OldiesButGoodies

Country

One Angel – Rory Feek

Rory Feek Releases 'One Angel,' in Honor of His Late Wife, Joey: LISTEN -

Introduction:

“One Angel” is a poignant country ballad written by Sandy Lawrence and recorded by American country music singer Rory Feek. The song serves as a heartfelt tribute to his late wife, Joey Feek, who passed away in 2016 after a courageous battle with cervical cancer.

The song’s genesis lies in the profound grief experienced by Lawrence following the loss of his own wife. He poured his emotions into the lyrics, capturing the raw pain and lingering questions that often accompany the death of a loved one. Rory Feek, deeply resonating with the song’s sentiment, decided to record it as a tribute to Joey.

Released in 2021, “One Angel” quickly gained traction, touching the hearts of listeners worldwide. The song’s raw honesty and emotional depth struck a chord with those who had experienced similar losses, offering a poignant reflection on the enduring power of love and the enduring ache of grief.

The song’s lyrics express a complex range of emotions, from anger and disbelief to acceptance and gratitude. It acknowledges the pain and frustration of watching a loved one suffer, questioning the fairness of their fate. Yet, amidst the sorrow, there is a glimmer of hope and a recognition of the enduring love that transcends death.

“One Angel” has become a powerful anthem for those grieving the loss of loved ones. It serves as a reminder that even in the face of immense pain, love can endure and provide solace. The song’s enduring popularity speaks to its universal appeal, offering a comforting embrace for those navigating the complexities of grief and loss.

Video:

https://youtu.be/3gut_CySQTs?si=6gooZCljcJ1Uwp8J

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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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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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