For a long time, there was nothing “too political” in Beyoncé’s oeuvre. She went about the business of singing her songs that usually pertained to being cheated on and/or being hopelessly devoted and in love. Then 2016 rolled around and something within fully activated. Something that began in 2013, with a track like “Flawless.” Even if most of the political elements were delivered by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. But then, that’s Beyoncé’s gift: pulling from other people. It is many great artists’ gift, as a matter of fact, from Picasso to Madonna. Thus, with 2016’s Lemonade, Beyoncé achieved a new apex for borrowing from other musical styles and making what would be esoteric references…at least to the average person (In the visual album that accompanied it, that included reciting poetic texts from Warsan Shire.)
Among the eclectic tracks was one in particular that stood out the most to people for its “which one of these is not like the other?” quality: “Daddy Lessons.” The song, ultimately, that compelled Beyoncé to “do” country in the first place. Not because she particularly liked or took an automatic shine to the genre, but because, as she clearly alluded to in her announcement of Cowboy Carter’s arrival, she “did not feel welcomed” enough in the country music space while performing a rendition of “Daddy Lessons” with the Dixie Chicks at the Country Music Awards. So, in a way, the level of petty (and that word does get used a lot on Cowboy Carter) one would have to be to sit on that grudge for several years before serving her revenge cold is something to remark upon. And really, why does Beyoncé (or any Black person) care so much about being accepted by a pack of conservative rednecks? For it’s obvious that few (if any) Black people accept them. It’s one of those “too diametrically opposed” conundrums. Too diametrically opposed to what, you might ask? Well, to agree on much of anything.
In this regard, everything about Cowboy Carter feels set up to be a trap. An overt way to expose prejudices and out the white supremacists who wouldn’t be attacking this music if it were anyone other than Beyoncé. For decades, music has been categorized largely according to race. Hell, it was only about forty years ago that the American Music Awards had Jim Crow-style awards to dole out for things like Best Black Album (which Prince won in 1985). In recent years, Billie Eilish has been particularly vocal about the absurdity of how music is categorized for the convenient purposes of the suits who want to decide on airplay and award-giving.
After the 2020 Grammys, Eilish went on to assert, “Don’t judge an artist off the way someone looks or the way someone dresses. Wasn’t Lizzo in the Best R&B category that night? [though it seems unlikely she ever will be again]. I mean, she’s more pop than I am. Look, if I wasn’t white I would probably be in ‘rap.’ Why? They just judge from what you look like and what they know. I think that is weird. The world wants to put you into a box; I’ve had it my whole career. Just because I am a white teenage female I am pop. Where am I pop? What part of my music sounds like pop?” (Side note: a lot of it does—including “Bad Guy.”)
As for Beyoncé, she’s already frequently toed the genre lines, appealing to pop, R&B, rap and hip hop simultaneously from the beginning of her career, including during her time with Destiny’s Child. “Genre-bending” is nothing new for her. But her insecurity about “being accepted” in the country category, as she stated before Cowboy Carter’s release, stemmed from “an experience that I had years ago where I did not feel welcomed…and it was very clear that I wasn’t.” It didn’t take internet sleuths long to comprehend that Beyoncé was very clearly alluding to her 2016 performance with the Dixie Chicks (before they felt obliged to change their name to The Chicks) at the CMAs. The Dixie Chicks’ collaboration with Beyoncé on the reworked version was released as a single the same day as the November 2nd ceremony (eerily enough, it would be just six days later that Donald Trump “won” the election, making it an especially politically fraught year for someone like Beyoncé to show up in this milieu).
Perhaps not fully aware of the outsized nature of her own ego, Beyoncé assumed the audience and the country music world at large would eagerly “bow down,” as she once told all her listeners to do on her 2013 self-titled album. But as mentioned, it was only with her sixth album, Lemonade, that she would hint at her first outright shift toward country. It wasn’t just “Daddy Lessons” though—there were also traces of the genre on “Pray You Catch Me” and “Don’t Hurt Yourself” featuring Jack White (who seemed tapped for the collab to lend more so-called credence to the “blues-rock” feel on it). It is on the latter track that she announces, “Fuck you, hater.” A sentiment that has been a large basis for her career. The same as it is for many driven women who are told they can’t do something, or that they should “stay in their lane.”
Unbeknownst to Beyoncé, she was veering out of her so-called lane from the moment she started working on “Daddy Lessons.” Co-writer Kevin Cossom would state of his collaboration with the singer on that particular track, “Once a formula works, people want to use that formula again until it doesn’t work anymore but what’s awesome about Beyoncé is she doesn’t have to play by the rules: she creates them.” Seeing as how it didn’t exactly “work” based on not being fully accepted by the Establishment (complete with the country music committee of the Recording Academy rebuffing the song for consideration in that category), it makes sense that Beyoncé would still try to tackle the genre again. After all, it’s as Groucho Marx said, “I refuse to join any club that would have me as a member.” Since the “Country Club” didn’t seem to want her, naturally, it made Beyoncé become all the more adamant about joining. Granted, the first time around, her optics weren’t so great. After all, showing up in an elaborate evening gown more suited for going to the opera or being guillotined in isn’t going to hearten country music fanatics. Especially the ones who insist that it’s music for “simple, working-class people.” But who knows better about working—and especially working the land—than Black people, who were forced to do so against their will for hundreds of years in large part thanks to lazy whites who accused Black people of being just that later on as a stereotype.
To that end, as was the case on Lemonade, Beyoncé is interested in revisiting the most painful parts of Black history to unearth buried truths and reclaim something for her race. In this case, country. Thus, her pointed decision to have Rihannon Giddens play banjo on “Texas Hold ‘Em,” for it is she who reminded, “Enslaved people of the African diaspora created the banjo in the Caribbean in the 1600s.” Here, one feels obliged to point out the Carrie Bradshaw quote that negates the idea of ownership over something just because you “invented” it (or rather the literal instrument to create it), “Man may have discovered fire, but women discovered how to play with it.” In a similar fashion, Germans created the blueprint for the hamburger, Americans perfected it/made it their own.
But anyway, what Giddens is saying/would like to remind is: no Black people, no banjo—ergo, no country music. Unsurprisingly, Giddens has been highly supportive of Beyoncé breaking down these musical barriers and reminding people that country music is more Black than it is white. Take away the Black elements of it, and all you’ve got is folk music. Regarding the backlash to Beyoncé’s, let’s just say it, concept album (and it is that), Giddens noted, “I’m like, people can do what they wanna do. They wanna make a country record, make a country record. Like, nobody’s askin’ Lana Del Rey what right do you have to make a country record?”
To be fair, Del Rey isn’t as big of an influence, nor is she as visible as Beyoncé. What’s more, Del Rey’s long-standing alignment with retro themes and beliefs blends right into what country music is all about, heteronormativity and “stand by your man”-wise. And, speaking of that song, it seems Del Rey beat Beyoncé to the punch on covering it—even though it’s much more suited to the likes of Beyoncé and her insistence on staying with Jay-Z after he cheated on her with “Becky.” Who has been repurposed, in this phase of her album cycle, as “Jolene.” That’s right, Beyoncé dared to take on one of the most classic and quintessential songs in country, with Dolly Parton’s blessing. Even though dredging up the message of this particular track hardly feels “revolutionary” or “forward-thinking.” Or what Lily Allen dubbed as a “weird” choice on her podcast with Miquita Oliver, Miss Me? Unfortunately, Allen fell right into the trap of saying anything negative about Cowboy Carter. In the wake of her “negative comments” (or expressing a simple non-laudatory opinion that makes no mention of B needing to “stay in her lane”) about the record, a slew of backlash headlines circulated soon after, among them being, “Lily Allen Criticizes Beyoncé’s Album Cowboy Carter,” “Beyoncé Slammed by Jealous Lily Allen as Paul McCartney Defends Her” and “Lily Allen Slams Beyoncé’s Country Album as ‘Calculated’ and ‘Weird.’”
Of course, the news outlets were sure to highlight the least flattering words out of Allen’s lukewarm response to the record. One that also related to downplaying Beyoncé’s looks, for, when Miquita tries a different approach to discussing the album by complimenting, “She does look great. She makes me quite excited about forties,” Allen balks, “She’s getting some help.” Miquita claps back, “She has not had any work done, if that’s what you’re implying.” “I didn’t say that. I’m just saying that, like, you know, she’s got a great team of stylists, hair people, you know, she works out a lot, you know, she’s got access to the best trainers in the world, like, you know, she’s Beyoncé.” Indeed. And, as Allen additionally pointed out, Beyoncé can do whatever the hell she wants. Yet that shouldn’t mean that the masses automatically have to be strong-armed into praising it lest they be accused of racism/white supremacy. Which was the automatic response to Allen for her assessment, complete with reductive internet comments like, “An English woman gatekeeping country music is wild.” Or Allen, like anyone, is allowed to say what she thinks about the record. This idea that she can’t say shit about country because of who she is and where she’s from is the exact thing people are saying shouldn’t be done to Beyoncé. Except the part where Beyoncé being from Houston is supposedly all the legitimacy she needs. Even though it’s not like just because you’re from San Diego, it automatically means you’re an authority on pop-punk.
What was also left out of the headlines was the fact that Miquita, a Black woman, herself said, “I don’t think the ‘Jolene’ one’s good.” And this provided the opening for Allen to say her quoted comment, “It’s very weird that you cover the most successful songs in that genre.” Miquita adds, “It just felt like a standard hip-hoppy…under a ‘Jolene’ cover. It’s like let’s do something with this song, if we’re gonna take it apart and put it back together, I feel like Beyoncé could have done a bit more with it or maybe picked something a little less big to cover.” Of course, the defense for that is: Dolly Parton wanted Beyoncé to cover it. Nonetheless, Allen continues, “Yeah, I just feel like it’s an interesting thing to do when you’re, like, trying to tackle a new genre and you just choose the biggest song in that genre.” Miquita, who, again, didn’t get mentioned at all in the headlines for her “negative comments” about the record then stated, “I think I’d like it a lot more if it wasn’t like, ‘This is Beyoncé’s country album!… I feel like it’s forcing itself to be part of its own narrative of, ‘I’m a country album.’” Precisely.
But that’s supposed to be the “whole point” of Cowboy Carter. To invoke the discourse around why it is so polarizing for Black musicians to dabble in country. But maybe the answer lies in the operative word dabble. Because, for the most part, the Black artists of the past few years who have “gone country” (e.g., Lil Nas X) have only gone right back to not being country. As though it can be activated and deactivated on a whim. Which is what country purists are most irritated by when it comes to crossover musicians—whereas country artists who cross over into pop (e.g., Shania Twain, Taylor Swift) are generally welcomed since pop is such a grab bag anyway.
The only truly solid, steadfast, all-out Black country musician of note is Linda Martell. Which is exactly why Beyoncé features her heavily on the record as one of the “radio DJs” (apart from Willie Nelson and Dolly Parton—both names clearly used to invoke clout), delivering the lines, “This particular tune stretches across a range of genres and that’s what makes it a unique listening experience.” The name of that brief interlude is, what else, “The Linda Martell Show.” In many ways, these little interludes mimic what The Weeknd did on Dawn FM, with Jim Carrey narrating all of the ethereal lead-ins into the next song. Indeed, a lot of what Beyoncé does is mimicry on this record…and on Renaissance, for that matter—but the latter is retroactively more listenable compared to this. Even if Bey was already alluding to her country “transition” by donning a lot of cowboy hats and also propping herself up on a disco-fied horse.
The media, indeed, keeps talking about why “so many artists” are “going country,” as though it’s a wearable trend. And, technically, it is. That’s, in the end, what it appears to boil down to. Not to mention being something Madonna established in 2000 with Music, an album for which she adopted a “ghetto fabulous cowgirl” persona. Back when one could still say things like “ghetto fabulous.” But rather than bothering to attempt to truly home in on the musical meaning of country, “Beyincé” banks on the identity politics of it. Knowing that the music itself will be irrelevant to anyone who goes into it with a “this isn’t country” mindset. To (cowboy) boot, it’s her way of styling herself as a modern-day Martin Luther King Jr. (she already paralleled herself with Malcolm X), parading statements like, “My hope is that years from now, the mention of an artist’s race, as it relates to releasing genres of music, will be irrelevant… The criticisms I faced when I first entered this genre forced me to propel past the limitations that were put on me. act ii is a result of challenging myself, and taking my time to bend and blend genres together to create this body of work.” She then goes on to negate the declaration that it’s a country album (complete with an album cover that makes her look like a Republican propagandist) by noting that it’s really just another “Beyoncé album.”
And honestly, her message might have been less divisive if she had truly played it that way, without making a big pronouncement that it is country. Which, more often than not, it isn’t. It’s a grab bag, a fusion—as so much of music is (and feels it has to be) today in order to compete for as many category successes as possible. That fusion of sounds is apparent from the outset of Cowboy Carter, with “Ameriican Requiem” (and no, that won’t be the last time you see something spelled with two “i’s”), an opener that sounds more 60s psychedelic-inspired than anything else (and not just because she wields the Simon & Garfunkel-esque lyric, “Hello, my old friend”). But rather, because of the shift to a hippie-dippy sound around the forty-one second mark. Designed to set the stage for her defense against ever being called anything but a “real country gal” again, Beyoncé warns, “It’s a lotta chatter in here/But let me make myself clear (oh)/Can you hear me? (huh)/Or do you fear me?”
Again, the combative implication from the get-go is that anyone who doesn’t like her “style” of country/the music on this record in general is just “afraid” and, frankly, racist. Giddens corroborates that idea with her assessment, “Everybody has the opportunity to go back and explore their roots. To go back and they’re like, ‘This is my life too, I wanna do this.’ Like, the ‘stay in your lane,’ the ‘well, that’s not real country,’ that’s just racism. People don’t wanna say it’s because she’s Black. You know, but they use these coded terms.” As for Black people exploring their roots, it’s safe to say that not every Black person is directly related, by any stretch of the imagination, to a cowboy somewhere down the line. In fact, only a quarter of cowboys were Black by the end of the Civil War. Giddens’ logic, therefore, is what opens the floodgates for people with no real connection to their so-called roots to get citizenship in another country because they had a great-great-great-great-grandfather who immigrated from there.
Beyoncé is also sure to commence with her nod to the never-ending evolution of racism with the intro line, “Nothing really ends/For things to stay the same, they have to change again.” In short, racist attitudes have many different masks, many different “codes.” Her hippie mama shtick starts to come through more when she demands, “Can we stand for something?/Now is the time to face the wind/Coming in peace and love, y’all/Oh, a lot of takin’ up space/Salty tears beyond my gaze/Can you stand me?/(Can you stand me?/Can you stand me?/Can you stand me?).” The repetition of that last line being more pointed shade at any listener (especially the whites) who would dare find fault with a single note or lyric on Cowboy Carter.
But she makes that all but impossible by following up “Ameriican Requiem” with a cover of “Blackbird.” Not just because it’s a bit hooey, but because, well, it ain’t country. And if she did feel obliged to cover it for this album, at least save it for later in the record, after giving listeners some vague taste of the country flavor she’s offering. Instead, we have to wait until track three, “16 Carriages,” to hear Bey’s first true attempt at a country twang (one that at least does sound more sincere than Taylor’s years-long put-on). Especially as this is described as a country ballad. Hell, even a “work song” by some (not offensive at all, right?). In the same review of “16 Carriages,” it was said that Beyoncé remains “palpably in touch” with her “ordinary humanity.” But that’s the thing: Beyoncé was never ordinary. And one doesn’t mean that in the sense that she was inherently more special than anyone else, but in the sense that, from the outset, she was put on the path to fame. Or rather, put herself on that path, convincing her parents to let her pursue a career in music upon discovering her love for singing at seven years old. In this regard, Beyoncé actually avoided the true rigors of being “working class,” with the only “blue collar” job she ever dabbled in being to sweep up hair in her mother Tina’s salon. This idea that she’s “reaching back” to her “working-class” roots is, thus, more akin to trying to scrape the bottom of the barrel for inspiration.
In another moment, Beyoncé’s obsession with “legacy” seems more aligned with rich white influential family goals (à la the Vanderbilts or some shit) than anything else. Because, again, everything about the Beyoncé/Jay-Z juggernaut is in keeping with the tenets of white capitalism (see also: their ad campaign for Tiffany & Co.). Concluding the song with, “Had to sacrifice and leave my fears behind/For legacy, if it’s the last thing I do/You’ll remember me ‘cause we got something to prove.” The “we” in this sentence, of course, can apply to Black people as a collective. And yet, the more Black people try to “prove” something to white hegemony, the more it seems like an admission somehow of “inferiority” in the first place. Elsewhere, Beyoncé provides the play on words, “I might cook, clean/But still won’t fold,” with that last word meaning that she won’t buckle under the pressure (or fold laundry). While Beyoncé insists the slogs of her early career make her “country strong,” one doubts ever had to hit the same grind as Britney Spears’ schedule for most of the 90s—and yes, Britney is probably more suited, vocally speaking and experience-wise, to singing a country ballad than Beyoncé. Who, despite her constant reminder of loving rodeos, BBQ and being from Texas, is more French than Southern.
With this, we segue into the cheesiest song on the record, “Protector” “featuring” Rumi Carter (who makes a cooing sound in the spirit of the one on Aaliyah’s “Are You That Somebody?”). This is Beyoncé at her most “ramblin’ man blew into town but I ain’t here to stay” while she sings, “Born to be a protector.” A protector of who? Why, Rumi of course (because Sir clearly gets no preferential treatment). In a certain sense, this is like Beyoncé’s version of Madonna’s “Little Star” from Ray of Light, a “lullaby,” of sorts, to her own daughter, Lourdes.
The tone then shifts on “My Rose,” a brief number that channels major Destiny’s Child vibes and, once again, isn’t country in the least. Though it does offer the self-affirming lyrics, “So many roses but none to be picked without thorns/So be fond of your flaws, dear.” Including one’s flaws when it comes to executing “conventional” country music. However, as though remembering the core of her “genre album,” Beyoncé transitions back to her attempt at country with “Smoke Hour * Willie Nelson.” Like Dolly, Willie (who is about to stand at ninety-one years old) has been brought in to assert the idea that Bey can be a country queen, too (and, on a coincidental side note, Dolly Parton won the Willie Nelson Lifetime Achievement Award that same year Beyoncé performed with the Dixie Chicks).
With Willie as “DJ” to lead us into “Texas Hold ‘Em,” the sound of a “flipping the dials” effect is made as the “radio” switches to different stations that each play Son House’s “Grinnin’ In Your Face,” Rosetta Tharpe’s “Down by the River Side,” Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene” and Roy Hamilton’s “Don’t Let Go.” And if Hamilton sounds, to the untrained ear, like Elvis Presley, that’s because he was one of the latter’s biggest influences (what’s more, Presley reportedly paid the cost of Hamilton’s funeral and outstanding medical bills after the singer died of a stroke at forty)—thus, more flexing/reminding from Bey about white people stealing shit all the time. A “friendly” reminder that everything “white” is actually Black. Though many were quick to remind Beyoncé of how “white” the intro to “Texas Hold ‘Em” is (banjo played by Giddens or not) due to its very similar sound to the Franklin theme. Though that isn’t the only unexpected sonic sampling—there’s also the Fluid ringtone (best known to those who had a Motorola in the early 2000s) that makes a pronounced cameo on “Riiverdance.” So yeah, Beyoncé is trolling a lot regarding people’s “precious” notions of genre. And yet, if genre isn’t “real,” why all this posturing about wanting to align herself with country?
A genre she again circles around on “Bodyguard” (a song that’s seemingly strategically positioned right before Dolly Parton makes her entrance, seeing as how Whitney’s cover of “I Will Always Love You” was on The Bodyguard Soundtrack). Hints of the jealousy motif that’s about to rear its ugly head on Bey’s “Jolene” cover materialize in lyrics like, “I don’t like the way she’s lookin’ at you/Someone better hold me back, oh-oh/Chargin’ ten for a double and I’m talkin’/I’m ‘bout to lose it, turn around and John Wayne that ass.” Funny she should bring Wayne into it. For, although Beyoncé wants to invoke the image of the “quintessential cowboy,” she seems to be forgetting what an overt racist Marion Morrison truly was—this immortalized in a 1971 Playboy interview with fellow racist Bob Hope, during which Wayne remarked, “I believe in white supremacy until the Blacks are educated to a point of responsibility.” One doubts, then, that Wayne would be too keen on Bey using his name in a “country” song.
In any case, there are moments, too, when Beyoncé actually does deliver lyrics that sound quite Del Reyian, namely, “I give you kisses in the backseat/I whisper secrets in the backbeat/You make me cry, you make me happy, happy/Leave my lipstick on the cigarette.” One can imagine such imagery will also be present on Lasso. That said, “Bodyguard” marks the second song to style Bey as a “protector”—and that protection and guarding isn’t just about her children and her husband, but the legacy (that word again) of Black contributions to country.
As she delves into the cover that prompted Lily Allen to make her controversial comment, one can’t help but wonder where the covers of “Bang Bang” by Nancy Sinatra (which she sang to Jay-Z for the On the Run Tour) or “All My Ex’s Live in Texas” by George Strait are—these would actually be very well-suited to Beyoncé’s country brand. Nonetheless, to give her documented blessing, Dolly introduces the reimagining on the “Dolly P” intro, noting, “You know that hussy with the good hair you sing about? Reminded me of someone I knew back when. Except she has flaming locks of auburn hair. Bless her heart. Just a hair of a different color, but it hurts just the same.”
After giving Beyoncé the official sanction to cover this country classic, we’re then now taken back to the Lemonade days. Indeed, it’s a small wonder she didn’t sub out the name Jolene for Becky. And yes, Yoncé did feel obliged to make some lyrical adjustments so as to put her own stamp on it. Some of the standout differences being, “I’m warning you don’t come for my man” (instead of, “I’m begging of you, please don’t take my man”) and “You’re beautiful beyond compare” (instead of, “Your beauty is beyond compare”). And then, suddenly, she’s just makin’ a bunch of lyrics up, including, “Takes more than beauty and seductive stares to come between a family and a happy man/Jolene, I’m a woman too/The games you play are nothing new.”
Just when you think things couldn’t possibly get more cringe, Beyoncé decides to make sure no one is confused about how she’s referring to Jay-Z by adding, “We’ve been deep in love for twenty years/I raised that man, I raised his kids/I know my man better than he knows himself.” And this is the clincher: “I can easily understand why you’re attracted to my man” (this changed from: “I can easily understand how you could easily take my man”). It was perhaps this line that set Azealia Banks off enough to say, “Who is this imaginary adversary that she thinks still wants to be involved with Jay-Z in 2024? She needs to change the subject. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY, finds him attractive.” Of course, Banks’ comment didn’t get as much play in the media as Allen’s because it’s fine when a Black woman critiques another Black woman. There’s no “racial tension” to that. In any event, Beyoncé changes the entire tone of the song from being an open, earnest plea with another woman to making it all about how hot and loyal her own man is (wrong on both counts).
The interpolation of “Jolene” continues into “Daughter.” And here there’s an element of Taylor Swift-style songwriting at play (Bey even goes so far as to say, “Look what you made me do”), particularly when thinking of her later “country” efforts like “no body, no crime” and “Vigilante Shit.” There is an evocation of Kill Bill in the lyrics as well, with Beyoncé singing, “Your body laid out on these filthy floors/Your bloodstains on my custom couture.” She even brings “Daddy Lessons” back into it with the lines, “If you cross me, I’m just like my father/I am colder than Titanic water.” (Wouldn’t that just be Atlantic Ocean water?) One supposes that Beyoncé wanted to get the idea of being vengeful across by bringing Italians into it. Why else would she randomly start singing in the language (and not very well) toward the end: “Caro mio ben/Credimi almen/Senza di te/Languische il cor/I tuo fedel/Sospira ognor/Cessa, crudel, tanto rigor.” The other reason for bringing Italian into it is because the following song is the annoyingly misspelled “Spaghettii.” Not just a food, but also the name of Italian westerns a.k.a. spaghetti westerns.
Perhaps Beyoncé’s point in referencing this iteration of the western is that there are many different versions and interpretations of a kind of genre. So it is that Linda Martell provides the intro, “Genres are a funny little concept, aren’t they? In theory, they have a simple definition that’s easy to understand, but in practice, well, some may feel confined.” And with that, Beyoncé (with a feature from Shaboozey) delves into one of her least country (and most hip hop) tracks on Cowboy Carter, spitting lyrics (delivered in a Janelle Monáe sound) like, “Cunty, country, petty, petty, petty/All the same to me, plain Jane spaghetti” and “We all been played by the plagiaristic.” Naturally, Beyoncé is alluding to white people effectively “plagiarizing” country from Black people. Though it is rather amusing that someone who has been accused of plagiarism as many times as Beyoncé (most recently with her hair care brand, Cécred, which ripped off the packaging style from a small business based in New Zealand) should throw in this little dig. Maybe it’s just “Alligator Tears” on her part, this being another standout on the album for actually sounding country.
With its sparse guitar opening, there are immediate comparisons to the style of Fleetwood Mac or solo Stevie Nicks (later on, “II Most Wanted” featuring Miley Cyrus will freely interpolate “Landslide”—which is right up Cyrus’ alley considering that “Midnight Sky” is just “Edge of Seventeen” redone). Another “ride or die” sort of track, Beyoncé assures (presumably Jay-Z), “You say move a mountain and I’ll throw on my boots/You say stop the river from runnin’, I’ll build a dam for two/You say change religions, now I spend Sundays with you.”
After this, Willie Nelson is back on as “DJ” for the “Smoke Hour II” interlude, wherein Beyoncé seems to vie for more clout by having Nelson say, “You’re tuned into KNTRY Radio Texas, home of the real deal.” He then introduces “Just For Fun” featuring Willie Jones, another slowed-down track that relies not only on acoustic guitar for being deemed country but Jones’ vocal contribution as well (his style being described as “lacing traditional country soundscapes of steel guitar, banjo, and harmonica with signature Louisiana hip hop gumbo”). Of course, nothing can outshine Beyoncé braggadociously touting, “I am the man, I know it/And everywhere I go, they know my name.” They know Miley’s, too. And that’s not the only reason Beyoncé would want her for a collab on “II Most Wanted.” For Miley also has plenty of country roots, starting with Billy Ray Cyrus’ inescapable-for-most-of-the-early-90s “Achy Breaky Heart.” With a father in country, Miley’s own vocal inflection was clearly influenced, and she’s had her fair share of “twangin’ tracks.” She brings out that twang just for Bey on “II Most Wanted,” which, in truth, feels like it should have been given to Lady Gaga so they could make that long-awaited follow-up video to “Telephone.” Ending with riding away in the Pussy Wagon together, there’s the same clear nod to a Thelma and Louise-level friendship as there is on this song.
However, the general poseurdom of both women is made apparent when they name-check the 405 as the freeway they’re driving down (“Smoke out the window/Flyin’ down the 405”). Ain’t nothin’ “country” about L.A.—unless you’re a self-superior New Yorker. A persona Beyoncé has been known to try on in her role as the wife of a born-and-bred Brooklynite.
Continuing the trend of having features on her songs, Post Malone (also born in New York, albeit Syracuse) joins in for the next one, “Levii’s Jeans.” This is arguably more uncomfortable than “Jolene” at times thanks to Beyoncé offering, “Boy, I’ll let you be my Levi jeans/So you can hug that ass all day long.” Perhaps the only thing more difficult to stomach than the thought of Beyoncé singing this to Jay-Z is the thought of her singing it to Post Malone (on a side note: one can still picture her singing it to Jay-Z anyway as he has a songwriting credit on it).
Wanting to remind us how deft she is at weaving in and out of genres, the next song is called “Flamenco.” And it does indeed have that Spanish tinge to it (complete with castanets). As one of the shorter tracks (in the vein of “My Rose”), it’s most memorable lyric is, in fact, only memorable because of how generic it’s become ever since Joni Mitchell sang it on “Big Yellow Taxi”: “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.” By referencing Mitchell, is this, too, another subtle dig at how, without Black people contributing the banjo to country, country would just be folk music? Who can say?
Either way, the following song, introduced again by Linda Martell with a little commentary on genre, is “Ya Ya.” And it goes absolutely batshit. Not just on combining genres, but pulling from as many already well-known songs as it can. Starting with the opening notes that are blatantly taken from Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made For Walkin’” and continuing with nods to Tina Turner’s “Proud Mary,” Mickey & Sylvia’s “Love Is Strange,” Jerry Lee Lewis’ “Great Balls of Fire” and, of course, Beach Boys’ “Good Vibrations.” From the latter, Beyoncé pulls a major Lana by simply repurposing the lyrics, “I’m pickin’ up good vibrations/He’s given’ me sweet sensations” (instead of “excitations”) as her own. And, back on the subject of Del Rey, at least she declared weeks before Beyoncé announced her album that the music industry was “going country,” and then made mention of her own upcoming country-themed album, Lasso. Which, to be sure, was immensely eclipsed by the countdown to Cowboy Carter. An album so entrenched in 60s-era sensibilities the way Del Rey has been for her entire career.
Among those 60s sensibilities is “Ya Ya,” with catch phrases like, “Keep the faith” and talk of how her “family live and died in America, hm” while paying homage to artists of the Chitlin’ Circuit (Tina Turner included) a.k.a. venues where “where white people wouldn’t go to see Black people.” Hence, more than a tinge of sarcasm when she sings, “Good ol’ USA, shit/Whole lotta red in that white and blue, huh.” This being an allusion not just to bloodshed, but to the red that represents the Republican party. And, in some sense, Beyoncé seems to be trying to do with conservative-worshiped country music what Black people did with the “n-word” by taking it over for herself. Reappropriating it so that it can have less of an association with racist whites, and more of one with Black people. Ergo, her reminder again about the origins of country with the lyrics, “History can’t be erased, ooh.” She then backs into a hypocritical corner with her spiel about being able to relate to the common man (as she attempted to on “Break My Soul”) by asking, “Are you tired, workin’ time and a half for half the pay?” What would Beyoncé know about that, having spent most of her life as a millionaire and never working a minimum wage job? Granted, she’s happy to admit, “I just wanna shake my ass/(Have a blast).” Maybe “ass” and “blast” are even becoming a go-to rhyme for her after changing the lyrics on Renaissance’s “Heated” from, “Spazzin’ on that ass” to “Blastin’ on that ass.” Whether that’s true or not, one rarely has the luxury of actually enjoying shaking their ass for the cash.
The transition between “Ya Ya” and “Oh Louisiana” is practically undetectable as one “oh” leads into another and Chuck Berry’s essentially “TikTok-ifed” lyrics ensue before we’re back to Bey on “Desert Eagle” (though one would think it was called “Do-Si-Do”). The eagle, of course, being the well-known mascot of the United States. A symbol of “freedom”—for some. Mainly rich people, regardless of being Black or white. Just look at OJ Simpson getting acquitted of murder.
Repeating “do-si-do” with an echo-y effect, “Desert Eagle” quickly leads into “Riiverdance,” the aforementioned track that samples the Fluid ringtone. Mostly repeating the chorus, “Bounce on that shit, dance,” the fact that Beyoncé is now incorporating a beat inspired by the famed Irish dance that shares the same name as the song (minus the extra “i”) is perhaps another flex that’s meant to inform white people, “See, we can take genres you created and make it our own too. Do you like that?”
“Riiverdance” also has a seamless shift into “II Hands II Heaven,” another song that seems more at home on Renaissance than a country-themed record. Even so, Beyoncé doesn’t let up on reminding the whites, “They can’t do nothin’ but envy, ooh/Bliss, please…/Then taste this wine, I’ma taste what’s mine/‘Cause I’ma take what’s mine.” In another portion of the song, she even takes what isn’t by grabbing onto the Elton phrase, “No candle in the wind” (something Del Rey does a lot too).
Ostensibly saving one of the bests for (almost) last, Dolly gets on the mic again for “Tyrant,” even if only for the intro about lighting up the juke joint. Her presence makes sense though, as Beyoncé is about to dive into their favorite subject: a man being stolen from her. In this unique instance, it’s a hangman (or rather, hangwoman) that’s the culprit. This per the lyric, “I don’t want him back, but I can’t let go/Hangman, answer me now/You owe me a debt, you stole him from me.” More than the lyrics, the dance-worthy beat is what stands out—a beat that would be at home on any of Beyoncé’s previous hip hop-oriented records.
But no, she wants to keep reiterating her country commitment, falling in and out of it like another personality throughout the record. This is true of “Sweet * Honey * Buckiin’” for sure, as she opens by singing Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces” before letting Shaboozey (appearing for the second time) deliver his verses. It’s obvious once this portion commences that it’s a Pharrell-produced song, rejoining Bey after his contribution to Renaissance, which included pissing Kelis off by sanctioning a sample of “Milkshake” on “Energy” (which was removed soon after the album’s release). The three stars that divide the words signify that each portion explores a different musical and lyrical theme (in this regard, it’s a foil for Renaissance’s “Pure/Honey”), at one point bringing us to the subject of Black people’s rightful mistrust in white-dominated institutions via the verse, “They yankin’ your chain/Promisin’ things that they can’t/You the man at the bank?/Is you is or you ain’t?” Nelly asked that a long time ago on “Iz U.”
The album at last concludes with the fittingly titled “Amen.” And that’s what many will be saying after getting through all that. At least Renaissance reined in the tracklist at sixteen, for fuck’s sake. Indicating that Beyoncé didn’t think she had as much to prove with the house music genre. Beyoncé nails one part of country though—and that’s providing little levity in terms of the stories she’s unfurling. “Amen” is no exception to the rule, with Yoncé being sure to mention to them nefarious whites still listening, “This house was built with blood and bone/And it crumbled, yes, it crumbled/The statues they made were beautiful/But they were lies of stone, they werе lies of stone.”
Alas, more than this feeling like an album of “reclamation,” it feels, ironically, like Beyoncé wanting to make the complete transition into “white culture” (what with the skin and hair bleaching portion already done) despite the crux of the record’s existence being in the name of reappropriating Black culture. And yet, her obsession with being accepted by (rather than toppling) the Establishment run by white patriarchal influences was made all the more apparent when Jay-Z took the stage at the 2024 Grammys to make an over-the-top speech about how, despite being the most awarded artist in Grammy history, it still isn’t enough because she’s never won Album of the Year (something she’s sure mention in “Sweet * Honey * Buckiin’” with, “A-O-T-Y/I ain’t win”). Neither has Nina Simone, or Diana Ross, or Mariah Carey (those first two more influential women on Beyoncé’s career have, in fact, never won a Grammy at all). But you never saw their husbands get onstage crying, “No fair!” (In Simone’s case, that was because her husbands were too busy abusing her themselves—so was Mariah’s, Tommy Mottola, even if “only” emotionally.)
Ultimately, though, if you want so-called respect in country, then just do country without making race the linchpin of the project. A tactic that, in the end, will not hearten the standard country audience to her. And it doesn’t seem like a way to “blur the lines” or “unite” people over the idea that country is for everyone, so much as a vengeful “fuck you, hater” to everyone who 1) told her she didn’t belong in country and 2) stole country from Black people in the first place. In terms of reason number one, Cowboy Carter is, first and foremost, a vanity project and not quite the “cultural reset” that Lemonade was for this cowgirl, who perhaps set the bar too high for herself that year. Even if the CMAs couldn’t comprehend that.
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[…] Worse still, so do the legions of listeners obsessing over the “brilliant” “innovation” of Cowboy Carter. An album that, in every way—sonically and aesthetically—owes its debt to Music (just as the […]
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