I tend to write songs from the very first line. We started with “It was just another story, printed on the second page underneath the Tigers’ football score. . ..” and it unfolded from there. We really didn’t know what was going to happen. When we got to the end of the chorus, the lines “How do you get that lonely, and nobody know?” just came out. It really floored us because it fit perfectly. It all just happened. We didn’t plan it at all.
We tried to get it recorded by several other people but my publisher said nobody wanted to record it because it was too sad. They even asked us if we would consider rewriting it so that it had a different ending and we said, “No. This is just a moment in time we were trying to capture, and that’s the way life is sometimes.” You can’t always end a song like that with “so if you’re feeling bad, then call someone” or something like that.
Later, a friend of mine and I ended up producing a young artist named Blaine Larsen. He was still in high school. We were referred to him through someone else and I heard his demo and liked it. We brought him down to Nashville and cut some sides with him and he ended up getting a record deal. Like a lot of people, Blaine had also been touched by suicide. A friend of his in high school had committed suicide. All we did was change the line from “a boy about my daughter’s age” to “a boy about my age” for Blaine, and he ended up having a hit.
It’s great to see people using that song on YouTube to memorialize people they have known. You never really get over losing someone like that. They still love that person and that’s why they want to keep their memory alive.
We live in a world that is moving so fast. It’s filled with things that are distracting us and none of it really fills us up. It’s easy to be empty inside even though your life is cluttered. I’ve had relatives who have committed suicide, too. It’s a terrible thing and it’s easy for me to ask those questions, too.
It’s really special for me as a songwriter to write something that touches people in their own way. It’s not our story or the one we wrote that moves them, but it helps them relate to their own stories. That’s what’s really great. I believe when you start writing, you should just start from the blank page and then write as a reader. You’re just turning pages and you don’t know what’s going to happen next. By the time you get to the end of the story, sometimes you’re in tears. Even though they are usually fictional characters, they really move you in what they do and what they say in the song. I’m a big believer in the magic of songwriting and so not only do they touch other people, they also touch me and cause me to stop and think and reflect.
One of my favorite memories is when Blaine sang this at the Opry. We were backstage with him and Lorrie Morgan was there with her son, Jesse, who was Keith Whitley’s son. They were both big fans of that song. As many people know, Keith died from excessive alcohol use and Jesse said he knew someone who had committed suicide. I remember listening to Lorrie talking to her son while Blaine was walking off the stage and she was having a real heart-to-heart talk with him. She was saying, “I want you to listen to the words of this song. Never, ever let yourself get that far down. You can always talk to someone or call me. You can always find help.” It was really a beautiful moment.
I can only hope that song has prompted other people to have those kinds of conversations.
How Do You Get That Lonely?
It was just another story printed on the second page
Underneath the Tigers’ football score
It said he was only eighteen, a boy about my age
They found him face down on the bedroom floor
There’ll be services on Friday at the Lawrence Funeral Home
Then out on Mooresville highway, they’ll lay him ’neath a stone
CHORUS:
How do you get that lonely? How do you hurt that bad?
To make you make the call, that havin’ no life at all
Is better than the life that you had
How do you feel so empty, you want to let it all go?
How do you get that lonely... and nobody know?
Did his girlfriend break up with him? Did he buy or steal that gun?
Did he lose a fight with drugs or alcohol?
Did his mom and daddy forget to say “I love you son”?
Did no one see the writing on the wall?
I’m not blamin’ anybody, we all do the best we can
I know hindsight’s 20/20, but I still don’t understand...
CHORUS
It was just another story printed on the second page
Underneath the Tigers’ football score...
I Believe
Story by Skip Ewing
Song written by Skip Ewing and Donny Kees
Recorded by Diamond Rio
I always wanted a piano. When I first started out as a songwriter and artist, things were tight until I had a few hits. When I finally bought a house, the first thing I bought for it was an acoustic piano. The house was basically empty except for a few things in the living room and my piano.
The first night after I bought it, I played every note on that piano. I played every chord on it. I ran my fingers across the keys without playing anything. I was just in love with it. Then I played a few chords and hit the sustain pedal, then let go very quickly and then put it back on again. When you do that with an acoustic piano, you can still hear the ringing of the notes even though you aren’t playing anything.
This made me think of the energy that people put forth into the world and the effect they have. I thought to myself, when we sing a note or play a note, or write a note, it doesn’t really stop. Where does it go? Those waves, that energy — they keep going somewhere. Those notes keep ringing. In fact, they can keep ringing in people’s awareness and the choices they make down the road in their lives.
I realized there had been so many people who had an effect on me. I was able to remember their kindnesses, or I was able to gain some wisdom from what they did. I had been really touched and moved by a lot of people over the years. My grandmother and grandfather, for instance, both passed years ago, but there is still a resonance from them, just like from this piano, that rings on in me from the notes they played in my life.
I’m not talking about ghosts or anything like that, but there is a resonance of their existence that is still there. Our ancestors are still a part of us, whether we want them to be or not. They are indelibly a part of us. There’s a wonderful man whose teachings I’ve become familiar with. He often encourages us to look at our hands. He says, “If you look at your own hand closely enough, you can’t help but see your mother and your father’s hands. And if you look deeply enough, you’ll see the entire depth and breadth of your ancestry. It’s impossible to separate us from them.”
I began playing a classical melody that I knew. It had this descending movement. I played it up in the high register on the piano and it felt as if I were bringing this melody down from heaven. It just sounded very angelic to me. That stayed in the record for “I Believe.” You can hear Dan Truman play it on piano in the song.
My friend Donny Kees came over the next day. I stayed up all night and was working on this melody and I played it for him. His mother was not doing well at the time so it was really moving for him. He and I worked on it and almost finished it that day.
That song was also one that my daughter loved. For a long time, she made me play it for her so she could sleep. She said she thought it was a little sad, but wanted to hear it before she went to sleep each night.
“I Believe” was another song that sat around for several years until Diamond Rio finally cut it in 2002. Someone from Acuff-Rose Music, who I was writing for back then, eventually played it for Diamond Rio and they decided they wanted it.
The video is very interesting. There is a lady who is lying on the ground after a violent car crash and it seems like her spirit starts to leave her. But that’s the beautiful thing about sharing songs with people. Someone who hears a song often will project their own lif
e experience into what they are hearing in order to be able to connect with it. And a director will often do the same thing. I know when I play that song live, when I sing those lines, “Every now and then, soft as breath upon my skin, I feel you come back again,” everyone responds to that. And that could mean something metaphysical, it could mean something emotional, or it could mean something even physiological. Everybody’s experience is going to be different. But I believe everyone on the planet has someone from their past that has a resonance like that.
I Believe
Every now and then
Soft as breath upon my skin
I feel you, come back again
And it’s like, you haven’t been
Gone a moment from my side
Like the tears were never cried
Like the hands of time
Were pulling you and me
And with all my heart, I’m sure
We’re closer than we ever were
I don’t have to hear or see
I’ve got all the proof I need
There are more than angels watching
Over me. I believe. . .oh, I believe.
Now when you die, your life goes on
It doesn’t end here, when you’re gone
Every soul is filled with light
It never ends, if I’m right
Our love can even reach, across-
Eternity. I believe. . .oh, I believe.
Forever, you’re a part of me
Forever in the heart of me
I will hold you even longer
If I can.
Oh, the people who don’t see the most
See that I, believe in ghosts
If that makes me crazy, then I am
’Cause I believe. . .oh, I believe.
There are more than angels watching
Over me. . .I believe. . .oh, I believe.
Every now and then
Soft as breath upon my skin
I feel you, come back again.
And I believe.
I Can’t Make You Love Me
Story by Mike Reid
Song written by Mike Reid and Allen Shamblin
Recorded by Bonnie Raitt and others
I was at home reading the Nashville Banner one morning and there was a story in there about a relative of a local politician — sort of the “black sheep of the family” type — who got all tanked up on moonshine and shot up his girlfriend’s car tires. I seem to remember the article quoting the judge, who, I think, was about to send him to jail. The judge said something along the lines of “I hope you learned something from this experience.” And the guy said, “Yeah, I learned that I can’t make her love me if she don’t.”
That’s where the idea for this song came from. Seeing as how we had a guy tanked up on moonshine, angry at his girlfriend and shooting at inanimate objects with high-powered weaponry — I thought that’s a country song if I’ve ever heard one! Ricky Skaggs was having a lot of hits then, and I thought we should write this for him, as a country song with a touch of bluegrass to it. So Allen Shamblin and I got together and banged around on it for probably six months. But something was stopping us. We couldn’t get any further than those first two lines.
A few years before that, I had a hit with a song by Alabama called “Forever’s As Far As I’ll Go.” I had always loved Irish music and I had in my mind doing something similar. My kids were little then and, one morning, I drove them to school and came home and sat down at the piano and the whole first verse just popped out. At that time, I was at the best place a writer can be, and that’s “out of my head.” It’s always to my advantage to lose myself in whatever idea I have at the time. How you do that is the trick.
One of my faults is I tend to be an over-analyzer, but I wasn’t thinking of anything when I started writing those lines, except when I wrote the line, “Don’t patronize me.” Then I came out of it and said, “Can I say ‘don’t patronize me’ in a song? Can I use that word?” The minute I said that to myself, I knew that I was brought out of the moment. I still wasn’t aware that it was going to be related to the other idea we had for the bluegrass song. So I thought of the title that Allen and I had been banging around for six months and I wondered if they could be related. I called Allen and said, “Are you doing anything right now? Why don’t you come over?” I played for him what I had, and we probably took another two days to finish the song.
When we finished it, I didn’t sit back and say, “That’s a great song.” But I did think, “That’s finished. That’s exactly what I mean. There’s really nothing more we can do with this.” I’ve never been good at making judgments about whether a song is good or not, but I know when it’s done. I had a little four-track Fostex mixer that a friend had given me, because he didn’t know how to work it. I started pushing buttons. Actually, the first two song demos I did on that were “Forever’s As Far As I’ll Go,” and “I Can’t Make You Love Me.”
When I used to teach musical theater to the kids at NYU, I was constantly asking them, “Is this what you mean? Is that what you mean?” And that’s all a writer can do as a songwriter — spend enough time with a piece of work to know it’s what you meant to say. Everyone knows what it’s like to want someone who doesn’t want you, and that’s what we were trying to get at with this song.
I had a song on Bonnie Raitt’s album Nick of Time called “Too Soon to Tell.” And as soon as Allen and I finished this song, we both agreed there were only a few places we could go with this. I recall thinking of Linda Ronstadt, Bette Midler, or Bonnie Raitt. Bonnie loved it.
The piano lick at the beginning of the song was mine but Bruce Hornsby played on her session and he did a lot of those leads in the middle. That was all his. He really made that song his own. There are probably about 40 or 50 covers of this. Prince recorded it. It’s been on a George Michael album. There are probably 15 or 20 jazz versions of it. The great jazz singer Nancy Wilson did a splendid version and so did Will Downing, the R&B singer. Boyz II Men released it as a single a while ago.
It’s been recorded in every single format but country. Considering it started out as a potential bluegrass song, that’s pretty interesting. A number of artists have come up to me and said, “Write me another ‘I Can’t Make You Love Me,’” and I never say what I’m really thinking, which is “If I do, you probably won’t record it!”
I Can’t Make You Love Me
Turn down the lights
Turn down the bed
Turn down these voices
Inside my head
Lay down with me
Tell me no lies
Just hold me close
Don’t patronize
Don’t patronize me
CHORUS:
I can’t make you love me if you don’t
You can’t make your heart feel
Something it won’t
Here in the dark, in these final hours
I will lay down my heart
And I’ll feel the power if you won’t
No you won’t
’cause I can’t make you love me
If you don’t
I’ll close my eyes
Then I won’t see
The love you don’t feel
When you’re holdin’ me
Morning will come
and I’ll do what’s right
Just give me till then
To give up this fight
Then I will give up this fight
CHORUS
I Fall to Pieces
Story by Harlan Howard (as told to Country Music Foundation historian John Rumble)
Song written by Harlan Howard and Hank Cochran
Recorded by Patsy Cline
Story reprinted with permission and edited for continuity
I think I met Patsy at the Grand Ole Opry. It was either at the Opry or over at Tootsie’s, across the alley from the Opry, where we’d go and have a beer. These singers would do a couple of songs on a Saturday night
, except they’d be about two hours apart. So, they’d come over there and have a beer or a Coke or something while they were waiting to do their next show. It was customary back then for all of us songwriters to hang out there with all these Grand Ole Opry stars or at a couple of little restaurants around there. I’m sure it was one of those times. Probably Hank Cochran introduced me to her. Hank and I were writing for the same publishing company; Hank was a songplugger. Patsy’s husband Charlie and I were good buddies.
Somewhere along the way, it was my custom to go out to Goodlettsville, where this little publishing company was, just about every day. Willie Nelson had just come to town, and he was getting a lot of good records by different people. I was out there one day sitting with Hank in the office, and Owen Bradley called. He would check with Hank to see if we had anything new. Hank and I were pretty hot right at the moment. The day before, Hank had come to my house and had a new song started called, “I Fall to Pieces.” And so we went out into a little garage setup I had at my house and wrote that song.
Hank told Owen that we had a ballad called “I Fall to Pieces,” which a guy or a girl could do without changing a word. They’re the best songs to write.
Owen said, “Well, I kind of like that title. Why don’t you bring me a copy of it?”
So, Hank did. Then, I remember Owen telling me he played it for, I think, Roy Drusky, and two or three other singers that were doing pretty good — you know, they were pretty hot at the time. They all turned it down. Then Patsy was coming out to do a session. I think Owen, more or less, insisted that she do that song. But I don’t remember Patsy being flipped out over it.
Back then, we went to all the sessions. In fact, that’s where we spent our evenings. It was either at RCA or the Quonset Hut, which was a studio owned by Owen Bradley. Of course, if we had a song in the session, we’d be there. That was quite common back then. There’d be four or five hungry songwriters sitting around hoping their song turned out best. We were caught up in the fever — I mean, I’d write three or four songs a day, and we’d go in and do a demo session of fifteen, sixteen, seventeen songs every couple of weeks. So, yes, I went to the session. We used the No.1 band, of course, which was Grady Martin, Ray Edenton, Harold Bradley, Bob Moore, Floyd Cramer, and the lead player on that record happened to be the lead guitar player, Hank “Sugarfoot” Garland.
Chicken Soup for the Soul: Country Music: The Inspirational Stories behind 101 of Your Favorite Country Songs Page 11
