Singers

Instead of waxing eloquent on the power and mystery of the human voice, I probably should have used this example: Lyle Lovett married Julia Roberts. It did not last, but if any voice can tell a story, Lyle’s does the job. Part of that is his otherworldly lyrics, but somehow those lyrics have to reach the ears. 

I had not thought about that combination until we were in a Georgetown bar one late Saturday night. The talented young singer-songwriter for the evening had run out of his own material and said he would take requests. I asked for any Lyle Lovett song. The response was, “I don’t do Lyle songs–there are too many words.” My gut reaction would have been the opposite; most Lovett songs sound relaxed, almost leisurely.

However he does it, Lyle describes Texas perfectly. Rooted in a rural past (This Old Porch (actually a Robert Earl Keen composition), aware that our history is as much myth as objective truth (If I Had A Boat), and always striving (Farther Down The Line). I could keep doing that sort of observation all day. Amazingly, he can be so Texan with an anti-Texan technique; he is the quiet man of song. Soulful, sardonic, and self-aware. Lyle’s voice reveals it all and more.

Most people blur the line between Selena, the powerhouse Tejano whose rocket ship to fame ended at a tragically young age, and Jennifer Lopez, whose turn playing Selena boosted her own rocket ship. That confusion is one part a tribute to Lopez’s skills as an actor and singer, but the larger story is that Selena made Lopez possible. While Hollywood has long glorified John Wayne’s Texas, the truth is that there are about as many Hispanics as traditional Anglos. 

America has always been great at appropriating and improving/transforming musical forms–see the evolution of Rock and Roll. Selena brought Tejano music to that conversation. Her voice made it happen. Equal parts sweet and sexy, the closest comparison I can give is the Hispanic Karen Carpenter, even if Tom Brokaw famously described her as the “Madonna of Mexico.” Selena imbued traditional Tejano with a woman’s point of view. That was no mean trick, and it moved Hispanics like no entertainer before her.  It still does today, as Selena remains a tangible presence in many South Texas homes, more than a quarter-century after her death. While the price was too high, Tejano had its Buddy Holly or Hank Williams equivalent, a voice filled with promise and silenced too soon.

The great country songwriter Harlan Howard famously said, “Country music ain’t nothing more than three chords and the truth.” George Strait is the living embodiment of that phrase, although he might have an extra chord or two—case in point, Amarillo by Morning, our favorite song with a Texas city reference. The truth in that song is the loss caused by something you love. 

George did not write the song, but he made it entirely his own. George is a natural baritone with range. He has a Texas accent, but not a cartoonish one. More than anything else, however, the voice is honest. When George sings you a story, you believe it. So what he did with Amarillo by Morning, he has done repeatedly in his career. With more than 60 hit singles and 31 platinum or more albums, the “do people like him?” metric was not controversial.

George Strait is also as Texan as can be, having been raised in Poteet and cutting his chops in San Marcos as the house band for Cheatham Street Warehouse. So, George’s honest voice is neither contrived nor accidental; it is built on real Texas experience. Finally, George put his talent to good use. His success in the early 90s heralded a move back to more traditional country music from the overproduced “Nashville sound” of the late 1960s and 1970s. King George is an appropriate nickname.

Who would have ever guessed? Linden, Texas, of Cass County, is slow-moving and about as “not Southern California” as one can imagine. Yet, Don Henley, one of the principal musical purveyors of the 1970s California lifestyle, hails from this small Texas town. To be clear, Henley moved to where the opportunity was, but much of Cass County remained with him.   In fact, he named an album after the place. 

Henley grew up on country music, often through shared car rides with his dad. We have a prescient football coach to thank for helping Henley move from a listener to a performer. The coach gently suggested to Henley that his place was more likely the band hall rather than the locker room. Taking that cue, Henley started with the trombone but quickly became a drummer. Out of Linden, he started college at Stephen F. Austin, but then made the move to Denton and the University of North Texas. While there and on his return to Cass County to help his terminally ill father, Henley continued as part of Shiloh, a band with high school friends. 

Fellow Texan Kenny Rogers eventually championed Shiloh and facilitated their move to Los Angeles. After the band broke up, Henley signed on to be part of Linda Ronstadt’s tour band. That band included Glenn Frey, Randy Meisner, and Bernie Leadon. That quartet became the first-generation Eagles; the rest is history.

When we say history, we mean massive music history. Southern California was the focal point of early 1970s popular music, and the Eagles were far and away its biggest act. In his career, Henley has sold more than 150 million albums. But he might be on this list even if he had sung only Desperado, a song so heartbreakingly beautiful that Seinfeld based an episode on it. Elaine’s response was Witchy Woman, another Henley tune. The list goes on and on. In many ways, The Eagles and Henley are a generational sound.

Henley is a tenor with a powerful falsetto and impressive range. He sings with authority and what seems like ease. While the song’s lyrics often build substantial tension (think Hotel California), you never think for a second that the storyteller is not in complete command. That was a football coach with an eye for talent.

We claim Barry for Texas based on his birth in Galveston. He moved to Los Angeles as a child, and all sorts of nasty stuff happened before he found his stride. The short story is that he was convicted as a 16-year-old of stealing $30,000.00 worth of Cadillac tires.  Yes, they were Cadillacs, but that is a lot of tires. While in jail, White heard Elvis singing “It’s Now or Never” and took it as a cue to change his life.

He did just that, using a distinctive baritone voice to define the “rich timbre.” He could neither read nor write music, but that was no impediment. In the early to mid-1970s, a string of sexy hits created his singular reputation. We will put it this way–have you ever heard a successful Barry White imitator? We haven’t. Barry was one of a kind.

He also turned out to be multi-generational. The 1990s legal dramedy Ally McBeal brought Barry back in a big way and introduced him to a legion of new fans. Barry was just fun. Any of his songs represents people in love; his catalog could do more for couples than all the therapists worldwide. The defining Barry White quote summarized him perfectly: “If chocolate fudge cake could sing, it would sound like Barry White.”

Identifiable voice? Janis Joplin of Port Arthur had no precedent or duplicate. Janis’ powerful brand of blues-infused rock took the world by storm in the late 1960s and early 1970s. She appeared on only three studio albums, one with Big Brother and the Holding Company and two solo efforts. Every note she sang told you more than you might want to know about the hurt in Janis’ life.

Like so many stars, Janis’ musical journey began in church. As a child, she was a good student from a stable family. She had friends and a normal childhood, where she grew to love music. Puberty, however, can be cruel and Janis’s went badly. Acne and weight gain made her a target for cruel jokes. Later, there were repeated slurs about alleged promiscuity, a serious matter in 1950s Port Arthur. That she turned to the blues should be no surprise.

After graduation, she tried local colleges, dropped out, moved to Los Angeles, returned to Texas, and then made her way to Austin and the University of Texas. At the famous Threadgills, she sat in on folk night and blew away the stereotype of female folk singers with her gutsy and emotional renditions. There was enough encouragement in the audience response that she took another shot at California.  Even then, it took another five years to find her spot, first as a member of Big Brother and then as a solo artist. 

She was dead by late 1970, the victim of a drug overdose. It was not a surprise. Janis drank excessively and could not stay away from drugs, including heroin. Her demons were out in the open, and it was as if each performance was an attempted exorcism. There have been many legendary women blues singers, but never has pain been so evident, raw, and powerful. A Piece of My Heart is my favorite, but there are 25 tracks to amplify it. 

It is impossible to think about Janis Joplin without regret, for her pain and our failure to address the conditions that caused it. I don’t think Janis would have any of that, though. She had one voice and used it like a wrecking ball that no one will ever forget. She doesn’t need us to tell her story.

George Jones was a trainwreck of a man with a talent that moved him forward even when the tracks did not exist. Waylon Jennings said it best, “If we all could sound like we wanted to, we would all sound like George Jones.” That is a true, heartfelt compliment coming from someone who once had to tie Jones up to prevent the destruction of his living room.

Born in Saratoga in southeast Texas, Jones had a traumatic upbringing under a father who alternated between loving and tyrannical, depending on what he had to drink. As a youngster, his talent shone through, and his dad’s answer was to put him on the street to raise money for the family. As cold as that sounds, Dad at least understood the right career path.

After a stint in the Marines, Jones started a career with few parallels. No matter his myriad of personal problems, he churned out hit after hit. The pinnacle came in 1980, with He Stopped Loving Her Today. More than a country classic, George’s faultless baritone, phrasing, and raw emotion transformed the song into a standard for the American songbook. Three chords and the Truth, indeed.

It is easy to focus on George’s crazy personal life, marriages, drinking, drugs, and missed shows. Whether all that was necessary to create the music or an effect of George’s art is hard to say. In the end, it did not matter. George Jones’ voice stands as one of the greatest in country music.

The saying is that “game knows game.” If true, Roy Orbison, born in Vernon, Texas, and raised in Wink, Texas, may be the greatest rock/pop singer of all time. Known as “The Caruso of Rock,” other stars marvel at Orbison’s 4-5 octave range, precise and sustained vibrato, and the precision in his sound. Elvis called Orbison “the greatest singer in the world.”

Today, music stars are often judged on their looks first, their dance ability second, and their musicianship third. Roy Orbison might not have made it. His early performance was devoid of theatrics. He just stood on stage, dressed in black, and sang. That did not stop him from getting 14 encores opening for the Beatles in England the year before they invaded the States.

Orbison’s geek chic worked because his voice melted hearts. Although most casual fans know him first due to Pretty Woman, his most remarkable hits were Only the Lonely and Crying. Those two songs made full use of Orbison’s high end. They were sad songs in which Orbison displayed all his real insecurities. For the early rock era, the songs were complicated musically and lyrically. Plenty of teenagers were alone in West Texas, Wyoming, Canada, or in big cities like New York, Los Angeles, or London. Almost all of them identified with the voice acknowledging their fears and pain.

Tragically, while Roy Orbison enjoyed massive success in the mid-1960s, his life again turned tragic. His wife died in a car crash, and he lost two sons in a house fire. The understandable depression that followed sidelined Orbison for most of the 1970s. He faded from public consciousness.

The 1980s saw a resurgence. The Eagles invited him on tour, Van Halen covered Pretty Woman, and he joined forces with the other legends of the Traveling Wilburys. Nothing ever was rosy in Roy Orbison’s life. On December 6, 1988, in Nashville, he died from a heart attack at only 52 years old.  

At least he was not forgotten. He rose again because those who really know–The Eagles, Van Halen, Bob Dylan, Jeff Lynne, George Harrison, Tom Petty–understood what a special voice he was.

People do not often rate singers using statistics, but this one seems relevant. Beyoncé Knowles-Carter of Houston, Texas, has won 35 Grammys, more than any artist in history. The Beyhive would argue that the number is too low, given her 99 nominations. Given her constant reinvention, there is no telling how high those totals will climb.

Beyoncé knew what she wanted to be when she won her school’s first-grade talent show by singing John Lennon’s Imagine. Her stratospheric success starts with a huge dose of natural talent, but her work ethic sets her apart. As a youngster, she would do mile runs while singing. She did not just take voice lessons; she studied under an opera singer. Her parents tried to give her a normal childhood, but Beyoncé was constantly working to improve within those confines.

She never let up. Today, her technical abilities are multifaceted and the best in the business. Depending on who has a new album out, Beyoncé and Taylor Swift trade back and forth the title of the world’s greatest pop star. With the release of Cowboy Carter, Beyoncé has conquered almost every genre–light rap with Destiny’s Child, pop and soft rock as a solo artist, and now country (yes, it is a country album). She is but 44 years old, and her voice keeps improving. What is next? My money is on opera.

Not a ton of suspense as to who would head this list. The real suspense is whether Willie will still be doing it when he turns 100 on April 29, 2033. As it is today, Willie has been releasing his own recorded music for an astounding 70 years.  November 7, 2025, is the scheduled release date for his 78th solo album, Working Man: Willie Sings Merle. Odds are it will be great. Covering a 70-year career could take volumes, so that I will stop with the details. Instead, I will offer a hearty recommendation for the Willie Nelson & Family Documentary Series. 

Of course, Willie’s voice is iconic. It is not classically perfect with a bit of a nasal twang, but instantly recognizable. When Willie sings, he invites you into his world. His voice is that of a storyteller. When he sings about friends, cowboys, and good-hearted women, you know them. When he tells you about Luckenbach or the City of New Orleans, you have been there. When he describes Seven Spanish Angels or the plight of Pancho and Lefty, you get sad.

Willie reached his storytelling apex 50 years ago with the Red Headed Stranger, a near-perfect concept album recorded not in Nashville, Los Angeles, or New York but in Garland, Texas. Willie had wrangled complete creative control of the album, and the result surprised the record company. Gone was the string section and the lush, soft sounds that dominated country music in the late ’60s and ’70s. Out were the session players, and the endless takes meant to create a mistake-free album. In their place was a dark story told about lost love and vengeance. Willie’s narration tells the tale unsparingly, hauntingly, and fully. The suits in Nashville did not get it. Everyone else did, especially those of us living in Texas.

The Red-Headed Stranger cemented alternative country as a genre with staying power, revealed the full extent of Willie’s genius, and opened the door to inventive music-making in an industry that had always resisted. It was wonderful, but what it really did was produce a work that sounds just off the presses 50 years later. That fact, the 50 years that have passed, reveals the adjective I have struggled to find: Willie’s voice is timeless. Treasure the fact that we heard it in real time.