Together for Texas – Lyle Lovett & Gabriel Iglesias’s Unlikely Night of Giving
The Event: A Country Heart and a Comedian’s Soul
When the floods came to the Hill Country, no one expected Gabriel “Fluffy” Iglesias to be part of the healing. But on the night of August 18, he and Lyle Lovett stepped onto the stage at San Antonio’s Tobin Center — one in boots, the other in sneakers — and for a few unforgettable hours, brought Texas back to itself.
The event, called “Together for Texas,” was a benefit concert and storytelling night, filled with music, humor, and raw honesty. All proceeds went to the Kerr County Flood Relief Fund, with a goal of rebuilding homes, replacing lost livestock, and helping families recover in dignity.
Fluffy didn’t just crack jokes — he shared memories, some from his own childhood growing up near the border, others inspired by what he’d seen on the ground with volunteers. And Lyle Lovett? He didn’t lecture. He just played, quietly and meaningfully, letting his songs do the talking.
There were no pyrotechnics. No stadium lights. Just two men on a small stage, joined by surprise guests like Reckless Kelly, John Baumann, and even a local gospel choir. Every story, every joke, every harmony felt closer to home than any arena ever could.
And then Lyle played something unexpected: “Simple Song” — a track that never charted high, but always hit deep.
The Song: “Simple Song” – A Reminder of What Really Matters
Buried deep in Lyle Lovett’s 1992 album Joshua Judges Ruth, “Simple Song” is exactly what its title promises — and everything more.
It’s not a love ballad. It’s not a protest anthem. It’s a meditation on meaning: how we spend our time, who we share it with, and what gets left behind when storms — literal or emotional — roll through.
“This is a simple song…
For simple feelings…”
The lyrics don’t shout. They murmur. They walk slowly, like someone checking on their neighbor after the water’s gone down.
They ask: Are you okay? Do you remember what really matters?
That night in San Antonio, as families sat shoulder to shoulder in the dark, the song took on a whole new life.
It wasn’t just a tune — it was a mirror.
For parents who’d lost homes.
For elders who couldn’t rebuild alone.
For young volunteers who showed up every day because Texas does that.
Lovett sang without embellishment. Just his voice and guitar.
And somehow, that simplicity cut deeper than any drumbeat could have.
When the final note faded, no one clapped right away.
They just sat there — together.
Exactly as the night had promised.