It was late 2005. Country music was in this weird, transitional phase where it was trying to be "big" and "polished," but then Kix Brooks and Ronnie Dunn dropped a track that felt like an old wooden church pew. The Brooks & Dunn song Believe wasn't just another radio single; it was a slow-burn emotional wrecking ball. I remember hearing it for the first time and thinking it sounded out of place next to the "honky-tonk badonkadonk" energy of the era. It was quiet. It was heavy. It was deeply, unapologetically religious in a way that didn't feel like a lecture.
Funny enough, the song almost didn't happen the way we know it. Ronnie Dunn co-wrote it with Craig Wiseman, a guy who has his name on dozens of massive hits. They weren't trying to write a "gospel" song, really. They were just trying to capture that specific feeling of losing someone and realizing that the stuff they told you—the stuff you maybe rolled your eyes at when you were a kid—actually carried some weight.
The Story Behind the Lyrics
People always ask if "Old Man Wrigley" was a real person. Honestly? He’s a composite. He’s that neighbor we all had who seemed a thousand years old and spent more time on his porch than anywhere else. In the Brooks & Dunn song Believe, Wrigley is the catalyst. He’s the one who lost his wife and his son, yet he’s sitting there with a Bible and a smile that doesn't make sense to a young kid.
The narrative structure of the song is actually pretty sophisticated for a three-and-a-half-minute country track. It follows a timeline from childhood curiosity to the cynical skepticism of young adulthood, and finally to the "aha" moment at a funeral. Most songs stay in one emotional lane. This one travels. It moves from the smell of old wood and pipe tobacco to the cold reality of a "handful of dirt."
"I raise my hands, bow my head. I’m finding more and more truth in the words written in red."
That line? That’s the pivot. It’s not just about faith; it’s about the realization that life is shorter than you think. Ronnie Dunn’s vocal performance here is probably the best of his career. He’s got that gritty, soulful texture that makes you feel like he’s actually lived every word. He’s not singing at you. He’s singing to himself, and you just happen to be eavesdropping.
Why the Music Video Changed Everything
You can’t talk about this song without mentioning the video. Directed by Shaun Silva, it basically became a short film. It stars a young actor named Colton James and features that quintessential "rural America" aesthetic that feels timeless rather than dated.
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The video hammered home the visual of the red-letter Bible. In the mid-2000s, this was huge on CMT and GAC. It won Music Video of the Year at both the CMA and ACM Awards. It’s one of those rare cases where the visuals actually lived up to the weight of the lyrics. It didn't try to be flashy. It just showed a kid and an old man, and then an empty chair.
Sometimes, simple is better.
The Awards Sweep and the 2006 CMA Dominance
The year 2006 belonged to this song. At the 40th Annual CMA Awards, the Brooks & Dunn song Believe took home Single of the Year and Song of the Year. It was a massive moment for the duo. By that point, they were already legends, but this song proved they weren't just the guys who did "Boot Scootin' Boogie."
It’s worth noting that Craig Wiseman, the co-writer, is a bit of a legend himself. He’s the guy behind Tim McGraw’s "Live Like You Were Dying." There’s a pattern there. Wiseman has this knack for taking the biggest, scariest questions about life and death and distilling them into something you can hum along to while driving your truck.
Critical Reception vs. Fan Reality
Critics sometimes poked at the song for being a bit "sentimental" or "on the nose." But you know what? Real life is on the nose. Grief isn't subtle. Faith isn't always nuanced when you're standing at a graveside.
The fans didn't care about "critical nuance." They cared that the song gave them a vocabulary for their own loss. To this day, if you go to a Brooks & Dunn concert—even now that they’ve done the whole retirement and reunion circuit—the energy shifts when this song starts. People stop checking their phones. They stop buying beer. They just listen.
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Technical Nuance: The Production Choices
If you listen closely to the studio version, the production is incredibly sparse at the beginning. It’s mostly just a piano and Ronnie’s voice. As the story builds, the arrangement swells, but it never becomes a "rock" song.
- The Piano: It’s got this slightly muted, upright sound. It doesn't sound like a concert grand; it sounds like a piano in a small-town church basement.
- The Strings: They come in late. They provide that cinematic lift right when the lyrics talk about "seeing him again."
- The Harmony: Kix Brooks’ harmony is subtle here. Usually, they’re a powerhouse duo where the voices are more balanced, but on "Believe," Kix lets Ronnie take the lead, providing just enough texture to make the chorus feel "big."
It’s a masterclass in "less is more." If they had overproduced this, it would have felt cheesy. Instead, it feels grounded.
Misconceptions About the Song's Meaning
One thing people get wrong is thinking this is purely a "Christian" song. While the lyrics are explicitly about the Bible and heaven, the universal hook is actually about mentorship. It’s about the relationship between a young person who has everything to learn and an old person who has already lost everything but his spirit.
You don't have to be a regular churchgoer to feel the gut-punch of the line "I'll see him again." That’s a human desire, not just a theological one.
Another misconception? That it was a massive #1 radio hit for months on end. While it did well on the charts (peaking at #8 on Billboard Hot Country Songs), its "legs" were found in its longevity. It’s a "recurrent" classic. It’s played at funerals, weddings, and graduations more often than many songs that actually hit #1 that year.
The Legacy of Believe in Modern Country
We don't see many songs like this anymore. Modern country tends to lean into "vibes" or "party anthems." The Brooks & Dunn song Believe represents a period where storytelling was still the undisputed king of the genre.
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It paved the way for other emotional juggernauts like Lee Brice’s "I Drive Your Truck" or Cole Swindell’s "You Should Be Here." It gave artists permission to be vulnerable without being "soft."
How to Appreciate the Song Today
If you haven't listened to it in a while, do yourself a favor. Put on a pair of decent headphones. Don't watch the video—just listen to the audio.
- Notice the phrasing. Ronnie Dunn stretches certain words, like "believe," in a way that feels like he’s searching for the note.
- Pay attention to the silence. There are beats in the song where nothing happens. In modern pop-country, every second is filled with noise. "Believe" isn't afraid of a little quiet.
- Read the lyrics separately. They hold up as a poem.
Practical Next Steps for Fans
If you're looking to dive deeper into this specific era of Brooks & Dunn, or if "Believe" is your favorite track, here is what you should do next to get the full experience.
Check out the Hillbilly Deluxe album in its entirety. It’s the album that "Believe" lived on, and it’s a fascinating snapshot of the duo at the height of their powers. You’ll find a mix of high-energy tracks and soulful ballads that provide context for why "Believe" was such a standout.
Next, look up the "Re-Brooks" version from their Reboot album. They re-recorded the song with Kane Brown. It’s a different vibe—more modern, a bit slicker—but it shows how the song’s DNA can adapt to a younger generation of singers.
Finally, if you’re a musician, try stripping the song down to just an acoustic guitar. The chords are relatively simple—mostly G, C, and D variations—but the power comes from the tempo. It’s a great exercise in learning how to tell a story through song without relying on flashy production.
The Brooks & Dunn song Believe is a rare piece of art that managed to be a commercial success while maintaining a soul. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the most "commercial" thing you can do is just tell the truth. It doesn't need a heavy beat or a catchy synth line. It just needs a story that everyone recognizes. We’ve all been the kid on the porch, and eventually, we’re all going to be the one in the chair. Knowing that is exactly why the song still works.