The image is iconic.
Beyonce, dressed to the nines and looking bewildered.
The fodder for endless memes and GIFs across the Internet originated at the Grammy Awards. The iconic performing artist had tried her hand at a country album — Cowboy Carter. And Cowboy Carter had just been named Country Album of the Year.
Beyonce might have been stunned by her rapid ascent to the pinnacle of a new segment. But she shouldn’t have been.
From Post Malone to Shaboozey, and Chappell Roan to Bon Jovi, plenty of artists have crossed over to country music in recent years. While all of them found success, none have the pedigree of Beyonce — an international cultural icon with Texas roots.
So, while a Grammy award wasn’t predestined, it wasn’t exactly unexpected either.
And yet, when the moment arrived, many shared Beyonce’s reaction. For something had fundamentally changed. Something that could no longer be ignored.
After a moment of reflection, Beyonce took the stage to deliver her acceptance speech.
Humble as ever, Beyonce thanked God and expressed her surprise in winning. But she quickly pivoted into something more profound – the why behind Cowboy Carter.
I think sometimes genre is a code word to keep us in our place as artists. And I just want to encourage people to do what they’re passionate about, and to stay persistent.
With these words, Beyonce was seeking to sidestep the label of Imitator. She was hoping to reframe Cowboy Carter as art – no more, no less.
But this would prove to be a tough sell.
You see, I’m a longtime country music fan. And I listened to the songs on Cowboy Carter.
I thought they were good – really good. I thought they were creative and innovative. But I didn’t think they were particularly deep.
Sure, there are references to Americana, to poker, to outlaws and Levi’s jeans and cheating scoundrels. But those lyrics seemed disjointed and somewhat superficial to me.
The work seemed to lack the depth displayed by Martina McBride and Reba McEntire. It seemed to avoid the edginess conveyed by Miranda Lambert or Kacey Musgraves. It somehow seemed absent of the flair shown by Carrie Underwood and Lainey Wilson.
It was, in my view, an imitation. A tasteful, acclaimed imitation. But an imitation, nonetheless.
And I’m certain I’m not the only one who viewed the album this way.
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
This axiom aims to take the sting out of mimicry. And rightfully so.
Artists like Beyonce mean no malice by trying their hand in a new genre. They are expressing their artistic freedom — and seeking to expand the genre in the process.
That’s noble. But the shift behind it is troubling.
You see, a wave of imitation requires a lifting mechanism. Something to set the scene and provide the imitator license to proceed.
In the case of country music, that launchpad has been slow to develop. But that extended timeline has only broadened the impact of the imitators.
A few decades ago, country music was in a far different place than today. Songs were full of depth and dripping with authenticity. But the audience hearing them was somewhat limited – mostly to rural areas across the heartland.
That started to change in the 1990s, as more artists went mainstream. I remember hearing music from Faith Hill, LeAnn Rimes, and Shania Twain over the intercom at suburban grocery stores back then. Those encounters were my first foray into country music.
As the mainstream shift continued, the songs coming from Nashville changed. The hyper-specific ballads of love and loss made way for fantasies of partying on truck beds in an open field. Bubblegum country took over.
The trend only accelerated as the years went by. Streaming shows like Yellowstone led to a surge in interest for everything rural. And the larger audience, combined with watered down country lyrics, made conditions ripe for imitators.
It’s no wonder then that Beyonce could win a Grammy for a country album. It’s no wonder that Amazon founder Jeff Bezos would sit for a Vogue cover shoot in an old truck, sporting a cowboy hat. It’s no wonder that honky tonks from coast to coast have become twice as busy as they were two decades ago.
The illusion is real. But how real is the illusion?
As I write this, I’ve lived in Texas for the better part of 15 years.
I’ve spent a fair bit of this time in boots and Wranglers, with pearl snaps adorning my shirts. I’ve sported this look to the office from time to time, and to countless rodeos and concerts.
Such a look is not out of place in the Lone Star State. But every now and then, someone will see it and ask if I’m playing cowboy.
When they do, I’m obliged to remind them that I’ve rode horses before. That I’ve milked cows, cleaned stalls, cleared mud from hooves, and fetched eggs from the chicken coop.
I may not be a cowboy, but I’m more than an imitator.
These bona fides matter to me. Because authenticity matters.
You see, I’ve viewed myself as a Texan from my earliest days living here. But the stigma of being non-native – of growing up beyond the state’s borders – it looms large.
I’ve long known that my zeal for Texas could be miscast as imitation if I wasn’t authentic. And being authentic meant leaning into any prior experience I had with the state’s cultural hallmarks, while becoming a student of the rest.
So yes, I’ve taken steps to assimilate. To make this place a part of me, and myself a part of it.
The same can’t always be said of other non-natives. They might treat the place like an eastern annex of California. Or wear their cowboy hat comically wrong. Or appear like they’re recreating the cover of Varsity Blues, as Bezos did.
When this happens, Texans will grumble and mock the imitators. The natives and the assimilated transplants alike.
For this is not a good look — for any of us. The state’s cultural code must be adhered to for true acceptance to be gained.
I think the same reckoning is needed in country music. So long as bubblegum country rules the roost, the genre will be a shadow of its former glory. And the bar to clear for imitators will be exceptionally low.
Put standards for depth and meaning back into country music, and only the best imitators will cross over. For doing so will require more than a catchy hook and a few superficial lyrics. It will require an immersion — an immersion that yields a more authentic product.
This is worth striving for. Let’s make it real.