Dallas born Bill Hearne finds his way into a song's interior with a baritone as mellow as bourbon and smoky as a Texas pool hall and a picking style that satisfies both your feet and heart. At its best, country music is elegiac, a meat and potatoes campfire poem about heartbreak and redemption. It's about truth, the kind that hurts and the kind that heals. In lesser hands, it's also a cliché. A broken man in faded-jeans on a barstool. A Dear John letter fluttering in the hot Texas wind. A train song and an empty bed. Bill never lets this potent iconography off the hook. Whether burning through a roadhouse number or staggering through the valley of heartaches, Bill never lies. He feels it, and so do we.