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Alan Jackson – It’s Just That Way

About the SongLyrics | Alan Jackson | The Way I Am

Absolutely! Here’s an introduction to Alan Jackson’s “It’s Just That Way” geared towards a mature audience familiar with country music:

Comfort and Familiarity: Alan Jackson’s Enduring Appeal in “It’s Just That Way”

Alan Jackson, a legend in the world of country music, has carved out a career built on unwavering commitment to tradition. His smooth baritone and knack for storytelling have earned him a loyal fanbase who cherish his down-home charm and relatable lyrics. In 2009, Jackson released “It’s Just That Way,” a single that perfectly embodies his signature style, offering a comforting sense of familiarity and a celebration of life’s simple joys.

Emerging from his critically acclaimed album “Freight Train,” “It’s Just That Way” arrived at a time when Jackson was already a household name. Known for hits like “Chattahoochee” and “Remember When,” he had established himself as a champion of traditional country music, a genre that was facing increasing pressure from more pop-infused sounds. With “It’s Just That Way,” Jackson remained true to his roots, delivering a song that resonated with longtime fans and offered a welcome respite from the ever-evolving musical landscape.

The beauty of “It’s Just That Way” lies in its simplicity. The gentle strum of the acoustic guitar sets the tone for a laid-back, almost conversational delivery from Jackson. The lyrics eschew complex metaphors and grand pronouncements, instead focusing on the simple yet profound truths of life. Jackson paints a picture of a world where the sun rises and sets with unwavering regularity, where the stars come out to play each night, and where love provides a constant source of comfort and security.

The song’s chorus, with its repetitive refrain of “It’s just that way,” serves as a comforting reminder of life’s inherent rhythm and predictability. There’s a quiet acceptance in Jackson’s voice, a recognition that certain things in life remain constant, a source of solace in a world that can often feel chaotic and unpredictable.

“It’s Just That Way” isn’t a song filled with fireworks or dramatic twists. It’s a quiet contemplation, a warm embrace of the familiar. It’s a testament to Alan Jackson’s enduring appeal, his ability to find beauty and meaning in the everyday, and to connect with listeners through his genuine and unpretentious storytelling.Picture background

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Lyrics: “It’s Just That Way”

 

That ol’ sun comes up every mornin’
And goes back down at the end of every day
It’s just that way
Stars show up every evenin’
Man in the moon comes out to play
It’s just that wayAnd girl, lovin’ you is something I was born to do
It’s just that wayThe oceans wet the deserts dry
Don’t ask me why, ’cause I can’t say
It’s just that way

As sure as the world keeps turnin’
My love for you will never change
Oh, it’s just that way

And girl, lovin’ you is something I was born to do
It’s just that way

And girl, lovin’ you is something I was born to do
It’s just that way

That ol’ sun comes up every mornin’, it’s just that 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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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.

Country

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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