Over fifty years later, all it takes is hearing one Jessi Colter song and I’m a teenager riding in a car with my brother again.
Music has the magical ability to etch moments into our memories that otherwise might be forgotten.
It can be something as special as the couple’s first dance at a wedding, or a random moment in time, such as a routine car ride with your older brother.
Idolizing a Brother
To understand the emotion, one must understand the backstory. Mine is my dearly missed older brother. He was always my hero. I watched my mom hang a blue star service flag in the window when he left for Vietnam.
He would write, send pictures, tell me about the dog his platoon adopted, and describe as much about his day as was appropriate for a 10-year-old child.
I was a teenager by the time his obligation to the Marine Corps was over and he returned home with a new wife. I didn’t expect him to want to hang around me. I was a teenage kid. He was a Marine war veteran with a wife. Gratefully, I was wrong.
We were inseparable. I spent the night at his house as often as mom would allow. Often, when he had errands to run, he’d come pick me up and I’d go along just to spend time with him.
One thing he picked up in the Marines was a love for country music. He always had his favorite country station on; I still remember the call sign: WPON. Naturally, I started to enjoy it as well. We’d unabashedly sing along to the songs at the top of our lungs driving down the road!
That’s where Jessi Colter comes in.
Jessi Colter and ‘I’m Not Lisa’
I remember it like it was yesterday. I know that it was 1975 because that’s the year Jessi dropped her I’m Jessi Colter album. We were on one of our routine drives together, just the two of us.
We stopped talking as we heard this angelic voice coming from the speaker. We looked at each other and then at the radio. It was Jessi’s single “I’m Not Lisa.” We were awestruck. It became our favorite song. To this day when I hear it, I’m taken right back into that car with my brother.
Meeting Jessi Colter
I grew older, and a few years later followed my brother’s footsteps into the Marine Corps, followed by broadcasting school. By chance, I got a gig at a country station.
Ten years after that moment in the car with my brother, I found myself standing backstage next to Jessi Colter as we watched her husband, Waylon Jennings, perform onstage. I was at the concert with a fellow DJ to interview them for the station.
As I watched Jessi walk out onto the stage for her duets with Waylon, I remember wishing that my brother could be there with me.
After the show we talked for a bit, then stopped to pose for a picture before they headed for their tour bus.
I wish I had the words to describe that moment. I’ll just have to rely on magic again. Standing there between her and Waylon still ranks among the most surreal moments of my life.
‘I’m Jessi Colter’ in 2026
Recently I had the chance to grab an original pressing of I’m Jessi Colter in mint condition.
To make it even more exciting for me, it still has the original sticker from the world-famous Ernest Tubb Record Store on the shrink-wrap. Country music history has been made there.
I think I was almost nervous when I placed it on my turntable. Does the music still hold up in 2026, or will it sound dated?
“I’m Not Lisa” is the first song on side B, and I was tempted to start there but I resisted. Side A definitely sounded like the 1970s. More of a pop influence than I remember. Then it was time to flip the album.
Jessi’s signature song has a distinctive piano intro, and as soon as the first note dropped, I was 13 years old riding in the car alongside my brother. That much hasn’t changed. Jessi’s voice still sounds angelic, and the song that became her only solo number 1 is still as good today as it was then.
Side B has a more traditional country sound than the first side. The other favorites from that album, “What’s Happened to Blue Eyes” (top 10) and “Storms Never Last” still sound as good to my ears as they always have and have earned their stay in the catalog of classic country.
Why Music Isn’t Just Background Noise
Grief changes how you hear a song. I wondered if losing my brother a few years ago would turn “I’m Not Lisa” into something painful instead of something warm. It didn’t. The song still does exactly what it always did: takes me right back to that car, both of us singing too loud and not caring who heard.
In his later years, we lived on opposite sides of the country, but our phone calls always circled back to cars, sports, and music. I never knew if “I’m Not Lisa” meant as much to him as it does to me. I do know he loved Jessi Colter every bit as much as I do.
Music doesn’t just survive someone. It keeps bringing them back. That’s part of why music isn’t just background noise; it’s also why no playlist, however good, replaces a shared one.
Fifty years on, one needle drop still puts my brother in the driver seat beside me. I suspect it always will.
