Untitled Byron Hoot Country love songs remind me of what has been now is gone. It’s the way the voice and guitar synchronize, the words leading or following so hard to know if the words take the music or the music the words to my ears then heart. The language is simple, direct as though love songs demand what other songs may not. Of course, at my age it’s easy to get sentimental, to wallow in loss, not to see things – especially matters of the heart – as they are. I hear that music that opens the door of memory, walk through, smile how good it feels, how foolish.