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Introduction:

“It Must Be Love” is a classic country love song originally written and recorded by Don Williams in 1978. However, it was Alan Jackson’s 2000 cover that brought the song to a wider audience and solidified its place in country music history.

Jackson’s version, released as the third single from his album “Under the Influence,” became a massive hit, reaching number one on the Billboard Hot Country Songs chart. His soulful vocals and the song’s infectious melody resonated with listeners, making it a beloved anthem of love and longing.   

The song’s lyrics capture the exhilarating feelings of falling in love, with lines like “I fall like a sparrow and fly like a dove” expressing the intoxicating nature of the emotion. Jackson’s interpretation brings a fresh perspective to the song, infusing it with his signature blend of traditional country and contemporary sounds.   

“It Must Be Love” remains a popular choice for country music fans, and it continues to be a staple in Alan Jackson’s live performances. Its enduring popularity is a testament to the timeless appeal of the song’s message and the power of Jackson’s heartfelt delivery.

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THE LAST TIME THE CROWD ROSE FOR MERLE HAGGARD — HE WOULD NEVER WALK ONSTAGE AGAIN. They carried him through the doors wrapped in the very flag he once sang about — and in the stillness that followed, there was something almost audible… a fragile echo only lifelong listeners could feel in their bones. Merle Haggard’s story closed the same way it opened: unpolished, honest, and deeply human. From being born in a converted boxcar during the Great Depression to commanding the grandest stages across America, his life unfolded like a country ballad etched in grit, regret, resilience, and redemption. Every lyric he sang carried the weight of lived experience — prison walls, hard roads, blue-collar truths, and hard-earned second chances. Those who stood beside his casket said the atmosphere felt thick, as if the room itself refused to forget the sound of his voice. It wasn’t just grief in the air — it was reverence. A stillness reserved for someone whose music had become stitched into the fabric of ordinary lives. One of his sons leaned close and murmured, “He didn’t really leave us. He’s just playing somewhere higher.” And perhaps that’s the only explanation that makes sense. Because artists like Merle don’t simply vanish. They transform. They become the crackle of an AM radio drifting through a late-night highway. They become the soundtrack of worn leather seats and long stretches of open road. They live in jukebox corners, in dance halls, in quiet kitchens where memories linger longer than the coffee. Somewhere tonight, a trucker tunes in to an old melody. Somewhere, an aging cowboy lowers his hat and blinks back tears. And somewhere in that gentle hum of steel guitar and sorrow, a whisper carries through: “Merle’s home.”