About the Song
Released in 1970 on the album Waylon, “Yellow Haired Woman” is one of those haunting, lesser-known tracks that quietly reveals the poetic heart of Waylon Jennings—long before the outlaw movement would crown him one of its most defiant kings. Stripped of bravado and studio polish, this song is pure mood: solitary, reflective, and steeped in the ache of memory.
From the first few notes, “Yellow Haired Woman” draws you into a world that feels dusty and distant. It’s not just about a woman—it’s about the imprint she leaves behind. Waylon doesn’t sing her name. He doesn’t have to. The image of her—golden hair, gone without warning—speaks volumes. And it’s in that silence, that absence, where the pain really lives.
Waylon’s voice here is soft but steady. There’s no need to raise it. His delivery feels like someone talking to himself long after the conversation has ended. You can almost picture him sitting alone in a motel room, guitar in hand, playing through the memories just to make sense of them. And in that quiet performance, he delivers something rawer than heartbreak—it’s resignation. Not anger. Not longing. Just the sad understanding that some people drift through our lives like wind through an open door.
Though the song was never a hit and remains buried deep in his early catalog, fans of Waylon’s more introspective side know it well. It belongs to that period when he was still under the constraints of Nashville’s production machine, but already pushing toward something more real—more Waylon.
“Yellow Haired Woman” may not have made waves on the radio, but it endures in the hearts of those who know where to look. It’s a quiet jewel—honest, lonesome, and deeply human. Just one man and his memory, set to music.