For much of my life, country music felt like a locked door — a mysterious place that invited no one who looked like me. It seemed firmly rooted in a different world, one sprinkled with images of cowboy hats, winding dirt roads, and melodic twang that had no resonance with my own experiences. This was music crafted for small towns, steeped in southern traditions that never seemed designed to include voices like mine. So, I never allowed myself to venture into that realm.
In my upbringing, country music was virtually absent—there were no radio hits echoing through the speakers of my parents’s car, no notes accompanying lively family gatherings, no familiar beats pulsing through my headphones. It drifted like background noise in department stores or sneaked its way into movie scores, but it never felt like something I could claim as my own. Instead, we had the richness of hip-hop, R&B, gospel, and soul — music that narrated our stories and captured the essence of home.
Then, out of the blue, Lil Nas X burst onto the scene with “Old Town Road.”
At first, I was left in a state of confusion. A Black artist donning a cowboy hat, rapping over a beat infused with country flair? It was undeniably catchy, yet it felt more like a clever remix rather than an authentic entry into the genre. But I wasn’t alone in my skepticism. The country music industry reacted vehemently, with Billboard removing “Old Town Road” from their country charts, asserting that it didn’t fit their narrow definition of the genre. It was like an unspoken declaration—this space isn’t meant for you.
But Billboard underestimated the song’s potential to soar. People of color rallied behind “Old Town Road,” transforming it into a cultural phenomenon. For the first time, I began to see country music through a fresh perspective—not as an exclusionary fortress but as a welcoming landscape people who looked like me could enter and redefine. Yet, I still hesitated to dive headfirst into the genre.
That pivotal moment planted a seed, but it wasn’t until Beyoncé — the very epitome of Black excellence — released “Texas Hold ‘Em” that everything shifted for me. Her audacious embrace of country music made me pause and reflect. If Beyoncé, a woman who has shaped various musical eras, could so confidently immerse herself in the country music genre, perhaps my preconceived notions had been misguided.
When Shaboozey’s “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” came along, suddenly, it all fell into place. His music seamlessly fused the storytelling essence of country with the swagger and confidence of hip-hop, demonstrating that country music could transcend a single identity. It was evolving, and Black artists were not merely participating—they were at the helm of this transformation. That was the moment when I decided to embark on a deeper exploration.
I discovered Kane Brown, whose smooth amalgamation of country and R&B introduced comfort to the genre I had never experienced before. I listened closely to Mickey Guyton, whose poignant lyrics illuminated the struggles of being a Black woman in a field that rarely allows space for artists like her. I revisited Darius Rucker, a voice I had encountered previously but had never fully absorbed, realizing how he broke barriers as one of the few Black country stars to achieve widespread acclaim. My journey extended beyond just the artists — I delved into the history of country music.
I unearthed that Black musicians have been instrumental to country music from its very inception. I learned that the banjo, one of the most iconic instruments associated with the country music genre, has African roots intertwined with its sound. It was clear to me that Black artists played a vital role in shaping country music, but had been obscured from the mainstream narrative. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like an outsider any longer.
I once believed that country music wasn’t for people like me because it didn’t tell our stories. Now, I recognize that this perception was a misconception. Country music is storytelling — it’s a tapestry woven from threads of pain and resilience, struggle and triumph. It captures the essence of home, whether that home is a sprawling farm in Tennessee or a bustling city apartment far removed from the countryside. And if there’s one thing people of color understand deeply, it’s resilience.
So now, when I hear the soulful twang of Beyoncé’s voice reverberating over a steel guitar or Shaboozey’s powerful delivery resonating through a country beat, I no longer feel disconnected. Instead, I find myself standing in a space that has always belonged to Black people — one that history attempted to erase, but that we are now reclaiming, song by song.