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Merle Haggard – That’s The Way Love Goes

Postscript: Merle Haggard, 1937—2016 | The New Yorker

About the Song

Merle Haggard, a country music legend known for his gruff vocals and introspective lyrics, takes a surprisingly tender turn on “That’s The Way Love Goes.” This song, released on his 1983 album of the same name, isn’t your typical country ballad. Instead, it offers a frank and honest look at the complexities of love, acknowledging its joys and heartbreaks with a wry smile.

The opening lines set the stage for a relatable narrative: “I’ve been throwing horseshoes over my left shoulder / I’ve spent most all my life searching for that four-leaf clover“. Haggard, with his signature baritone, paints a picture of a man who has always chased after lucky charms, searching for a way to smooth out life’s rough edges.

Love, however, isn’t something you can control with lucky charms. The arrival of love is acknowledged with a simple line: “Yet you ran with me, chasing my rainbows“. Here, Haggard expresses his appreciation for a partner who embraces his quirks and imperfections. The chorus, “That’s the way love goes, babe / That’s the music God made / For all the world to sing / It’s never old, it grows“, offers a surprisingly optimistic perspective. Love, despite its ups and downs, is a universal language, a beautiful melody that enriches our lives.

The song doesn’t shy away from the inevitable struggles: “Losing makes me sorry. Haggard acknowledges the pain of heartbreak, a sentiment that resonates with anyone who has experienced the sting of loss. However, the following line, “You say ‘Honey, now don’t worry’“, introduces a glimmer of hope. The presence of a supportive partner offers solace and a reminder that challenges are part of the journey.

The beauty of “That’s The Way Love Goes” lies in its simplicity and honesty. Haggard doesn’t offer grand pronouncements or sugar-coated sentiments. Instead, he paints a realistic picture of love, acknowledging its imperfections while celebrating its enduring power. The song serves as a reminder that love, with all its twists and turns, is a fundamental part of the human experience – a beautiful melody that shapes our lives.The Uncertain Musical Legacy of Merle Haggard | The New Yorker

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Lyrics: That’s The Way Love Goes

I’ve been throwing horseshoes over my left shoulder
I’ve spent most all my life searching for that four-leafed clover
Yet you ran with me chasing my rainbows
Honey, I love you too and that’s the way love goesThat’s the way love goes, babe, that’s the music God made
For all the world to sing, it’s never old it grows
Losing makes me sorry, you say “Honey, now don’t worry”
Don’t you know I love you too and that’s the way love goesThat’s the way love goes, babe, that’s the music God made
For all the world to sing, it’s never old it grows
Losing makes me sorry, you say “Honey, now don’t worry”
Don’t you know I love you too and that’s the way love goes…

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Country

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.

Country

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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