It was early 1958 and my father was taking me for a ride into town for a haircut. Daddy had the windows down and turned the radio up loud, he loved Johnny Cash, and his new song Big River was blasting on the radio. He was smiling, patting his hands on the steering wheel, and singing along.
Daddy’s favorite was George Jones, he always had time to listen to sad songs and said sad songs were like smoke in a bar and made you breathe the smell of loneliness. He would often say that there is nothing sadder than sad county songs, old dogs, lonesome highways, and the sound of a steel guitar.
In the winter of 1971, I went on the road playing music, and one of the benefits was going to late-night bars and hearing some of the best unknown singers and players who were the heart of the music. Often, I got to sit in with some of those amazing players and singers. It was how you learned your trade.
At a club just outside of Richmond, we stopped at a small Honky-Tonk around midnight. Our bus and truck barely fit in the parking lot, and we offloaded and headed straight to the door. The bar was in an old rebuilt barn, with wooden floors that sounded like a deep bass drum, a single light shining, and a singer on stage with just his guitar singing Daddy Frank. As we got closer to the stage, we realized it was indeed Merle Haggard.
He played way into the night and the sad songs rolled off his guitar, his voice like smooth bourbon. I couldn’t help but remember what my daddy always said, “sad songs were like smoke in a bar and made you breathe the smell of loneliness.”
I often close my eyes and feel the wind from the open car window and hear the sound of sad songs on the radio, those were special times, the best of times. Pop, I miss you and hope that you still listen to sad songs in heaven, and I will always think of you when I hear Sing Me Back Home by Merle Haggard.
