George's Strait discography has always been consistently good. This CD was never much in light, but it is excellent, with even a few gems like the cajun-flavored "Adalida", and the moving "Down Louisiana Way" which were not included in his fabulous box-set. Buy and listen. Paul LeBoutillier

The first thing I noticed was this was the first Strait album with lyrics included in the liner notes, which was nice of them to finally do.

My favorite songs on this one are Nobody Has To Get Hurt and I'll Always Be Loving You. Both have solid melodies and choruses that practically force you to sing along. Nice, creative idea on Nobody. Lead On is very The Chair-ish, as both do great jobs at examining the initial stages of a relationship. You Can't Make A Heart delivers an impressive and overlooked message, and I Met A Friend relates a realistic scenario to the meltdown of a couple.

Adalida and Big One are songs that start to get away from him a few times, with Adalida being perhaps the only substance-free song on the album. George's weakest songs have always been at least listenable and above average. This applies to What Am I Waiting.

Overall, this is a solid album, but lacks the one gotta-have, instant-classic tune that many of Strait's other albums possess.

I Like This Album. It Was Released In The Fall Of 1994. The Lead-Off Single "The Big One" Went Strait To Number 1. So Didn't "You Can't Make A Heart Love Somebody". The Title Track Is Also Another Love Balled. Buy This CD Today.

I really enjoy George Straits music and I do intend to get more of them as soon as I can

Bewitching Sword 2 -final- -studio Sirocco- -

In the sprawling, often homogenized landscape of independent game development, it is a rare and precious event when a title transcends the sum of its mechanical parts to become a true work of interactive art. Studio Sirocco’s Bewitching Sword 2 -Final- is precisely such an artifact. Released as the culminating chapter of a diptych that began with the cult classic Bewitching Sword , this “Final” version is not merely a sequel or a definitive edition; it is a bold thesis statement on the power of aesthetic cohesion, minimalist storytelling, and the haunting beauty of limitation. Through its evocative pixel art, a masterclass in diegetic sound design, and a narrative that prioritizes feeling over explication, Bewitching Sword 2 -Final- stands as a monolithic achievement in atmospheric world-building, proving that constraint is not a weakness but the very forge of creativity.

The most immediately arresting quality of Bewitching Sword 2 -Final- is its visual language. Where many indie titles chase high-fidelity nostalgia or hyper-detailed 16-bit homage, Studio Sirocco employs a restrained, almost melancholic palette dominated by indigos, faded ambers, and ghostly whites. The game’s world—a liminal, half-sunken realm of eternal dusk—feels less like a place to conquer and more like a memory to traverse. Character sprites are deliberately small against sprawling, desolate backgrounds, emphasizing a sense of profound isolation. The titular “Bewitching Sword,” when drawn, does not erupt in particle effects but instead leaves a soft, lingering afterimage—a visual stutter that suggests the weapon is cutting through time as much as flesh. This is not a game of bombastic spectacle but of quiet, deliberate observation. Every cracked pillar, every ripple in a stagnant marsh, is rendered with the loving precision of a medieval illuminator. The “Final” version enhances this by adding dynamic, subtle weather effects: a slow, persistent drizzle that obscures the horizon, or a creeping fog that swallows the path behind you, forcing the player to live only in the precarious now. Bewitching Sword 2 -Final- -Studio Sirocco-

Ultimately, the genius of Bewitching Sword 2 -Final- lies in its friction. It is a game that actively resists the power fantasies of its genre. Combat is slow, deliberate, and punishing—a single misstep against a moss-covered statue can mean death. The sword itself, the ostensible source of power, slowly drains the player’s vitality with every swing, forcing a Faustian calculus. The “Final” version’s crowning achievement is its conclusion, which offers no climactic boss battle. Instead, the final confrontation with the Crimson Dawn is a quiet, dialogue-driven choice: to plunge the sword into the heart of the source, destroying both, or to lay the blade down and simply walk into the rising sun, allowing the cycle of decay to continue. Both endings roll the credits over the same image—the knight’s helmet, half-buried in sand, as the tide comes in. It is a devastatingly mature statement: some curses cannot be broken, only borne. In the sprawling, often homogenized landscape of independent

Narratively, Bewitching Sword 2 -Final- is a triumph of omission. The plot is archetypal in its simplicity: a lone knight, bound by a curse to a sentient, vampiric sword, must return the blade to the heart of the Crimson Dawn, the very entity it was forged to destroy. However, the game refuses to spoon-feed lore. Dialogue is sparse, often cryptic, appearing as ephemeral subtitles above NPCs who fade away mid-sentence. Backstory is not found in datalogs but etched into the environment—a petrified child’s hand reaching for a toy, a throne room where every seat faces the wall. The player is an archaeologist of grief. The “Final” edition expands this through a “Resonance” system: standing in certain locations triggers silent, full-screen flashbacks—not cutscenes, but brief, painterly still-lifes from the world’s tragic past. These images do not explain; they evoke. We never learn the name of the knight or the original sin of the Crimson Dawn. Instead, we feel it: the cold weight of duty, the gnawing hunger of the sentient sword whispering compromises, the quiet horror of realizing that to save the world, you must first become its most elegant monster. Through its evocative pixel art, a masterclass in

Equally integral to the game’s power is its revolutionary approach to audio. In an era where orchestral scores have become the default for epic fantasy, Bewitching Sword 2 -Final- opts for near-silence. There is no overworld theme, no battle fanfare. Instead, the soundscape is a fragile, living organism: the crunch of your own boots on petrified wood, the distant chime of a forgotten bell buoy, the wet breath of a lurking shade. Music appears only in specific, diegetic instances—a ghostly lute in an abandoned tavern, a lullaby hummed by a cursed doll. This scarcity imbues these moments with devastating emotional weight. The game’s most famous sequence, the “Ascent of the Salt Spire,” is accompanied only by the increasing howl of wind and the player’s own ragged heartbeat (rendered through the controller’s haptics). By removing a guiding melody, Sirocco forces the player to generate their own internal rhythm of dread and determination. The “Final” mix adds a single, non-diegetic choral note that plays upon death—a pure, angelic tone that feels less like failure and more like a sorrowful release.