The Day Country Music Fell Out Of Love With Me
Hello Friends,
On the evening of Janet Jackson Appreciation Day, as Beyoncé leisurely watched Usher perform a concert, possibly during the Super Bowl, she waited until Usher sang his last note alongside Luda, JD, and Lil’ Jon. It was then that her team uploaded two new songs and announced a new album called Actii, a continuation of the Renaissance album. This simple click of a button set the internet on fire. Filled with confusion, we all opened Instagram to get a peek at “Texans Hold ‘Em” and “16 Carriages.”
Not only were these new songs, but they were also country songs. Bravo to Beyoncé for repping her Texas roots and staying true to herself while reminding people of the roots of country music.
Now, let me take you back to my childhood. I often listened to country music when I was a kid. My Uncle George was a country music singer, and when I stayed at his house, he only watched Westerns and listened to country music. When he wanted to wake me and my cousins up, he would sit on a stool in the living room, stomp his foot, play his bass, and sing us awake. Slowly, we emerged from the basement to see him sitting there in his cowboy boots and country western hat. I still don’t know why we needed to get up because we were on vacation. It was his dream to be a country music star and live a life on the road, but at that time, only one Black person was allowed, and that person was Charlie Pride. My uncle had all the components: good-looking, had a great voice, wrote his music, and played guitar. He was country. But he resolved to raise his kids and be a pharmacist and gig when he was able.
His love for country music landed in me. We watched Westerns and listened to everyone from the Mandrell sisters to Roy Clark, and Loretta Lynn. “Coal Miner’s Daughter” was one of my favorite songs, and who didn’t love Dolly Parton? And when Donnie and Marie sang “I’m a Little Bit Country and I’m a Little Bit Rock ‘n’ Roll,” I sang along.
Black people are rooted in country music, and we are the children of the Great Migration that was created by our parents and grandparents leaving the Jim Crow South. Over 6 million people escaped America’s apartheid and brought their country roots with them. I do not know a person who does not have family down south. I am rooted in Virginia and Arkansas. I don’t know that place, but I know my dad came with his mother at the age of 2. But they never talked about it. But country culture is a part of our DNA. I loved country music until it fell out of love with me.
Country music had a deep place in my heart, but at a point in time, I was deep into my hip-hop phase, but still watched “Hee Haw” “The Beverly Hillbillies” and “Maw and Paw Kettle” movies played on Saturday mornings. Country music peeped back up when a friend called and asked if I wanted to see a show he was a part of. But I had to promise to say yes before he said who it was. Well, he danced with everyone, so I was hoping it was Janet or Beyoncé. But when he said Reba McEntire, he could hear the silence, “Just come,” of course, Shaun. So off we went to a country music concert.
It is thick with whiteness. I have been to many concerts, including heavy metal, but this one felt very different. It was unnerving to my soul. When we reached our seats, the folks did not want to let us in the row, so we climbed over them, and between the eye rolls and whispering, I was ready to go. It reeked with the scent of “you don’t belong ’round these parts,” but they were in my town. In my Black town. Amid the loud silence, my friend popped up to check on us. The funny thing is, he got the same response. I just grinned because I knew the vibe would shift.
The lights went down, and Reba arrived in the middle of the stadium floor in a private jet. Yes, a real one. I loved it. Her show was awesome, and there was my friend Shaun dancing and doing his thing right next to Reba. Intermission lights up, and suddenly people find their voice. “Is that the guy that was right here? Does he know Reba? How do you know him?” I was laughing and rolling my eyes on the inside. Question after question, and finally, the lights went off, and the concert continued. Her show was incredible: theatrical, soulful, and full of heart. I loved it and vowed to never go to another country music concert in my life.
I closed the door to country music for years until one day, I was on Twitter and came across a page called Color Me Country, and there were Black people in the picture. It was like I was presented with a key to a place I used to live. In 2021, I discovered a plethora of Black women singing country music: Rissi Palmer, Chapel Hart, Brittany Spencer, Rhiannon Giddens, Mickey Guyton, and so many more. My heart exploded, and I shed many tears thinking about my Uncle George and his deferred dream of being a country star. He would have been proud to have been counted as a part of the legacy of Black country music.
And now, with Beyoncé shining a radiant spotlight on country music, I am filled with hope for the future. May her unwavering support pave the way for greater recognition and opportunities for artists who have long been marginalized.
Love knows no bounds, and through the transcendent power of music, we can bridge divides and celebrate the beauty of diversity. Here’s to the enduring legacy of country music, a timeless beacon of hope and inspiration that continues to unite us all.
