Alan Jackson

It was a quiet morning in Georgia when Alan Jackson sat down with his guitar. The television had been off, the kids were still asleep, and yet something in his chest wouldn’t let him rest. Just days earlier, the world had watched in horror as two planes tore through the heart of New York City. The silence that followed wasn’t peace—it was shock, grief, and a thousand unspoken questions.

Alan didn’t want to write a protest song. He didn’t want to stand on a…

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