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

Introduction

There’s something magical about a song that feels like a postcard from the past—a melody carrying you through dusty roads, heartache, and longing. “Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” does exactly that. It’s a timeless tune that resonates with anyone who’s ever dreamed of leaving behind their troubles or finding solace on the open road. This classic country hit, popularized by Charley Pride, captures a blend of wanderlust and vulnerability, making it a staple in the country music world.

About the Composition

  • Title: Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone
  • Composer: Glenn Martin and Dave Kirby
  • Premiere Date: 1970
  • Album: Charley Pride’s 10th Album
  • Genre: Country

Background

First released in 1970, “Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” quickly became a standout in Charley Pride’s catalog. Written by Glenn Martin and Dave Kirby, the song is steeped in the themes of heartbreak and a yearning for escape—classic elements of country storytelling. Its debut during a time of cultural upheaval in America gave it added weight, speaking to those searching for comfort and simplicity. The track soared to the top of the Billboard Hot Country Singles chart, cementing Pride’s place as a trailblazer in country music.

This song was not only a commercial success but also a significant cultural moment, as Charley Pride, one of the few African American artists in country music at the time, broke barriers with his soulful voice and authentic storytelling.

Musical Style

“Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” embodies the quintessential country sound of the 1970s. Its structure is straightforward, with a steady rhythm and a melody that feels both warm and melancholic. The instrumentation leans on twangy guitars, soft drums, and a touch of piano, creating a soundscape that feels like a long drive through Texas plains. Charley Pride’s smooth and emotive vocal delivery adds depth to the lyrics, making the listener feel every ounce of longing and loss.

Lyrics

The lyrics of “Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” tell a poignant story of a man seeking escape from heartache. Lines like:
“If you’re goin’ to San Antone, and you got some room for a lonely old man / I’d sure appreciate a ride to the city where I lost my heart”
paint a vivid picture of someone grappling with loss but yearning for a new beginning. The lyrics masterfully weave a narrative of vulnerability, subtly paired with a sense of resilience—a hallmark of great country songwriting.

Performance History

Charley Pride’s original recording of the song is the most iconic, reaching number one on the country charts. Over the years, it has been covered by various artists, including Doug Sahm and even Willie Nelson, showcasing its versatility and enduring appeal. Live performances by Pride often brought audiences to their feet, his voice carrying the same sincerity and warmth as the record.

Cultural Impact

“Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” stands as a cultural touchstone in country music. Its success marked an important moment for representation in the genre, with Charley Pride becoming a beloved figure who challenged racial boundaries in country music. The song’s themes of heartbreak and wanderlust have also resonated across generations, finding a place in films, television, and road trip playlists.

Legacy

Over five decades later, “Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” remains a beloved classic. It is frequently included in Charley Pride retrospectives and country music anthologies, reflecting its timelessness. For new listeners, it offers a window into a rich era of storytelling in country music, while for long-time fans, it remains a cherished piece of nostalgia.

Conclusion

“Is Anybody Goin’ to San Antone” isn’t just a song—it’s a journey. Whether you’re familiar with Charley Pride’s trailblazing career or discovering this gem for the first time, it’s a track that will pull at your heartstrings and stir your wanderlust. If you’re looking to experience its magic, I highly recommend listening to Charley Pride’s original version or Doug Sahm’s soulful cover. This timeless classic will have you humming along and dreaming of open roads in no time

Video

Lyrics

[Verse 1]
Rain drippin’ off the brim of my hat
Sure is cold today
Here I am walking down 66
Wish she hadn’t done me that way
Sleeping under a table in a roadside park
A man could wake up dead
But it sure seems warmer than it did
Sleepin’ in our king-size bed

[Chorus]
Is anybody goin to San Antone
Or Phoenix, Arizona?
Any place is alright as long as I
Can forget I’ve ever known her

[Verse 2]
Wind whippin’ down the neck of my shirt
Like I ain’t got nothin’ on
But I’d rather fight the wind and rain
Than what I’ve been fightin’ at home
Yonder comes a truck with the US mail
People writin’ letters back home
Tomorrow she’ll probably want me back
But I’ll still be just as gone

[Chorus]
Is anybody goin to San Antone
Or Phoenix, Arizona?
Any place is alright as long as I
Can forget I’ve ever known her

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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.

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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.

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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.

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.

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