Chatname broken heart
Besides, it’s hard to extinguish a fire that burns so hot.To hear him smear vowels and notes on a song like “If Drinking Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will),” with the elegant beat, the slowly rising chorus of polished background singers and the pads of real strings, is to understand no matter how grand the tour, pain is the one thing that can’t be swept away.Yet, in proof that love conquers all, enter Nancy Sepulvado.With a fierce resolve, white-knuckle endurance and the fearlessness of a tiger, she pushed back those who were taking advantage or enabling his most excessive behavior, helping the singer restore order, clean up and return the vocalist to his former glory.But his wide open vocals and ability to distill almost consumptive sorrow helped the man who once took a riding mower to town in search of a drink.With an urgency and desolation beyond consolation, his voice transfixed Keith Richards, James Taylor (whose “Bartender Blues” was inspired by Jones), Elvis Costello (who recorded “Good Year for the Roses” on his Almost Blue album) and Frank Sinatra, not to mention a bombshell blond country singer named Tammy Wynette, who became his third wife.He understood the struggles and conflicts that bled through his performances because they were the fiber of his being.America is a forgiving place, as quick as it is to revel in bad news, and so phoenix-like Jones rose from the ashes again and again.
It’s a question that bares asking, now more than ever. Undeniable, and yet that incandescence of feral intensity is its own creative force.
Even his novelty songs were world class, be it the hiccupping “White Lightning,” the horse track metaphoric “The Race Is On” or, in later years, the feisty all-star “I Don’t Need Your Rocking Chair.” Still, there are few songs sadder than “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” the three-minute, 12-second Bobby Braddock/Curly Putman song of a love that would not die — until the broken hearted found the grave that’s decimated more late night Wurlitzer jukeboxes.
Bleary-eyed in the flickering neon, the song that boasts “he’d underlined in red every single ’I love you'” was made all the more wrenching by Jones’ ability to vocally burn you with cigarettes. When someone heard George Jones sing, they never forgot.
His was a voice of kerosene teardrops about to burst into a raging fire.
When George Jones sang a song, there was never any doubt that he committed completely to whatever emotion — usually one of raw ache, unfiltered regret, unspeakable torment — the song held. “Window Up Above,” “Good Year for the Roses,” “The Grand Tour,” “Walk Through This World With Me,” “If My Heart Had Windows” were all trenchant moments in the caverns of the human heart.