Willie Nelson and John Denver emerged as two of the most influential voices in American music in the 1970s, each carving out their own distinct identities in the country and folk genres. Nelson, known for his outlaw image, with braids and a bandana, represented a strong, rebellious spirit. Denver, on the other hand, is the embodiment of a clear personality, celebrated for his soaring vocals and deep love of the outdoors. Despite their different musical styles, Nelson acknowledges Denver’s immense talent, describing him as “one of the purest voices to ever come out of America.”

In the interview, Nelson recalls the first time he heard Denver’s classic “Take Me Home, Country Roads.” He recalls being so captivated by the melody and lyrics that he stopped mid-dinner at a suburban Austin diner. “That guy had a way of making you feel the road beneath your feet,” Nelson recalls, his eyes distant with the memory.

Despite their mutual admiration, Nelson admits there was always a vague distance between him and Denver. They interacted politely at awards shows and charity events, but their relationship never deepened. Nelson is candid about his misgivings about Denver's polished image, which he feels is too commercialized for his own gritty, rugged personality. "He's like a sunset in Colorado, but I'm more like a thunderstorm in the Texas sky," he muses, highlighting the contrasting images they present to the world.

In a surprising twist, Nelson reveals that Denver once approached his manager with the idea of collaborating on a joint album - a fusion of outlaw folk and country that could have rewritten music history. However, due to Nelson's stubbornness and preconceptions, the collaboration never materialized. "I was too stubborn. I thought he was too polite and I was too arrogant," he admits, a chuckle hiding his sadness at missed opportunities.

One of the most moving moments in Nelson’s interview comes when he discusses the support Denver gave him during a particularly difficult period in his life. In the late 1980s, when Nelson was in deep trouble, Denver reached out to him after years of silence. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know,” Denver says, even offering to host a benefit concert in Nelson’s name. The kind gesture illustrates the depth of Denver’s character and the humanity they shared, despite the barriers that separated them.

Nelson’s voice cracks as he recalls this moment, revealing the emotional weight of their interactions. “He didn’t have to do that,” he recalls, acknowledging the genuine friendship that underlies their complicated history.

The last time Nelson and Denver spoke was in 1995 at an environmental summit in Aspen, where they shared a beer and discussed music, aging, and the state of the planet. Nelson fondly remembers Denver as “gentle but passionate,” a man who believed in peace but was unafraid to stand up for important causes.

When news of Denver’s tragic death in 1997 reached Nelson while he was on tour in Oklahoma, he pulled over and cried. “All that time we kept our distance, and for what? Ego? Image? I don’t know,” he lamented, lamenting the years lost to misunderstanding.

Now, at 92, Nelson recalls those experiences with a sense of urgency and clarity. “You’re a real man, man. You sing like a river,” he said, finally expressing the admiration he had kept hidden for so long. The interview ended with an emotional tribute, as Nelson performed an unreleased acoustic version of Denver’s “Annie’s Song,” imbued with his signature melody and gentle guitar. The performance was a final musical handshake, a heartfelt tribute to their bond. As the final notes rang out, the audience sat in silence, some in tears, fully aware that they had witnessed something sacred, a moment when one man of the earth greeted another man who sang to the heavens.