OldiesButGoodies

Country

Merle Haggard – Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck Was Still Silver)

Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck Was Still Silver)

Introduction:

Released in May 1982, “Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck Was Still Silver)” is a country song by the legendary American musician Merle Haggard. Backed by his longtime band The Strangers, the track became a single from Haggard’s studio album “Big City”, showcasing a more reflective and traditional country sound compared to some of his ventures into countrypolitan music during the 1970s.

Merle Haggard, a central figure in what is often termed “Bakersfield sound” of country music, was known for his distinctive baritone vocals and lyrics that chronicled the lives of working-class Americans, often grappling with themes of hardship, patriotism, and social commentary. “Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck Was Still Silver)” exemplifies this signature style.

The song itself didn’t become a chart-topping hit, but it has gained recognition over the years for its poignant look back at a perceived decline in American values and economic prosperity. Haggard, throughout his career, often expressed a reverence for a bygone era, and “Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck Was Still Silver)” perfectly captures this sentiment.

The song’s title makes a clear reference to a time when the United States dollar was backed by silver, a system that ended in 1971. This shift in currency is used as a jumping-off point for Haggard to lament a broader sense of moral and economic decline.

While the song’s producer isn’t explicitly credited on all sources, it most likely fell to Haggard himself or a member of The Strangers to oversee production duties given it was a track on his own label, Haggard Records. “Are the Good Times Really Over (I Wish a Buck Was Still Silver)” stands as a testament to Merle Haggard’s storytelling prowess and serves as a time capsule of a particular strain of American nostalgia.

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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.”

Gene Watson – Dreams Of A Dreamer Gone Blind

On April 6, 2016 — the very day he turned 79 — Merle Haggard took his final breath after calmly telling his family, “Today’s the day.” No dramatic hospital chaos. No public spectacle. Just a man who had always lived on his own terms choosing to meet the end the same way. His departure was as deliberate and unshaken as the outlaw spirit that defined him. While the world mourned, Haggard exited quietly — steady, self-possessed, unapologetically himself. And though his voice fell silent that day, it never truly faded. Through songs like “Sing Me Back Home,” his legacy still echoes — raw, haunting, and impossible to forget.

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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.”

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