On Cowboy Carter, Beyoncé Proves the Lemonade Was Worth the Squeeze

After
releasing
seven
industry-defining
solo
albums,
selling
out
stadium
tours,
launching
multi-million
dollar
businesses,
sustaining
a
power-couple
marriage,
and
raising
her
own
children,
Beyoncé’s
latest
album
surprisingly
opens
with
her
in
a
place
of
rejection
and
heartbreak.

Cowboy
Carter’s
first
track,
“Ameriican
Requiem”
intimately
reveals
an
icon
moving
through
the
grief
of
exclusion.
Over
a
sonic
deluge
of
triumphant
guitar
strings
and
powerful
gospel
riffs,
Yoncé
croons,
“Used
to
say
I
spoke
‘too
country,’
and
the
rejection
came,
said
I
wasn’t
country
‘nough.
Said
I
wouldn’t
saddle
up,
but
if
that
ain’t
country,
tell
me
what
is?”
She’s
notably
referencing
the

2016
Grammy
committee’s
decision
to
reject
“Daddy
Lessons”
from
eligibility
into
the
awards’
country
categories,
and
the
backlash
she
received
for
performing
at
the
CMA
Awards.
On
“American
Requiem,”
Beyonce
lyrically
takes
aim
at
her
latest
round
of
critics,
the
gatekeepers
of
the
country
genre,
while
also
making
it
clear
she
never
needed
their
validation
to
begin
with.
She’s
“the
grandbaby
of
a
moonshine
man,
Gadsden,
Alabama.
Got
folks
down
in
Galveston,
rooted
in
Louisiana,”
she
explains,
proving
her
roots
are
right
in
the
heart
of
Dixie
Land.

Beyoncé
performs
with
The
Chicks
at
the
2016
CMA
Awards.

The
reality
is,
the
only
force
that
could
attempt
to
keep
a
country
girl
like
Beyoncé
out
of
country
music
is
racism,
and
Beyoncé
has
the
perfect
response
to
that
evil:
vanquish
it
with
the
strength
of
her
own
God-given
talent.
It
starts
with
even
reclaiming
the
name
Beyoncé
for
her
bloodline,
which
was
actually
the
maiden
name
of
her
mother,

Celesine
Beyonce
(known
to
us
as
Tina
Knowles).
The
name
was
misspelled

Beyince
on
a
few
of
their
family
members’
birth
certificates,
and
doctors
refused
to
change
the
name
back
because
they
were
Black,
according
to
Beyoncé’s
mother.
Little
did
they
know,
the
name

Beyoncé
would
become
a
household
staple
just
one
generation
later.
Fittingly,
Beyoncé
rocks
a
“Beyince”
pageant
sash
on
the
cover
of

Cowboy
Carter,
calling
attention
not
only
to
the
name
that
was
denied
her
people,
but
also
to
the
genre
she
was
locked
out
of.
In
27
tracks,
Beyoncé
invites
us
into
her
American
Dream,
where
Black
women
are
free
to
own
the
multidimensionality
of
our
identities
right
alongside
her.
Beyoncé
is
churchy,
country,
and
cunty,
and
her
audacity
to
define
herself
with
all
those
seeming
contradictions
is
real
freedom.

Brittney
Spencer.

Tanner
Adell. 

But
freedom
isn’t
freedom
unless
you’re
willing
to
take
others
right
along
with
you.
In
true
benevolent
queen
fashion,
Bey
took
her
rejection
from
the
industry
and
transmuted
it
into
many
seats
at
the
table
for
other
Black
country
artists.
Tanner
Addell,
who
is
featured
on
“Blackbiird,”
a
remake
of
the
classic
1968
Beatles
song,
said
that
Beyoncé’s
announcing
plans
for
a
country-themed
project
positively
influenced
streams
on
her
own
songs.
On
February
20,
Addell
said
in
a
TikTok
her
songs
“Buckle
Bunny”
and
“Love
You
a
Little
Bit”

saw
a
188
percent
increase
in
streaming
activity
that
month,
after
Beyonce’s
“Texas
Hold
‘Em”
made
history
as

the
first
song
to
top
country’s
Billboard
charts
by
a
Black
female
artist.
Other
prominent
country
voices
and
artists
featured
on

Cowboy
Carter
include
Brittney
Spencer,
instrumentalist
Reyna
Roberts,
Tiera
Kennedy,
and
banjoist
Rhiannon
Giddens.

While
holding
it
down
for
the
modern
country
girls,
Bey
also
pays
homage
to
the
old
guards
of
the
genre
by
including
stars
like
Willie
Nelson
and
Dolly
Parton
on
the
album.
Sure,
you
can
try
to
lock
Beyoncé
out
of
country
music,
but
what
about
Dolly
Parton?
No
way.
Parton
makes
her
debut
on

Cowboy
Carter
during
an
interlude
leading
into
Beyonce’s
raw
and
scorching
rendition
of
“Jolene.”
“Ya
know
that
hussie
with
the
good
hair
you
sang
about?
Reminded
me
of
someone
I
knew
back
when,
except
she
has
flaming
locks
of
auburn
hair,”
Dolly
says
in
her
comforting
Southern
twang.
In
Beyoncé’s
take
on
the
1973
track,
she
personalizes
the
lyrics
to
include

“I’m
still
a
Creole
banjee
bitch
from
Lousianne.”
While
Dolly
never

quite
said
those
words,
by
her
own
admission,
Beyoncé’s
mental
tussle
with
Becky
is
not
too
different
from
her
own
rumble
with
Jolene.
“Just
a
hair
of
a
different
color
but
it
hurts
just
the
same,”
Dolly
says.
In
one
brief
22-second
interlude,
Beyoncé
joins
together
not
only
generations
of
country,
but
also
women
from
every
cultural
background.
Any
woman
can
relate
to
the
fiery
rage
of
seeing
your
man
with
another
woman,
okay?

Beyoncé
includes
another
classic
voice
in
country,
Linda
Martell,
on
the
interlude

The
Linda
Martell
Show
right
before
the
album
bounces
off
to
the
musically
energetic
track,
“Ya
Ya.”
Linda
Martell
(née
Thelma
Bynem),
is
a
Black
woman
from
South
Carolina
who
had
a
country
single
on
the
charts
in
1969,
but
was
still
subjected
to
racist
heckling
down
South
by
fans
who
only
wanted
to
see
white
faces
on
stage,
she
told


Rolling
Stone
in
2020.
Now,
the
82-year-old
hands
Beyoncé
the
baton
and
assists
her
in
defining
the
genre
she
has
now
reclaimed
for
herself.
Linda’s
voice
is
introduced
shortly
after
sound
effects
of
applause
and
whistles
(a
vast
departure
from
the
boos
and
racial
epithets
Linda
faced
in
her
early
days).

“Ladies,
and
gentleman,
this
particular
tune
stretches
across
a
range
of
genres,
and
that’s
what
makes
it
a
unique
listening
experience,”
Linda
says,
before
the
opening
of
“Ya
Ya,”
a
bumping,
funky,
dance
tune
that
paints
a
picture
of
Beyonce’s
ideal
America:
one
that
is
filled
with
ass
shaking
and
Beach
Boys-level

good
vibrations.
Sounds
like
a
good
time
to
me.
And
the
best
thing
about
a
Beyoncé
party
is
that
everyone,
in
all
their
fullness,
is
invited,
too.
An
All-American
hoe-down
that
no
soul
can
be
barred
from—that’s
a
grace
Beyoncé
gives
America
as
a
sonic
olive
branch
of
forgiveness,
even
if
the
same
Southern
hospitality
wasn’t
granted
to
her
just
a
few
years
ago.

Linda
Martell
circa
1969.

In

Cowboy
Carter,
we
witness
Beyoncé
make
lemonade
out
of
rejection
by
shattering
the
very
box
the
henchmen
of
country
music
tried
to
imprison
her
in.
The
album,
which
is
not
a
country
album,
but
a
Beyoncé
album
(as
the
queen
said
herself),
unleashes
another
layer
of
the
Houston
native’s
multi-dimensionality
into
the
world,
and
she
invites
us
to
embrace
our
range
right
along
with
her.
Pulling
influences
from
Blues,
Jazz,
R&B,
Country,

Opera,
Hip-Hop,
Funk,
and
at
times
cathedral-level
orchestration
and
vocals,
is
a
way
Beyoncé
shows
reverence
for
her
own
multi-cultural
ancestry
as
a
Black
woman
from
the
South
with
Creole
blood.

Cowboy
Carter
is
as
much
of
a
musical
melting
pot
as
Beyoncé
is,
as
this

very
country
is.
How
fitting
it
is
for
her
to
share
with
us
how
she
holds
the
expanse
of
American
music
and
American
history
peacefully
in
her
own
body.
We
all
need
to
take
notes.
At
a
time
when
the
real
history
of
this
country
is
being
ripped
out
of
libraries
and

burned
in
flames,
Beyoncé
reclaims
sovereignty
over
the
one
power
Black
folks
have
had
since
the
beginning
of
time:
our
storytelling.
And
the
story
of
us
begins
with
defining
ourselves,
even
when
folks
tell
you
that
you
don’t
fit
in
where
you
belong.

In
“Protector,”
a
track
featuring
Beyoncé’s
younger
daughter,
Rumi,
Bey
belts
out
a
soothing
porch
lullaby
about
legacy:

“There’s
a
long
line
of
hands
carrying
your
name,”
she
sings.

Cowboy
Carter
is
an
ode
to
all
the
forgotten
and
suppressed
names
that
carried
her
own
family,
from
Southern
slavery
to
American
pop
idol
status.
With
her
unprecedented
work
ethic
and
divine-level
gifts,
Beyoncé
has
ensured
that
her
children
will
never
be
excluded
from
owning
the
fullness
of
their
own
identities
as
Black
people
from
the
South
the
way
she
was.
One
of
many
generational
curses,
broken.
From
protective
porch
mama
bear
to
alien
superstar,
Beyoncé
owns
all
of
herself,
and
if
that’s
too
much
for
mainstream
culture
to
swallow,
they
can
choke.
As
a
Black
woman
with
southern
roots
myself
(my
grandparents
are
from
Mississippi
and
Georgia,
respectively),
in
the
last
few
years,
I’ve
learned
to
embrace
the
wide
expanse
of
my
identity,
too.
After
spending
the
majority
of
my
adulthood
in
L.A.
and
NY,
I’ve
opted
to
slow
down
and
spend
the
last
few
months
in
my
native
Ohio,
mesmerized
by
the
edgeless
empty
fields
and
thick
forests.
I
hear
folks
from
the
coast
often
tease
country
folk,
saying,
“There’s
nothing
to
do
there.”
Well,
I’ve
learned
for
myself
that
wisdom
is
born
from
the
country
because
something
about
the
infinite
space
gives
the
mind
room
to
roam
big.
It’s
from
this
same
tradition
Beyoncé’s
creativity
was
drawn.
It’s
about
time
folks
understand
that
the
southern
drawl
holds
the
language
of
the
past
and
the
future.