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When over 50 Grand Ole Opry legends stood arm in arm onstage—Reba, Carrie, Lady A, Garth, Trisha, Vince Gill, and so many more—the audience thought they’d witnessed the finale of a lifetime. But they hadn’t. One last performance happened after the cameras stopped rolling. The crowd stayed silent as these icons joined voices for “Will the Circle Be Unbroken,” a soul-stirring tribute that brought tears and chills to everyone lucky enough to be in the room. It was raw. It was sacred. It was country music history. NBC didn’t air it, but now you can finally watch it

A Century of Song: Inside the Historic, Star-Studded Celebration of the Grand Ole Opry’s 100th Anniversary

For one hundred years, the Grand Ole Opry has been more than a stage; it has been the sacred heart of country music, a hallowed ground where hopefuls become headliners and legends are immortalized. So, when it came time to celebrate its centennial, the event was never going to be just another concert. It was a historic pilgrimage, a once-in-a-lifetime family reunion that brought together the titans of country music for a night that will forever be etched in history.

The air inside the iconic Opry House was electric, thick with the echoes of a century of songs and the palpable excitement of the live broadcast. This was a testament to the enduring power of a simple story and a three-chord truth, and the world was watching.

A Lineup That Was a Living Hall of Fame

To call the roster of performers “star-studded” would be a profound understatement. The night was a breathtaking journey through the past, present, and future of country music, featuring an almost unbelievable collection of artists gracing the sacred circle of wood. The lineup included:

  • Garth Brooks
  • Trisha Yearwood
  • Reba McEntire
  • Carrie Underwood
  • Eric Church
  • Dierks Bentley
  • Randy Travis
  • Ashley McBryde
  • Carly Pearce
  • The War & Treaty
  • Vince Gill
  • Amy Grant
  • Clint Black
  • Trace Adkins
  • Marty Stuart
  • Alan Jackson
  • Post Malone
  • Alison Krauss & Union Station
  • Yolanda Adams
  • Ricky Skaggs
  • Terri Clark
  • Steven Curtis Chapman
  • Jamey Johnson

Each artist brought their heart and soul to the stage, but a particularly powerful performance came from Luke Combs. With his raw, rasping voice and undeniable sincerity, he delivered a moment that reminded everyone in the room why he has become one of the most essential voices of his generation.

The Host with the Honky-Tonk Heart

Guiding this monumental evening was the Emmy-winning superstar Blake Shelton, who proved to be the perfect host. He navigated the night with his signature blend of down-home humor and a deep, genuine reverence for the Opry’s history. But Blake wasn’t just there to talk—he kicked off the party with a roaring cover of Joe Diffie’s ‘90s anthem “Pickup Man,” before launching into a glorious, high-octane medley with two of his fellow titans, Clint Black and Trace Adkins. Black delivered a smooth and swaggering “Nothin’ but the Taillights,” while Adkins brought the house down with his iconic baritone on “(This Ain’t) No Thinkin’ Thing,” unleashing a tidal wave of nostalgia that had the entire audience on its feet.

Unforgettable Moments That Defined the Night

The evening was filled with powerful moments, from breathtaking tributes to surprising collaborations. Carrie Underwood delivered a stunning homage to the legendary Randy Travis, her voice carrying not just the melody, but a profound weight of love and respect for the man who influenced countless artists. In a moment that beautifully showcased the Opry’s ever-evolving spirit, superstar Post Malone teamed up with country traditionalist Travis Tritt for a genre-bending performance that proved that at its core, great music has no boundaries.

For the grand televised finale, more than 50 Grand Ole Opry members filled the stage for a soul-stirring rendition of Dolly Parton’s “I Will Always Love You.” Led by the soaring harmonies of Lady A and powerfully supported by icons like Carrie Underwood and Reba McEntire, it was a moment of pure unity and a promise of the genre’s collective strength.

But for those lucky enough to be in the room, the true magic happened after the cameras stopped rolling. In an exclusive, intimate encore, every artist returned to the stage one last time for the quintessential anthem, “Will the Circle Be Unbroken.” This was the Opry in its purest form: unscripted, unfiltered, and deeply connected to its roots. It was a sacred, communal moment that perfectly capped off a historic night.

If you missed the live event, you can immerse yourself in the celebration by streaming the full Opry 100 special on Peacock. Witness the grandeur of country music’s greatest milestone in the clip below.

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Country Music

HE DIDN’T JUST SING ABOUT LIFE — HE LIVED IT SLOWLY. No rush, no spotlight, no storm of headlines — Don Williams moved through life the same way his songs drifted through the air: calm, steady, unbothered. While the world chased fame and noise, he poured coffee, fed the horses, and hummed melodies that felt like prayers. He didn’t scroll for applause — he waited for quiet. He didn’t chase trends — he chased truth. When Don sang “Lord, I Hope This Day Is Good,” it wasn’t a lyric. It was his morning routine. And maybe that’s why we still turn to his voice when the world feels too fast. Because somewhere between his gentle strums and that warm silence after a song, Don left us a message: “Slow down. Love what lasts. Let peace be your rhythm.”

Country Music

“SOMETIMES, LOVE IS ALL YOU CAN AFFORD — AND ALL YOU NEED.” It was a quiet evening in Franklin, Tennessee. The wind rolled gently through the fields, carrying the scent of summer grass and the faint sound of crickets. On the porch of a small wooden house sat Alan Jackson — denim shirt, bare feet, and that same old guitar resting on his knee. No stage. No spotlight. Just a man and the woman who’s stood beside him for over forty years — Denise. She poured two glasses of sweet tea and placed one beside him. Alan smiled, his voice low and steady. “Remember when we had nothing but that old car and a song no one knew yet?” She laughed softly, “I remember. But we had each other — and you had that voice.” He strummed the opening chords — “Livin’ on love, buyin’ on time…” The melody floated into the Tennessee air like a prayer for those who’ve ever struggled, reminding them that love, somehow, always pays the bills that money can’t. Neighbors say they still see him out there sometimes — guitar in hand, singing to the woman who never left his side. Alan once told a friend: “Fame fades. Houses get bigger, but hearts don’t. I still live on love.” As the sun dipped below the hills, he set the guitar down, wrapped an arm around Denise, and whispered, “We don’t need anything else, do we? Love still covers it all.” That night, the porch light glowed faintly against the dark — a small reminder that in a world racing to forget what matters, some people still know how to live on love.

Country Music

FROM A CARDBOARD SUITCASE TO A CROWN: THE NIGHT DOLLY PARTON CONQUERED NASHVILLE They say legends are born, not made. But on a humid summer morning in 1964, a teenage girl made herself one — with nothing but a cardboard suitcase, a borrowed dress, and a head full of songs that no one believed in. Dolly Parton stepped off that Greyhound bus like a storm wrapped in sunshine. The label executives in Nashville didn’t see it coming. They saw a shy mountain girl. What they didn’t see — was the hurricane of melody waiting to explode. That night, she sang in a dimly lit warehouse near Music Row — just her, a cracked guitar, and a crowd that didn’t know they were witnessing history. Someone from a record label was there, half-drunk, half-curious. The next morning, he showed up at her door with a contract written on diner napkins. “You’ve got something,” he told her. Dolly just smiled: “I know.” Within a year, the same voices that once told her “your voice is too high, too strange, too soft” were begging to record her. She didn’t just make it in Nashville — she remade Nashville. And maybe that’s the real fairy tale: a girl from the Smoky Mountains carrying a cardboard suitcase so full of dreams it couldn’t close — and turning those dreams into gold records, glitter, and grace. Because when Dolly Parton arrived in town, she didn’t ask for a stage. She built one.

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Country Music

HE DIDN’T JUST SING ABOUT LIFE — HE LIVED IT SLOWLY. No rush, no spotlight, no storm of headlines — Don Williams moved through life the same way his songs drifted through the air: calm, steady, unbothered. While the world chased fame and noise, he poured coffee, fed the horses, and hummed melodies that felt like prayers. He didn’t scroll for applause — he waited for quiet. He didn’t chase trends — he chased truth. When Don sang “Lord, I Hope This Day Is Good,” it wasn’t a lyric. It was his morning routine. And maybe that’s why we still turn to his voice when the world feels too fast. Because somewhere between his gentle strums and that warm silence after a song, Don left us a message: “Slow down. Love what lasts. Let peace be your rhythm.”

Country Music

“SOMETIMES, LOVE IS ALL YOU CAN AFFORD — AND ALL YOU NEED.” It was a quiet evening in Franklin, Tennessee. The wind rolled gently through the fields, carrying the scent of summer grass and the faint sound of crickets. On the porch of a small wooden house sat Alan Jackson — denim shirt, bare feet, and that same old guitar resting on his knee. No stage. No spotlight. Just a man and the woman who’s stood beside him for over forty years — Denise. She poured two glasses of sweet tea and placed one beside him. Alan smiled, his voice low and steady. “Remember when we had nothing but that old car and a song no one knew yet?” She laughed softly, “I remember. But we had each other — and you had that voice.” He strummed the opening chords — “Livin’ on love, buyin’ on time…” The melody floated into the Tennessee air like a prayer for those who’ve ever struggled, reminding them that love, somehow, always pays the bills that money can’t. Neighbors say they still see him out there sometimes — guitar in hand, singing to the woman who never left his side. Alan once told a friend: “Fame fades. Houses get bigger, but hearts don’t. I still live on love.” As the sun dipped below the hills, he set the guitar down, wrapped an arm around Denise, and whispered, “We don’t need anything else, do we? Love still covers it all.” That night, the porch light glowed faintly against the dark — a small reminder that in a world racing to forget what matters, some people still know how to live on love.

Country Music

FROM A CARDBOARD SUITCASE TO A CROWN: THE NIGHT DOLLY PARTON CONQUERED NASHVILLE They say legends are born, not made. But on a humid summer morning in 1964, a teenage girl made herself one — with nothing but a cardboard suitcase, a borrowed dress, and a head full of songs that no one believed in. Dolly Parton stepped off that Greyhound bus like a storm wrapped in sunshine. The label executives in Nashville didn’t see it coming. They saw a shy mountain girl. What they didn’t see — was the hurricane of melody waiting to explode. That night, she sang in a dimly lit warehouse near Music Row — just her, a cracked guitar, and a crowd that didn’t know they were witnessing history. Someone from a record label was there, half-drunk, half-curious. The next morning, he showed up at her door with a contract written on diner napkins. “You’ve got something,” he told her. Dolly just smiled: “I know.” Within a year, the same voices that once told her “your voice is too high, too strange, too soft” were begging to record her. She didn’t just make it in Nashville — she remade Nashville. And maybe that’s the real fairy tale: a girl from the Smoky Mountains carrying a cardboard suitcase so full of dreams it couldn’t close — and turning those dreams into gold records, glitter, and grace. Because when Dolly Parton arrived in town, she didn’t ask for a stage. She built one.

Country Music

“‘Something bad is going to happen.’” — That’s what Patsy Cline told June Carter Cash just days before her final flight. There was no drama in her voice, just a calm knowing, like she’d already read the last page of her own story. In March 1963, as thunder rolled over Tennessee, her plane disappeared into the storm. People said it was fate. Others said she somehow saw it coming. What really lingers isn’t just how she died — it’s how certain she seemed that she would. Somewhere in her voice, between “Crazy” and “Sweet Dreams,” you can almost hear her saying goodbye.