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

Introduction

There’s something profoundly moving about songs that touch on themes of faith, hope, and resilience. “Believe” by Brooks & Dunn is one such song that has left an indelible mark on listeners, resonating with its powerful message and heartfelt delivery. Whether you’re going through a tough time or simply reflecting on life’s challenges, “Believe” offers a comforting reminder that hope is never far away.

About The Composition

  • Title: Believe
  • Composer: Ronnie Dunn, Craig Wiseman
  • Premiere Date: October 2005
  • Album/Opus/Collection: Hillbilly Deluxe
  • Genre: Country, with gospel influences

Background

“Believe” was born out of the creative synergy between Ronnie Dunn and Craig Wiseman, two titans of country music. Released as part of Brooks & Dunn’s album Hillbilly Deluxe, the song quickly became a standout track, earning critical acclaim and widespread popularity. The song’s inception was deeply rooted in the personal experiences and reflections of its composers, particularly Dunn’s memories of his grandmother and her unwavering faith.

The song’s reception was overwhelmingly positive, with audiences and critics alike praising its emotional depth and spiritual message. It became more than just a country hit; it was a testament to the power of belief and the strength of the human spirit. Over time, “Believe” has solidified its place in the Brooks & Dunn repertoire, often considered one of their most impactful songs.

Musical Style

Musically, “Believe” blends traditional country elements with gospel influences, creating a sound that is both familiar and spiritually uplifting. The song is characterized by its simple yet powerful arrangement, featuring acoustic guitar, piano, and subtle strings that complement Dunn’s soulful vocals. The song’s structure is straightforward, but it’s the emotional delivery and the heartfelt lyrics that truly make it stand out.

The instrumentation is intentionally minimalistic, allowing the lyrics and the message to take center stage. This approach enhances the song’s impact, drawing listeners into the story and the emotions it conveys. The gospel choir in the background adds a layer of spiritual resonance, making “Believe” feel like a hymn of hope and perseverance.

Lyrics/Libretto

The lyrics of “Believe” tell a poignant story of an elderly man’s reflections on life, loss, and faith. Through the verses, we learn about the man’s experiences, including the profound loss of his wife and child, and how his faith has guided him through these difficult times. The chorus, with its repeated refrain of “I still believe,” serves as a powerful affirmation of hope and trust in something greater.

The themes of the song revolve around the ideas of resilience, faith, and the enduring human spirit. The narrative style of the lyrics, coupled with Dunn’s emotive delivery, creates a deeply moving experience for the listener, making “Believe” a song that resonates on both a personal and universal level.

Performance History

Since its release, “Believe” has been performed by Brooks & Dunn at numerous live events, often receiving standing ovations for its powerful message and emotional impact. Notably, the song won the Country Music Association Award for Single of the Year in 2006, cementing its place in country music history. Its live performances are often accompanied by a gospel choir, which enhances the song’s spiritual dimension and leaves audiences deeply moved.

Cultural Impact

“Believe” has transcended its initial release, becoming a song that is often referenced in discussions about faith and perseverance in country music. Its message has resonated with a broad audience, and it has been used in various media, including television shows and memorial services, where its themes of hope and resilience are particularly poignant.

The song’s influence extends beyond the realm of country music, touching listeners from all walks of life. It has become a cultural touchstone for those seeking comfort and inspiration in difficult times, illustrating the enduring power of music to heal and uplift.

Legacy

The legacy of “Believe” is one of hope and inspiration. Even years after its release, the song continues to be a source of comfort for many, its message as relevant today as it was when it first debuted. It stands as a testament to the power of belief, and its place in the Brooks & Dunn catalog is assured as one of their most beloved songs.

Conclusion

“Believe” is more than just a song; it’s a beacon of hope and a reminder of the strength of the human spirit. Its message is timeless, resonating with listeners across generations. Whether you’re discovering it for the first time or revisiting it after many years, “Believe” has a way of touching your heart and soul, encouraging you to hold on to faith, no matter what challenges life may bring

Video

Lyrics

Old man Wrigley lived in that white house
Down the street where I grew up
Momma used to send me over with things
We struck a friendship up
I spent a few long summers out on his old porch swing
Said he was in the war when in the navy
Lost his wife, lost his baby
Broke down and asked him one time
How ya keep from goin’ crazy
He said, “I’ll see my wife and son in just a little while”
I asked him what he meant
He looked at me and smiled, said
I raise my hands, bow my head
I’m findin’ more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there’s more to life, than just what I can see
Oh I believe, hmm
Few years later I was off at college
Talkin’ to mom on the phone one night
Gettin’ all caught up on the gossip
The ins and outs of the small town life
She said, “Oh, by the way son
Old man Wrigley has died”
Later on that night, I laid there thinkin’ back
Thought about a couple long-lost summers
I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh
If there was ever anybody deserved a ticket to the other side
It’d be that sweet old man who looked me in the eye, said
I raise my hands, bow my head
I’m findin’ more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there’s more to life than just what I can see
I can’t quote the book, the chapter or the verse
You can’t tell me it all ends in a slow ride in a hearse
You know I’m more and more convinced, the longer that I live
Yeah, this can’t be, no, this can’t be, no, this can’t be all there is
Lord, I raise my hands, bow my head
Oh, I’m findin’ more and more truth in the words written in red
They tell me that there’s more to this
Than just what I can see (just what I can see)
I believe
Oh, I, I believe
I believe
hmm
(I believe) I believe
(I believe) I believe (I believe)
(I believe) oh, I believe
(I believe, )
(I believe)
(I believe)

Related Post

CAPITOL DROPPED FREDDIE HART AFTER “CALIFORNIA GRAPEVINE” STALLED AT NO. 68. THEN AN ATLANTA DJ STARTED PLAYING AN ALBUM CUT CALLED “EASY LOVING”—AND HART HAD A NO. 1 HIT BEFORE THE LABEL COULD EVEN SIGN HIM BACK. By 1971, Freddie Hart had spent years close to country success without ever fully breaking through. He had recorded for several labels, written songs for other artists, and even supplied hits such as Carl Smith’s “Loose Talk” and Porter Wagoner’s “Skid Row Joe.” But his own records remained modest sellers. Then “California Grapevine” stalled at No. 68. Capitol dropped him. On the album, however, was a song Hart had written called “Easy Loving.” Atlanta DJ Jim Clemens at WPLO began playing it, and listener response was strong enough that other stations followed. Capitol suddenly had a problem. The song was taking off, but the singer was no longer under contract. The label rushed “Easy Loving” out as a single. By September 1971, it had reached No. 1 on Billboard’s country chart, staying there for three weeks, and it crossed to No. 17 on the Hot 100. Capitol quickly signed Hart again. The turnaround became much bigger than one rescued record. “Easy Loving” won CMA Song of the Year in both 1971 and 1972. Hart followed it with five more consecutive No. 1 country hits, including “My Hang-Up Is You,” and became one of the biggest country hitmakers of the early 1970s. A few months earlier, the record company had decided Freddie Hart’s commercial future was over. What changed that judgment was not another Nashville meeting or a new contract negotiation. It was one DJ in Atlanta turning over an album and deciding the song buried inside deserved to be heard.

GARY STEWART’S ONLY NO. 1 HIT WAS ABOUT A MAN DRINKING THROUGH A COLLAPSING RELATIONSHIP. YEARS LATER, THE DARKNESS IN HIS RECORDS WOULD BEGIN TO LOOK FAR TOO MUCH LIKE HIS OWN LIFE. Gary Stewart did not sound like the smooth Nashville country dominating much of the 1970s. Born in Kentucky and raised in Florida, he developed a high, quivering voice that seemed permanently on the edge of breaking. Before his own breakthrough, Stewart and songwriting partner Bill Eldridge placed songs with artists including Stonewall Jackson and Cal Smith. RCA signed him as an artist in the early 1970s. The label initially struggled to find a clear direction, but Stewart’s fortunes changed when producer Roy Dea leaned into the harder honky-tonk sound that suited him best. In 1974, “Drinkin’ Thing” reached the Top 10. Then came “She’s Actin’ Single (I’m Drinkin’ Doubles).” Written by Wayne Carson, the song placed Stewart inside a failing relationship where the woman was behaving as though she were unattached and the man responded by drinking twice as hard. Stewart’s strained delivery made the lyric sound less like clever wordplay than a nervous breakdown happening in real time. In 1975, it went to No. 1. The album *Out of Hand* produced three major hits and later came to be regarded as one of the strongest hard-country albums of the decade. For a moment, Stewart had carved out a space between traditional honky-tonk and the emerging outlaw audience. But the instability in his records was not purely theatrical. As the decade progressed, Stewart struggled increasingly with alcohol and drugs. Personal losses compounded the problem, and by the 1980s his recording career had slowed sharply. He eventually returned to performing and recording, retaining a devoted audience that had never forgotten the rawness of those RCA records. Then, in December 2003, Stewart’s wife of more than four decades, Mary Lou, died of pneumonia. Less than a month later, Gary Stewart died by suicide at his Florida home. His reputation had never depended on polish. What listeners remembered was the feeling that every syllable might come apart before the band reached the next measure—and that, somehow, Stewart always held it together just long enough to finish the song.

IRA LOUVIN SANG SOME OF COUNTRY MUSIC’S MOST BEAUTIFUL HARMONIES ABOUT SIN AND SALVATION. OFFSTAGE, HIS OWN LIFE WAS COLLAPSING UNDER ALCOHOL, RAGE—AND A SHOOTING THAT NEARLY KILLED HIM. The Louvin Brothers sounded almost impossibly pure together. Ira Louvin sang lead and played mandolin; Charlie supplied the harmony and guitar. By the mid-1950s, songs such as “When I Stop Dreaming,” “I Don’t Believe You’ve Met My Baby,” and “Cash on the Barrel Head” had made them one of country music’s most important brother duos. But the man singing those high, tightly controlled parts was becoming much harder to control away from the microphone. Ira struggled heavily with alcohol and a violent temper. As the drinking worsened, so did the tension between the brothers. Charlie later described a partnership in which the harmony could still lock perfectly onstage even when the two men were barely getting along off it. The contrast became brutal after the duo broke up in 1963. Not long afterward, during an alcohol-fueled fight with his third wife, Faye, Ira was shot and nearly killed. He survived and returned to performing, later singing with his fourth wife, Anne Young. The comeback did not last long. In June 1965, Ira and Anne were traveling after a week of performances in Kansas City when their car collided head-on with another vehicle near Williamsburg, Missouri. Both were killed. Ira was forty-one. Charlie continued alone, but the Louvin Brothers were finished for good. Their records survived because the voices made pain sound ordered, almost sacred. Ira’s private life had been anything but. That may be why the old performances still feel so unsettling: the man warning about sin and destruction was not singing from a safe distance from either one.

You Missed

CAPITOL DROPPED FREDDIE HART AFTER “CALIFORNIA GRAPEVINE” STALLED AT NO. 68. THEN AN ATLANTA DJ STARTED PLAYING AN ALBUM CUT CALLED “EASY LOVING”—AND HART HAD A NO. 1 HIT BEFORE THE LABEL COULD EVEN SIGN HIM BACK. By 1971, Freddie Hart had spent years close to country success without ever fully breaking through. He had recorded for several labels, written songs for other artists, and even supplied hits such as Carl Smith’s “Loose Talk” and Porter Wagoner’s “Skid Row Joe.” But his own records remained modest sellers. Then “California Grapevine” stalled at No. 68. Capitol dropped him. On the album, however, was a song Hart had written called “Easy Loving.” Atlanta DJ Jim Clemens at WPLO began playing it, and listener response was strong enough that other stations followed. Capitol suddenly had a problem. The song was taking off, but the singer was no longer under contract. The label rushed “Easy Loving” out as a single. By September 1971, it had reached No. 1 on Billboard’s country chart, staying there for three weeks, and it crossed to No. 17 on the Hot 100. Capitol quickly signed Hart again. The turnaround became much bigger than one rescued record. “Easy Loving” won CMA Song of the Year in both 1971 and 1972. Hart followed it with five more consecutive No. 1 country hits, including “My Hang-Up Is You,” and became one of the biggest country hitmakers of the early 1970s. A few months earlier, the record company had decided Freddie Hart’s commercial future was over. What changed that judgment was not another Nashville meeting or a new contract negotiation. It was one DJ in Atlanta turning over an album and deciding the song buried inside deserved to be heard.

GARY STEWART’S ONLY NO. 1 HIT WAS ABOUT A MAN DRINKING THROUGH A COLLAPSING RELATIONSHIP. YEARS LATER, THE DARKNESS IN HIS RECORDS WOULD BEGIN TO LOOK FAR TOO MUCH LIKE HIS OWN LIFE. Gary Stewart did not sound like the smooth Nashville country dominating much of the 1970s. Born in Kentucky and raised in Florida, he developed a high, quivering voice that seemed permanently on the edge of breaking. Before his own breakthrough, Stewart and songwriting partner Bill Eldridge placed songs with artists including Stonewall Jackson and Cal Smith. RCA signed him as an artist in the early 1970s. The label initially struggled to find a clear direction, but Stewart’s fortunes changed when producer Roy Dea leaned into the harder honky-tonk sound that suited him best. In 1974, “Drinkin’ Thing” reached the Top 10. Then came “She’s Actin’ Single (I’m Drinkin’ Doubles).” Written by Wayne Carson, the song placed Stewart inside a failing relationship where the woman was behaving as though she were unattached and the man responded by drinking twice as hard. Stewart’s strained delivery made the lyric sound less like clever wordplay than a nervous breakdown happening in real time. In 1975, it went to No. 1. The album *Out of Hand* produced three major hits and later came to be regarded as one of the strongest hard-country albums of the decade. For a moment, Stewart had carved out a space between traditional honky-tonk and the emerging outlaw audience. But the instability in his records was not purely theatrical. As the decade progressed, Stewart struggled increasingly with alcohol and drugs. Personal losses compounded the problem, and by the 1980s his recording career had slowed sharply. He eventually returned to performing and recording, retaining a devoted audience that had never forgotten the rawness of those RCA records. Then, in December 2003, Stewart’s wife of more than four decades, Mary Lou, died of pneumonia. Less than a month later, Gary Stewart died by suicide at his Florida home. His reputation had never depended on polish. What listeners remembered was the feeling that every syllable might come apart before the band reached the next measure—and that, somehow, Stewart always held it together just long enough to finish the song.

IRA LOUVIN SANG SOME OF COUNTRY MUSIC’S MOST BEAUTIFUL HARMONIES ABOUT SIN AND SALVATION. OFFSTAGE, HIS OWN LIFE WAS COLLAPSING UNDER ALCOHOL, RAGE—AND A SHOOTING THAT NEARLY KILLED HIM. The Louvin Brothers sounded almost impossibly pure together. Ira Louvin sang lead and played mandolin; Charlie supplied the harmony and guitar. By the mid-1950s, songs such as “When I Stop Dreaming,” “I Don’t Believe You’ve Met My Baby,” and “Cash on the Barrel Head” had made them one of country music’s most important brother duos. But the man singing those high, tightly controlled parts was becoming much harder to control away from the microphone. Ira struggled heavily with alcohol and a violent temper. As the drinking worsened, so did the tension between the brothers. Charlie later described a partnership in which the harmony could still lock perfectly onstage even when the two men were barely getting along off it. The contrast became brutal after the duo broke up in 1963. Not long afterward, during an alcohol-fueled fight with his third wife, Faye, Ira was shot and nearly killed. He survived and returned to performing, later singing with his fourth wife, Anne Young. The comeback did not last long. In June 1965, Ira and Anne were traveling after a week of performances in Kansas City when their car collided head-on with another vehicle near Williamsburg, Missouri. Both were killed. Ira was forty-one. Charlie continued alone, but the Louvin Brothers were finished for good. Their records survived because the voices made pain sound ordered, almost sacred. Ira’s private life had been anything but. That may be why the old performances still feel so unsettling: the man warning about sin and destruction was not singing from a safe distance from either one.

MEL STREET SPENT THE 1970S SINGING ABOUT CHEATING, LONELINESS, AND MEN WHO COULDN’T HOLD THEIR LIVES TOGETHER. THEN, JUST AS MERCURY GAVE HIM HIS BIGGEST LABEL OPPORTUNITY, HE DIED ON HIS BIRTHDAY. Mel Street had taken a long route to Nashville. Raised in southwestern Virginia, he worked as a radio-tower electrician, sang in clubs around Niagara Falls, then returned to West Virginia and opened an auto-body shop. From 1968 to 1972, he also hosted a local television show in Bluefield. His breakthrough came from a song he had written himself. “Borrowed Angel” was first recorded for a small regional label and later picked up for wider release. In 1972, it reached the country Top 10, giving Street his first national hit. “Lovin’ on Back Streets” followed and became his biggest chart record, reaching No. 5. The songs established his territory. Street specialized in men already standing on the wrong side of a decision: affairs, guilt, secret meetings, marriages breaking down, and the loneliness left afterward. “I Met a Friend of Yours Today,” “Forbidden Angel,” and “If I Had a Cheating Heart” kept that voice on country radio through the middle of the decade. But touring and family pressure were taking a toll. Accounts of Street’s final years describe serious depression and alcohol problems even as his career continued moving forward. In 1978, he signed a new contract with Mercury Records, a major opportunity that suggested another step up was still possible. On October 21, 1978—his birthday—Mel Street died by suicide at his home in Tennessee. Contemporary and later sources disagree over his exact birth year, but not the date: he died on the same calendar day on which he had been born. His career did not stop immediately on the charts. “Just Hangin’ On” and other recordings appeared posthumously, while “Borrowed Angel” continued growing into a honky-tonk standard. Street never reached the level of fame that George Jones, Merle Haggard, or Conway Twitty did. But his best records shared something with theirs: they did not ask whether the man in the song deserved sympathy. They simply put him in the room, closed the door, and let the consequences stay with him.