songs that are both personal and universal. His music often explores themes of love, loss, and the passage of time, and these themes are particularly evident in this particular track. The song’s melodic beauty and introspective lyrics have made it a favorite among fans of folk and country music.

One of the most striking aspects of “Evangelina” is its ability to evoke a strong emotional response in listeners. The song’s melancholic tone and wistful melody create a sense of longing and sadness. However, there is also an underlying sense of hope and resilience, as the narrator reflects on the enduring power of love.

Hoyt Axton’s “Evangelina” is a testament to the enduring power of music to connect people across generations and cultures. The song’s timeless message of love and loss continues to resonate with listeners today, making it a true classic. Whether you are a longtime fan of Axton’s music or are discovering his work for the first time, “Evangelina” is a song that is sure to leave a lasting impression.

Toby Keith is battling stomach cancer: 'So far, so good,' singer says

Video 

Lyrics: Evangelina

I dream in the morning
That she brings me water
And I dream in evening
That she brings me wine
Just a poor man’s daughter
From Puerto Penasco
Evangelina in old MexicoThere’s a great hot desert
South of Mexicali
And if you don’t have water
Then you better not go
Tequila won’t get you
Across the desert
To Evangelina in old MexicoAnd the fire I feel for the
Woman I love
Is driving me insane
Knowing she’s waiting
And I just can’t get there
Lord only knows that I’ve
Racked my brain
To try and find a way
To see that woman in old MexicoI met a kind man
Who guarded the border
He said you don’t have papers
But I’ll let you go
I can tell that you love her
By the look in your eyes now
She’s the rose of the desert
In old MexicoAnd the fire I feel for the
Woman I love
Is driving me insane
Knowing she’s waiting
And I just can’t get there
Lord only knows that I’ve
Racked my brain
To try and find a way
To see that woman in old Mexico

And I dream in the morning
That she brings me water
And I dream in the evening
That she brings me wine
Just a poor man’s daughter
From Puerto Penasco
Evangelina in old Mexico

There’s a great hot desert
South of Mexicali
And if you don’t have water
Then you better not go
Tequila won’t get you
Across the desert
To Evangelina in old Mexico

She’s the rose of the desert
In old Mexico

 

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Randy Owen sometimes stopped his tour bus at truck stops to call radio DJs from pay phones. Alabama had already made him a country star. These calls were about persuading stations to help children at St. Jude. He knew what it meant to grow up with little. On his family’s sharecropper farm near Fort Payne, Alabama, he picked cotton and corn to help put food on the table. At school, other children mocked his scarred hands and the cotton dust on his clothes. Years later, after millions of record sales, Owen met St. Jude founder Danny Thomas in Atlanta. Thomas asked him to bring the country music community into the hospital’s fundraising work. When illness prevented Thomas from speaking at Nashville’s Country Radio Seminar, Owen took his place and proposed a nationwide radio effort. Winning support required persistence. He later described himself as “begging, pleading” with DJs. Some stations remained unconvinced. The first Country Cares radiothon aired on November 19, 1989: twelve hours, 45 artists and more than 800 stations. It raised approximately $1 million. By its 35th year in 2024, the initiative had brought in more than $1 billion. Owen has said helping St. Jude may be his most important work beyond being a husband and father. That enormous total began with individual requests, including calls made beside the highway between shows. Owen kept asking stations to participate. Across the country, their listeners kept answering.

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A cot waited in a rehearsal hall at RCA Victor’s New York studio while Jimmie Rodgers made his final recordings. Between songs, he lay down to recover enough strength for another take. It was May 1933. Rodgers was 35 and had battled tuberculosis since 1924. As his health deteriorated, his earnings had dwindled. Victor was paying $250 per recorded side, and he wanted to provide for his wife, Carrie, and their daughter, Anita. The sessions started on May 17. Within days, standing to sing became impossible. He worked from an easy chair, supported by pillows that brought him close enough to the microphone, then returned to the cot. On May 24, two musicians accompanied him through three songs. After they left, Rodgers recorded one more with only his guitar: “Years Ago.” He had completed twelve songs in eight days. The following night at the Taft Hotel, severe coughing gave way to hemorrhaging in his lungs. The hotel doctor could not be located. Rodgers fell into a coma and died on May 26, roughly 36 hours after his last recording. Before music made him famous, he had worked as a railroad brakeman. A Southern Railway train carried his body home to Meridian, Mississippi, in a baggage car. According to accounts of the journey, the engineer kept sounding the whistle along the way.

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Randy Owen sometimes stopped his tour bus at truck stops to call radio DJs from pay phones. Alabama had already made him a country star. These calls were about persuading stations to help children at St. Jude. He knew what it meant to grow up with little. On his family’s sharecropper farm near Fort Payne, Alabama, he picked cotton and corn to help put food on the table. At school, other children mocked his scarred hands and the cotton dust on his clothes. Years later, after millions of record sales, Owen met St. Jude founder Danny Thomas in Atlanta. Thomas asked him to bring the country music community into the hospital’s fundraising work. When illness prevented Thomas from speaking at Nashville’s Country Radio Seminar, Owen took his place and proposed a nationwide radio effort. Winning support required persistence. He later described himself as “begging, pleading” with DJs. Some stations remained unconvinced. The first Country Cares radiothon aired on November 19, 1989: twelve hours, 45 artists and more than 800 stations. It raised approximately $1 million. By its 35th year in 2024, the initiative had brought in more than $1 billion. Owen has said helping St. Jude may be his most important work beyond being a husband and father. That enormous total began with individual requests, including calls made beside the highway between shows. Owen kept asking stations to participate. Across the country, their listeners kept answering.

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Lorrie Morgan saved the card Keith Whitley gave her at the Nashville airport for her flight home. When she finally opened it, her husband was dead. It was early May 1989. Lorrie was heading to Alaska to promote her first RCA album, while Keith was enjoying the strongest run of his career. Just weeks earlier, “I’m No Stranger to the Rain” had become his third consecutive No. 1. At home, success had brought little reassurance. Keith had struggled with alcohol for years. A period of sobriety beginning in 1987 lasted about six months. Lorrie later described the fear surrounding his drinking as living with a ticking time bomb. In her 1997 memoir, she recalled tying her leg to his while they slept so she would know if he got up to drink. During her trip, he began drinking again that weekend. On Tuesday morning, May 9, his brother-in-law, Lane Palmer, visited the house in Goodlettsville. They drank coffee and discussed golf and lunch. Palmer left around 8:30 a.m. When he returned roughly an hour later, Keith was lying on the bed, fully dressed and unconscious. The medical examiner determined that he died from acute alcohol poisoning. Traveling back to Nashville, Lorrie read the card she had set aside. She later said its words left her feeling that Keith had been trying to tell her something—a feeling she was left to carry without the chance to ask him.

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