Introduction:
In the pantheon of American country music, few figures loom as large—or as authentically—as Merle Haggard. In a candid and heartfelt conversation with Kix Brooks, we are gifted a rare glimpse behind the curtain into the life and mind of a man whose career spanned generations, whose lyrics told the stories of working people, and whose influence continues to ripple through music today.
Haggard never sought the spotlight in the conventional way. He wasn’t the type to leap from his seat in jubilation at an award show, even though he collected more than his fair share of accolades. As he humbly reflected, one of the few awards that truly resonated with him was the Kennedy Center Honor. “It comes from people who don’t usually identify with our music,” he noted, suggesting that the recognition from outside the country genre made the honor feel particularly genuine. That perspective encapsulates Haggard’s grounded view on fame: it was never the destination—it was simply a byproduct of honest work.
This sense of honesty threads through every part of the conversation. When asked what he looks forward to most each day, Haggard quips that he hopes to write a song as timeless as “Stardust”—only to remind himself with a chuckle that it’s already been written. At 77, he admitted that performing and even practicing guitar had become more of a chore than a joy, but he carried with him an unwavering commitment to quality. “If I’m going to be a wimp, stay home,” he said. “I want to at least fake it till I get back in practice.”
There’s a deeply personal pride in his band, which he called “the best I’ve ever had.” His son, playing lead guitar, channels the sounds of legends like Roy Nichols and James Burton. Together, with a rhythm section that “just knocks me out,” Haggard had finally built the dream ensemble he’d always wanted. The joy in his voice is unmistakable as he speaks of their musical chemistry.
Haggard also offered insight into his unconventional use of horns in country music—a sound he attributes to a long friendship with saxophonist Don Markham. It’s just one of many ways Haggard fearlessly blended genres, creating a sound that was uniquely his.
Perhaps the most touching moment came when he discussed the honor of hearing others interpret his songs. Whether it was George Strait’s take on “Seashores of Old Mexico” or Suzy Bogguss reinventing “Stay Here and Drink” as a woman’s story, Haggard’s appreciation was genuine. To him, another artist covering his work was the highest compliment.
In this conversation, Merle Haggard didn’t just share stories; he shared his soul—unfiltered, unvarnished, and true to form. His legacy isn’t just the hits or the awards. It’s the enduring honesty in his music, the respect of his peers, and the way he carried himself with quiet dignity. As Kix Brooks said, “Too bad you hadn’t written any hits, Merle”—a joke so rich in irony that even Haggard laughed.
Merle may have called himself “just an old guy,” but to the world, he was—and remains—a national treasure.