Every Second Any Old Stretch Of Blacktop: Collin Raye’s Country Gem That Still Kicks Dust
Alright, buckle up, folks. Let’s talk about Every Second Any Old Stretch Of Blacktop, Collin Raye’s 1992 country banger that doesn’t mess around. This album hits like a rusty truck on an old dirt road—raw, real, and unapologetically American. It’s not perfect, but damn if it ain’t memorable.
First off, the title track "Any Old Stretch Of Blacktop" smacks you in the face with its gritty storytelling. You can almost smell the diesel fumes and feel the cracked leather steering wheel as Raye belts out lyrics about wanderlust and freedom. The guitar riffs are sharp enough to cut glass, while the pedal steel sneaks in like a drifter at sunset. What sticks with me? How this song feels like your whole life flashing before your eyes during one long drive. No metaphors here—it’s just pure, sweaty, open-road truth.
Then there’s “Every Second,” which grabs you by the collar and demands attention. If heartbreak had a soundtrack, this would be it. The vocals ache so hard they could rust iron, and the melody wraps around you tighter than regret after a bad decision. I remember this tune because it’s brutally honest—you know those moments when time slows down and every tick of the clock feels like salt in a wound? Yeah, that’s this song. Forget flowers and candy; this is love gone wrong, served cold.
Jerry Fuller and John Hobbs deserve props for producing something this raw. They didn’t polish it up too much, thank God, letting Raye’s voice carry the weight. And man, does he ever. His delivery isn’t flawless—it’s better. It’s got cracks and edges, like a whiskey-soaked barstool that tells its own stories.
Released under Epic Records back in ‘92, this record still holds up today. Sure, some tracks might sound dated next to modern country’s overproduced nonsense, but that’s kinda the point. This album doesn’t care about trends or TikTok dances—it’s straight-up soul music for people who’ve lived a little (or a lot).
So why should you give a damn? Because Every Second Any Old Stretch Of Blacktop reminds us what real music sounds like. Not auto-tuned pop-country garbage, but the kind of stuff that makes you wanna punch a wall—or hug someone, depending on your mood.
And hey, weird thing—I listened to this album again recently, and halfway through, my dog started howling along to “Any Old Stretch Of Blacktop.” Maybe he gets it. Or maybe he just hates country music. Either way, that’s gotta count for something, right?
