Country Music

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Country Music

George Jones – Choices

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

Introduction

“Sometimes life boils down to the choices we make.” This sentiment resonates deeply with Choices, a poignant country ballad that captures the raw essence of decision-making and its lasting impact. Whether it’s George Jones’s heartfelt rendition or the song’s timeless message, Choices speaks to anyone who has ever looked back on life’s crossroads with a mix of regret and acceptance.

About the Composition

  • Title: Choices
  • Composer: Billy Yates and Mike Curtis
  • Premiere Date: Released in 1999
  • Album/Opus/Collection: Cold Hard Truth (by George Jones)
  • Genre: Country

Background

Originally penned by Billy Yates and Mike Curtis, Choices emerged as a raw, honest ballad reflecting on life’s mistakes and the repercussions of personal decisions. George Jones, one of country music’s most iconic voices, brought the song to life in his 1999 album Cold Hard Truth. The timing of its release was especially meaningful, as Jones had recently survived a near-fatal car accident tied to his struggles with addiction—a theme that aligns with the song’s introspective nature.

When Choices hit the airwaves, it struck a chord not only with country music fans but also with anyone who has faced their own inner battles. The song garnered critical acclaim and won the Grammy Award for Best Male Country Vocal Performance in 1999, solidifying its place in the pantheon of country music.

Musical Style

The song’s arrangement is stripped down, allowing the lyrics to take center stage. Built on a foundation of acoustic guitar and steel guitar, Choices features a slow, mournful melody that complements its reflective lyrics. The vocal delivery, particularly in George Jones’s interpretation, is unvarnished and raw, emphasizing the emotional weight of the piece. The simplicity of the instrumentation serves to heighten the song’s introspective quality, inviting listeners to connect deeply with its message.

Lyrics/Libretto

At its core, Choices is a confession. Its lyrics delve into themes of regret, redemption, and the inevitability of facing one’s past:

“I’ve had choices / Since the day that I was born / There were voices / That told me right from wrong.”

The song’s narrative is universal yet deeply personal, a meditation on the consequences of ignoring those inner voices that guide us toward better decisions. It offers both a cautionary tale and a moment of solace for those who have lived through similar experiences.

Performance History

George Jones’s performance of Choices at the 1999 CMA Awards is one of the song’s most notable renditions. Initially, Jones was asked to perform a truncated version of the song, but he declined, leading Alan Jackson to make a powerful statement by singing part of Choices during his own performance. This act of solidarity underscored the song’s message of standing by one’s principles.

Over the years, Choices has become a staple in country music, covered by artists and appreciated by fans for its unflinching honesty. It remains a testament to George Jones’s artistry and resilience.

Cultural Impact

Choices transcends its role as a country ballad, finding resonance in broader cultural contexts. Its message of accountability and introspection has been embraced in sermons, motivational talks, and personal stories of recovery. For many, the song has become a beacon of hope, a reminder that while the past cannot be changed, redemption is always possible.

Legacy

More than two decades after its release, Choices continues to touch hearts and inspire reflection. Its enduring relevance lies in its ability to speak to universal truths, making it a cornerstone of George Jones’s legacy and a defining moment in country music. As newer generations discover the song, it remains a powerful reminder of the human capacity for growth and forgiveness.

Conclusion

Listening to Choices feels like sitting with an old friend who isn’t afraid to speak the truth. Its haunting melody and heartfelt lyrics invite us to reflect on our own journeys and the paths we’ve taken. If you haven’t experienced this masterpiece yet, George Jones’s Grammy-winning rendition is the perfect place to start. Let Choices be the soundtrack to your moments of introspection—it’s a song that never stops giving

Video

Lyrics

Chorus:
I’ve had choices
Since the day that I was born
There were voices
That told me right from wrong
If I had listened
No, I wouldn’t be here today
Living and dying
With the choices I’ve made
I was tempted
By an early age I found
I liked drinkin’
Oh, and I never turned it down
There were loved ones
But I turned them all away
Now I’m living and dying
With the choices I’ve made
Chorus:
I’ve had choices
Since the day that I was born
There were voices
That told me right from wrong
If I had listened
No, I wouldn’t be here today
Living and dying
With the choices I’ve made
— Instrumental —
I guess I’m payin’
For the things that I have done
If I could go back
Oh, Lord knows I’d run
But I’m still losin’
This game of life I play
Living and dying
With the choices I’ve made
Chorus:
I’ve had choices
Since the day that I was born
There were voices
That told me right from wrong
If I had listened
I wouldn’t be here today
Living and dying
With the choices I’ve made
— Instrumental —
Living and dying
With the choices I’ve made…

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GEORGE JONES HAD ONE ROOM IN NASHVILLE WHERE HE WOULD NOT DRINK. YEARS LATER, NANCY PUT HIS BRONZE FIGURE OUTSIDE THAT DOOR. For most of his life, George Jones carried trouble with him. The missed shows. The liquor. The drugs. The people who learned to watch his face before asking whether he was ready to go onstage. By the time Nancy Sepulvado married him in 1983, George was already country music’s greatest warning and one of its greatest voices at the same time. There were places where Nancy had to worry. A hotel room. A dressing room. A bus parked behind some fairground. A bar after a show. The old life could find George almost anywhere if the wrong people, the wrong bottle, or the wrong night got close enough. But there was one place different. The Ryman Auditorium. To George, it was not just another building in Nashville. It was the Mother Church of Country Music. The room carried too much history, too many voices, too much weight. Hank Williams had stood there. Roy Acuff had stood there. The Opry had lived there for decades. Nancy later said the Ryman was the only place she did not have to worry about George drinking. He could walk through the doors, step into that old room, and something inside him seemed to hold still. The man famous for falling apart in public could stand in the place country music treated like sacred ground and remember what the stage was supposed to mean. George did not become sober because one building healed him. The road back was longer than that. There were relapses, fear, doctors, hard choices, and the near-fatal car crash in 1999 that forced the final reckoning. But the Ryman showed there was always a part of George that understood reverence. He knew some rooms asked more of him. On June 3, 2025, Nancy returned to that place for a different reason. The Ryman unveiled a life-size bronze statue of George Jones on its Icon Walk. Nancy helped shape it herself. She chose to show George in his early sixties — with the hair he was proud of, the sideburns, the Nudie suit, the snakeskin boots, the glasses, the guitar strap he loved. The statue does not erase the years Nancy had to survive beside him. It stands outside the one door where she could finally stop worrying.

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HE DID NOT SING HONKY-TONK LIKE A MEMORY. GARY STEWART SANG IT LIKE THE BAR HAD JUST CLOSED AROUND HIM. Gary Stewart did not fit the clean version of country music. He had the piano, the tremble in his voice, the broken timing that made every line sound a little too close to falling apart. “Drinkin’ Thing,” “Out of Hand,” and “She’s Actin’ Single (I’m Drinkin’ Doubles)” gave him hits in the mid-1970s, but the records were never built for polite radio comfort. He made drinking songs feel dangerous again. The men in Gary Stewart songs did not raise a glass because life was good. They drank because someone had left, because the lights were low, because the band was playing the last song and there was nowhere else to go. He could take an ordinary country phrase and make it sound like the man saying it had already been awake for three nights. Time magazine called him the King of Honky-Tonk. But Nashville never fully learned how to sell him. He was too wild for the safe side of country, too country for the rock side, too raw to turn into a smooth television personality. While other singers adapted to the cleaner sound of the 1980s, Gary stayed close to the rooms that had made him: piano bars, dim stages, and crowds who understood that a perfect note was less important than a believable wound. The hits slowed. The industry moved on. But the people who loved real honky-tonk never did. Gary Stewart’s records kept finding their way back to singers, musicians, and fans who wanted country music before it learned how to hide its bruises. He was not the man Nashville could package neatly. He was the man it could not replace.

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GEORGE JONES ALMOST RAN FROM WILLIE NELSON’S 80,000-PERSON PICNIC. THEN HE WALKED ONSTAGE AND STOLE THE WHOLE DAY. July 4, 1976. Gonzales, Texas. Willie Nelson’s Fourth of July Picnic had turned a ranch into a country-rock city for the weekend. Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, Leon Russell, Jerry Jeff Walker, Ernest Tubb, Roger Miller — the crowd came for a new kind of Texas music, loud and young and loose around the edges. George Jones did not think he belonged there. He came from another country world: honky-tonks, heartbreak ballads, rhinestone suits, and the old rules of Nashville. By then, his drinking and missed dates had already begun to damage his reputation. He was walking toward a crowd of roughly 80,000 people who looked more like Willie Nelson’s future than George Jones’s past. For a moment, he nearly left. Then he went on. The old country singer walked into the middle of the outlaw picnic and did what George Jones could still do when the lights came up: he made the song matter more than the setting. The crowd did not turn away. They listened. By the end of the day, George had become the unexpected center of the festival. The *Houston Post* called him the undisputed star of that year’s Willie Nelson Picnic. Other writers treated the performance as proof that traditional country had not been pushed aside by the new Texas movement. It was not a comeback. Not yet. George would still fall harder after that. The drinking would get worse. The missed shows would pile up. His name would become a problem for promoters before it became a legend again. But on that July day in Gonzales, he did not look like a man being left behind. He looked like the voice the whole new country crowd had been built on.

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