The Event: A Night When Music Crossed Floodwaters
On the humid evening of July 16, from the near-empty seats of Globe Life Field in Arlington, a quiet revolution unfolded — not with noise or lights, but with a guitar and a livestream.
Country singer Pat Green, long considered one of the voices of modern Texas music, couldn’t sit still watching the devastating floods ravage his home state. Towns from Llano to New Braunfels were underwater, families displaced, roads washed away. So he did what he knew best: he picked up his guitar — and streamed a concert to anyone who needed a reason to hold on.
No tickets. No fancy staging. Just a camera, a microphone, and heart.
And somehow, that stripped-down setup became one of the most powerful benefit concerts in recent memory.
People tuned in from across Texas — some with feet still damp from cleanup work, others watching on cracked phones in emergency shelters.
By the time the final chord faded, over $1 million had been raised through viewer donations. More importantly, hope had returned to places that needed it most.
But the moment no one could stop talking about came halfway through the set, when Pat paused, looked into the lens, and said simply:
“I know we’re scattered right now… but I know we’re still Texas.”
And then he played “Texas on My Mind.”
The Song: “Texas on My Mind” – A Love Letter to Home That Won’t Let Go
Originally released in 2001 with Cory Morrow, “Texas on My Mind” is more than a duet. It’s a confession — of longing, of pride, and of the inescapable pull of home.
The lyrics don’t speak about floods or tragedy. They speak about missing something that’s part of your bones. Whether you’re out on the road or lost in heartbreak, the song reminds you where you’re anchored.
“Lately I’ve got Texas on my mind…”
“I’ve got her in my soul, in my heart, and on my mind.”
That night, Pat’s voice cracked a little. He wasn’t just singing — he was reaching.
For those watching from hotel rooms after evacuations…
For the ranchers who had watched fields disappear…
For the elderly who had lived through floods before, but never like this…
The song was a mirror. And a lifeline.
“Texas on My Mind” wasn’t just about place anymore. It was about belonging, and about the fierce refusal to let anything — even rising water — wash that belonging away.
When the final line came, you could feel the invisible crowd singing with him, house by house, screen by screen.
And just like that — the concert ended, but the connection lingered.
Because Texas was on all our minds.
And maybe, that was enough to carry us through.