Country Music

Classic Country Music Hits

Country Music

George Strait – Write This Down

“Scroll down to the end of the article to listen to music.”

Introduction

Imagine a warm, southern night, the air filled with anticipation and the echoes of heartfelt country tunes. This is the atmosphere that surrounded George Strait, the king of country music, as he released “Write This Down,” a track that would soon become a staple in his illustrious career. Released in 1999, this song captured the hearts of many, becoming one of the defining moments in Strait’s journey through country music.

About The Composition

  • Title: Write This Down
  • Composer: Dana Hunt Black and Kent Robbins
  • Premiere Date: March 29, 1999
  • Album/Opus/Collection: “Always Never the Same”
  • Genre: Country

Background

“Write This Down” serves as a poignant reminder of George Strait’s ability to connect deeply with his audience. Dana Hunt Black and Kent Robbins crafted this song specifically for Strait, embedding the traditional country flair with a modern twist that resonated with both old and new fans. The song’s release was a strategic move that reinforced Strait’s position in country music, highlighting his knack for choosing songs that align perfectly with his vocal style and public persona. Initially received with enthusiasm, it quickly climbed the charts, securing its place in Strait’s repertoire as a fan favorite.

Musical Style

“Write This Down” features classic country instrumentation, including acoustic guitar, steel guitar, and fiddle, creating a sound that is both familiar and comforting. The arrangement is straightforward yet effective, with a chorus that invites listeners to sing along. The musical structure supports the narrative style of the lyrics, enhancing the song’s appeal and memorability. This simplicity in musical style is a testament to the adage ‘less is more,’ proving that genuine emotion often comes from clarity and sincerity in music.

Lyrics/Libretto

The lyrics of “Write This Down” take the form of a heartfelt plea, a man urging his beloved to remember his words of love and commitment. The conversational tone, combined with direct statements like “Take my words and read ’em every day,” adds a layer of intimacy and urgency to the song. The interplay between the lyrics and the music creates a narrative that is both personal and universal, showcasing the song’s ability to speak directly to the listener’s heart.

Performance History

Since its release, “Write This Down” has been a regular in George Strait’s concert setlists, resonating with audiences across various demographics. Its performance history is marked by consistent acclaim, further cemented by its position on the Billboard country charts where it reached the number one spot. The song’s enduring popularity in live performances underscores its significance in the country music genre.

Cultural Impact

The song’s influence extends beyond the country music sphere; it has been featured in popular media and covered by various artists, highlighting its broad appeal. “Write This Down” is often cited in discussions about the evolution of country music in the late 1990s, demonstrating Strait’s role in shaping the genre’s modern era.

Legacy

“Write This Down” remains a beloved classic, enduring in its popularity and relevance. It represents a pivotal moment in George Strait’s career, illustrating his skill in interpreting songs that resonate deeply with his audience. Its legacy is that of a song that not only defines a genre but also encapsulates the emotional landscape of a generation of country music fans.

Conclusion

“Write This Down” is more than just a song; it is a narrative woven into the fabric of country music history. For those looking to explore George Strait’s impact on country music, this song is a compelling starting point. It offers a glimpse into the heart and soul of country music, inviting listeners to appreciate the simplicity and sincerity that define the genre. I encourage you to listen to this track, allowing its heartfelt lyrics and classic country sound to resonate with your own experiences and memories.

Video

Lyrics

I never saw the end in sight
Fools are kind of blind
Thought everything was going alright
But I was running out of time
‘Cause you had one foot out the door
I swear I didn’t see
But if you’re really going away
Here’s some final words from me
Baby, write this down
Take a little note to remind you in case you didn’t know
Tell yourself I love you and I don’t want you to go
Write this down
Take my words and read ’em every day, keep ’em close by
Don’t you let ’em fade away
So you’ll remember what I forgot to say
Write this down
I’ll sign it at the bottom of the page
I’ll swear under oath
‘Cause every single word is true
And I think you need to know
So use it as a bookmark, stick it on your ‘frigerator door
Hang it in a picture frame up above the mantel
Where you’ll see it for sure
Baby, write this down
Take a little note to remind you in case you didn’t know
Tell yourself I love you and I don’t want you to go
Write this down
Take my words and read ’em every day, keep ’em close by
Don’t you let ’em fade away
So you’ll remember what I forgot to say
Write this down
You can find a chisel, I can find a stone
Folks will be reading these words
Long after we’re gone
Baby, write this down
Take a little note to remind you in case you didn’t know
Tell yourself I love you and I don’t want you to go
Write this down
Take my words and read ’em every day, keep ’em close by
Don’t you let ’em fade away
So you’ll remember what I forgot to say
Write this down
Oh I love you and I don’t want you to go
Baby write this down

Related Post

Country Music

HE OPENED THE ENVELOPE, SAW JOHN DENVER’S NAME, AND SET COUNTRY MUSIC’S BIGGEST AWARD ON FIRE. Charlie Rich had not come to Nashville as a clean country product. He was born in Colt, Arkansas, raised around gospel, blues, jazz, and cotton-field country. His mother played piano in church. A Black sharecropper named C. J. Allen helped teach him blues piano. By the time Rich found his way through Sun Records, RCA, Smash, Hi, and finally Epic, he had already been too jazzy for country, too country for pop, and too strange for the easy lane. Then 1973 changed everything. “Behind Closed Doors” hit. “The Most Beautiful Girl” hit even bigger. Rich became the Silver Fox, won major awards, and in 1974 took CMA Entertainer of the Year. For one year, the man Nashville had never known how to file became the man holding its highest prize. On October 13, 1975, he walked back onstage at the CMA Awards to name the next Entertainer of the Year. He opened the envelope. John Denver. Rich paused, pulled out a lighter, and burned the card before announcing, “My friend, Mr. John Denver.” Some called it protest. Some called it drunken bad judgment. His son later said Rich had pain medication, gin and tonics, a broken foot, and thought it would be funny — not a personal attack on Denver. The explanation came later. The image stayed first. A white-haired country star. A live television stQage. One burning slip of paper. And a career that never fully stepped out of that smoke.

Country Music

THEY GOT MARRIED ON A CONCERT STAGE IN WICHITA. LESS THAN THREE YEARS LATER, JEAN SHEPARD WAS LEFT WITH TWO SONS AND A HUSBAND COUNTRY MUSIC COULD ONLY HEAR ON RECORDS. They met inside the world that had already claimed both of them — radio shows, road dates, the Grand Ole Opry, dressing rooms, and the kind of touring life where a singer’s home could feel like whatever town had the next stage. Jean was not fragile. She had already fought her way into hard country when women were still expected to sound sweeter than the men around them. “A Dear John Letter” had taken her to No. 1. The Opry had taken her in. She had survived one bad early marriage and kept her career anyway. Hawkshaw was different. Six-foot-five. Smooth. Charismatic. A West Virginia singer people called “Eleven Yards of Personality.” He had the height, the grin, and the kind of stage presence that made a crowd feel like he had walked in from a bigger life. On November 26, 1960, they married onstage during a concert in Wichita, Kansas. It was not just a courthouse promise. Ken Nelson gave Jean away. A local disc jockey broadcast the ceremony over the radio. The crowd was there. The music world was there. Their private vow entered country history through a microphone. For a while, it looked like the show and the marriage could live together. They toured. They built a home in Goodlettsville. They had a son, Don Robin, named after friends Don Gibson and Marty Robbins. Jean became pregnant again. Then the calendar turned cruel. The marriage that had started in front of an audience ended with Jean carrying the part no audience could sing for her — a toddler, an unborn child, and a husband whose voice kept climbing the chart after he was gone.

Country Music

JEAN SHEPARD CUT “LONESOME 7-7203” BEFORE HER HUSBAND DID. CAPITOL LEFT IT SITTING. THEN HAWKSHAW HAWKINS RECORDED IT — AND DIED THREE DAYS AFTER ITS RELEASE. The song did not start as Hawkshaw Hawkins’ last hit. It passed through Jean Shepard first. By the early 1960s, Jean was already one of country music’s toughest women. She had come up through honky-tonk, made “A Dear John Letter” a No. 1 duet, joined the Grand Ole Opry, and proved she was not just a pretty harmony voice in a man’s business. Hawkshaw Hawkins was already part of that same Opry world. Tall, smooth, steady, with a career that had stretched from West Virginia radio to national country stages. He and Jean married in 1960. Two singers. Two roads. One house outside Nashville. Then came a Justin Tubb song called “Lonesome 7-7203.” Jean recorded it for Capitol, but the label left it unreleased. The song sat there. A lonely telephone number. A heartbreak line waiting for somebody to dial it. Hawkshaw finally told her that if Capitol was not going to release it, he would record it himself. King Records released his version on March 2, 1963. Three days later, Hawkshaw Hawkins was dead. The plane crash near Camden took him, Patsy Cline, Cowboy Copas, and pilot Randy Hughes. Jean was left with the grief, the children, and the strange sound of her husband’s voice still rising on the radio. Then the song climbed. “Lonesome 7-7203” reached No. 1 after Hawkshaw was gone. Jean had recorded it first. Hawkshaw made it immortal. Country music kept dialing the number after the man who sang it could no longer answer.

You Missed

Country Music

HE OPENED THE ENVELOPE, SAW JOHN DENVER’S NAME, AND SET COUNTRY MUSIC’S BIGGEST AWARD ON FIRE. Charlie Rich had not come to Nashville as a clean country product. He was born in Colt, Arkansas, raised around gospel, blues, jazz, and cotton-field country. His mother played piano in church. A Black sharecropper named C. J. Allen helped teach him blues piano. By the time Rich found his way through Sun Records, RCA, Smash, Hi, and finally Epic, he had already been too jazzy for country, too country for pop, and too strange for the easy lane. Then 1973 changed everything. “Behind Closed Doors” hit. “The Most Beautiful Girl” hit even bigger. Rich became the Silver Fox, won major awards, and in 1974 took CMA Entertainer of the Year. For one year, the man Nashville had never known how to file became the man holding its highest prize. On October 13, 1975, he walked back onstage at the CMA Awards to name the next Entertainer of the Year. He opened the envelope. John Denver. Rich paused, pulled out a lighter, and burned the card before announcing, “My friend, Mr. John Denver.” Some called it protest. Some called it drunken bad judgment. His son later said Rich had pain medication, gin and tonics, a broken foot, and thought it would be funny — not a personal attack on Denver. The explanation came later. The image stayed first. A white-haired country star. A live television stQage. One burning slip of paper. And a career that never fully stepped out of that smoke.

Country Music

THEY GOT MARRIED ON A CONCERT STAGE IN WICHITA. LESS THAN THREE YEARS LATER, JEAN SHEPARD WAS LEFT WITH TWO SONS AND A HUSBAND COUNTRY MUSIC COULD ONLY HEAR ON RECORDS. They met inside the world that had already claimed both of them — radio shows, road dates, the Grand Ole Opry, dressing rooms, and the kind of touring life where a singer’s home could feel like whatever town had the next stage. Jean was not fragile. She had already fought her way into hard country when women were still expected to sound sweeter than the men around them. “A Dear John Letter” had taken her to No. 1. The Opry had taken her in. She had survived one bad early marriage and kept her career anyway. Hawkshaw was different. Six-foot-five. Smooth. Charismatic. A West Virginia singer people called “Eleven Yards of Personality.” He had the height, the grin, and the kind of stage presence that made a crowd feel like he had walked in from a bigger life. On November 26, 1960, they married onstage during a concert in Wichita, Kansas. It was not just a courthouse promise. Ken Nelson gave Jean away. A local disc jockey broadcast the ceremony over the radio. The crowd was there. The music world was there. Their private vow entered country history through a microphone. For a while, it looked like the show and the marriage could live together. They toured. They built a home in Goodlettsville. They had a son, Don Robin, named after friends Don Gibson and Marty Robbins. Jean became pregnant again. Then the calendar turned cruel. The marriage that had started in front of an audience ended with Jean carrying the part no audience could sing for her — a toddler, an unborn child, and a husband whose voice kept climbing the chart after he was gone.

Country Music

JEAN SHEPARD CUT “LONESOME 7-7203” BEFORE HER HUSBAND DID. CAPITOL LEFT IT SITTING. THEN HAWKSHAW HAWKINS RECORDED IT — AND DIED THREE DAYS AFTER ITS RELEASE. The song did not start as Hawkshaw Hawkins’ last hit. It passed through Jean Shepard first. By the early 1960s, Jean was already one of country music’s toughest women. She had come up through honky-tonk, made “A Dear John Letter” a No. 1 duet, joined the Grand Ole Opry, and proved she was not just a pretty harmony voice in a man’s business. Hawkshaw Hawkins was already part of that same Opry world. Tall, smooth, steady, with a career that had stretched from West Virginia radio to national country stages. He and Jean married in 1960. Two singers. Two roads. One house outside Nashville. Then came a Justin Tubb song called “Lonesome 7-7203.” Jean recorded it for Capitol, but the label left it unreleased. The song sat there. A lonely telephone number. A heartbreak line waiting for somebody to dial it. Hawkshaw finally told her that if Capitol was not going to release it, he would record it himself. King Records released his version on March 2, 1963. Three days later, Hawkshaw Hawkins was dead. The plane crash near Camden took him, Patsy Cline, Cowboy Copas, and pilot Randy Hughes. Jean was left with the grief, the children, and the strange sound of her husband’s voice still rising on the radio. Then the song climbed. “Lonesome 7-7203” reached No. 1 after Hawkshaw was gone. Jean had recorded it first. Hawkshaw made it immortal. Country music kept dialing the number after the man who sang it could no longer answer.

Country Music

SHE SAID A MAN WITH A GUN WAS WAITING IN THE BACK SEAT. DAYS LATER, TAMMY WYNETTE STILL WALKED ONSTAGE IN SOUTH CAROLINA. Tammy Wynette already knew what it meant to sing pain for a living. By 1978, she was not just a country star. She was the woman behind “Stand by Your Man,” “D-I-V-O-R-C-E,” “I Don’t Wanna Play House,” and the kind of songs that made broken homes sound like they had wallpaper, bills, children, and nowhere clean to hide. Her life had become part of the story too. Marriages. George Jones. Public fights. Illness. A voice that could make surrender sound noble even when the woman singing it was barely holding the pieces together. Then came October 4, 1978. Tammy had gone shopping at Green Hills in Nashville for a birthday gift for her daughter. When she returned to her car, she later said a masked man was hiding in the back seat with a gun. He forced her to drive, beat her, and released her about 80 miles away in Giles County. The story sounded like something too strange even for country music. Questions followed. Rumors followed. No one was ever convicted. The mystery stayed attached to her name for the rest of her life. But Tammy still had a calendar. A few days later, bruised and shaken, she appeared for a concert in Columbia, South Carolina. The fans saw the First Lady of Country Music under the lights. What they could not fully see was the woman who had just been left on a Tennessee roadside, trying to explain a nightmare nobody could neatly close. Loretta Lynn turned poverty into defiance. Patsy Cline turned survival into steel. Tammy Wynette turned private wreckage into a voice so controlled it almost hid the damage.