A soul-tinted plea in honky-tonk clothes—Dwight Yoakam’s “If There Was a Way” turns regret into resolve, pairing a tender confession with a groove that refuses to rush.
Let’s anchor the facts up front. “If There Was a Way” is the title track of Yoakam’s 1990 album If There Was a Way, recorded at Capitol (Hollywood) with producer-guitarist Pete Anderson and released by Reprise on October 30, 1990. On the LP it lands as track 7 (about 2:54) and—importantly—was not issued as a single; the project’s radio run came from other cuts like “You’re the One,” “It Only Hurts When I Cry,” and “Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose.” The album itself peaked at #7 on Top Country Albums and #96 on the Billboard 200.
What sets the song apart, even inside Yoakam’s deep catalog, is its palette. The title track folds a Hammond B-3 into his Bakersfield bones, giving the performance a Muscle Shoals/Stax afterglow—Yoakam has even pointed to Percy Sledge as a guiding spirit here. AllMusic hears a bit of Doc Pomus-style, doo-wop-kissed balladry in the way the melody leans and the organ shimmers (credit Skip Edwards on keys). It’s country by lineage and soul by temperature: a small, steady burn rather than a belted showpiece.
Spin it and the feel tells you the truth. The drums sit a breath behind the bar—reassuring, not insistent—while bass and baritone guitar escort the harmony forward. Anderson’s Telecaster answers Yoakam’s lines in short, conversational phrases, then gets out of the way. The B-3 is the quiet hero, floating in the corners like lamplight while Yoakam phrases the title line with that downward half-smile he saves for the hard stuff. It’s a masterclass in restraint: no vocal melisma, no guitar grandstanding, just air around a feeling that grown listeners recognize.
As writing, the song is classic Yoakam minimalism—plain words doing heavy lifting. Without transcribing the lyric, the premise is simple and adult: if there were any path back, I’d take it. There’s no bargaining and no courtroom, only a measured inventory of what love cost and what pride can’t undo. That modesty is the point. In a Nashville moment increasingly fond of big choruses, Yoakam chooses scale over spectacle: a pocket you can live inside when the day has more edges than answers.
Context adds warmth. If There Was a Way is the album where Yoakam deliberately widens his colors—rock and soul shades around the honky-tonk core—after a trilogy that established his Bakersfield bona fides. The singles did the public lifting; the title track does the private work, explaining the set’s weather in under three minutes. Sequenced late on side one, it acts like a lantern in the middle of the record, an interior pause between the barroom snap of “Nothing’s Changed Here” and the swaggering lift of “Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose.”
It’s also a band record, and the credits read like a West Coast country dream: Anderson producing and painting in bright, economical lines; Tom Brumley adding that sighing steel elsewhere on the LP; Scott Joss’s fiddle and mandolin, Taras Prodaniuk on bass, Jeff Donavan on drums—players steeped in Bakersfield grammar but fluent enough to make room for soul voicings. The album notes and personnel lists tie the sound you’re hearing straight to that A-team.
Why older ears keep returning to “If There Was a Way” is its usefulness. It doesn’t promise miracles, and it doesn’t punish anyone either. It names the wound and keeps time while you breathe. Played softly in a kitchen or loud on a late drive, the effect is the same: shoulders drop, the room warms a degree, and the road ahead feels navigable. Plenty of country songs chase catharsis; this one offers company.
A tidy scrapbook for the archivists: Song: “If There Was a Way.” Artist: Dwight Yoakam. Album: If There Was a Way (Reprise, Oct 30, 1990), recorded at Capitol (Hollywood), produced by Pete Anderson; track 7, 2:54; album peaks: Top Country Albums #7, Billboard 200 #96; not released as a single (album singles were “Turn It On, Turn It Up, Turn Me Loose,” “You’re the One,” “Nothing’s Changed Here,” “It Only Hurts When I Cry,” “The Heart That You Own,” and “Send a Message to My Heart”).
Put it on tonight and notice the temperature shift. The organ hums like a low lamp; the drum stays patient; the voice tells the truth without raising it. By the fade, nothing dramatic has changed—and everything has. You’re steadier. That’s the quiet power of “If There Was a Way”: it turns regret into a practice, one bar at a time, until the heart can stand up straight again.