Album Review: There’s A New Sheriff in Town, and Her Name is ‘COWBOY CARTER’

On Instagram, Beyoncé declared, “This ain't a Country album. This is a Beyoncé album,” and she delivered on that promise. A massive 27-track record, COWBOY CARTER touches on family, religion, romance, adultery, America’s shortfalls, and Beyoncé’s reputation, backed by swarths of eclectic instrumentals from twanging banjos and fiddles.

Written by Sydney Meier

Image courtesy of Parkwood Entertainment

A genre fixed in Black creativity, “country” music was conceptualized in the early 1900s by enslaved Black communities by fusing blues, folk, and bluegrass. Many country music classics like “This Land is Your Land” were adapted from enslaved Black peoples' slave spirituals, field songs, religious hymnals, or the works of professional Black songwriters. This origin was washed away in favor of commercial success through White artists via White industry executives. Not only were White artists like the Carter Family, Woody Guthrie, and Hank Williams favored, but there was an active effort to exclude Black artists from the genre. However, the fight for the Black reclamation of country music never wavered. The addition of Beyoncé Knowles-Carter’s act ii: COWBOY CARTER to the conversation has brought much-needed attention to audience-based prioritization of racially diverse artists that aim to reclaim non-White, and especially Black genres that White Americans co-opted. And who could say no to the Beyoncé putting the cunt in country?

Touching on titular aspects of country music like religion and patriotic symbols while subverting listener expectations with looping instrumental antiquity and gospel ties, Beyoncé opens and closes out her eighth studio album with a tidy yet tattered bow that acknowledges the tumultuous past but promising future for both America and country music.

Beyoncé introduces the listener to the world of COWBOY CARTER with “AMERIICAN REQUIEM,” slapping them in the face with intense, layered vocals complemented by a godly organ. A “requiem” honors the dead and embraces remembrance, so attaching “American” to the concept primes the audience for the conversation to come. The track sees Knowles-Carter embrace her familial roots within America from “Gadsden, Alabama” and “Galveston” to “Louisiana.” Akin to its entrance, another emotional pairing between a bare piano and impassioned vocal layering accompanies its outro as she bids goodbye “to what has been / A pretty house that we never settled in” and declares she is “the one to cleanse [her] of [her] Father’s sins.” Although these lyrics might refer to Beyoncé’s personal life, they depict an idealized America with the "pretty house" and highlight how people of color, represented by "we," were never given a fair chance to settle in this “pretty house.” She encourages herself and those around her to cleanse themselves of their “Father’s sins,” referring to the founding fathers and not her actual father. To achieve freedom, liberty, and justice for all, Americans must acknowledge our collective past and look for areas of progression because it “ain’t the time to pretend.”

Honing in on the commonplace references to Christianity within country music, COWBOY CARTER’s outro “AMEN” calls back to the messages put in place by the introductory track A vintage horn on a loop plus purposeful piano notes back prodigious vocals pleading for mercy. Coming full circle, listeners take a trip back to “AMERIICAN REQUIEM”’s “pretty house”; however, after completing Beyoncé’s lessons in American history, “AMEN” calls back to the country’s Black and Indigenous roots, proclaiming, “This house was built with blood and bone.” The inspirational track closes with an interpolation of “AMERIICAN REQUIEM”’s last verse: “Say a prayer for what has been / We'll be the ones to purify our Fathers' sins / American Requiem / Them old ideas (Yeah) are buried here (Yeah) / Amen (Amen).” The track ends with the bold statement that America’s progression is not and can not be an individual effort but a collective one.

Drawing on “AMERIICAN REQUIEM” and “AMEN”’s lifeline of revolution and necessary unrest, “BLACKBIIRD” delivers a much-deserved spotlight on Black women in country music, a demographic continuously pushed out of male and White-dominated areas. In his book “Many Years From Now,” McCartney explains that the song’s lyrics were about “a [B]lack woman, rather than a bird. This was a song from me to a [B]lack woman experiencing these problems in the States: 'Let me encourage you to keep trying, to keep your faith, there is hope.'" Beyoncé carries McCartney’s original message into her cover of the 1968 classic and, with lullaby-like runs and harmonies, reassures Black female artists fighting for recognition that it will come. Stripped vocals, a tapping heel serving as a metronome, and the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar carry listeners into the performance. Black women are at the center of this album and the core of this track. With features from Tanner Adell, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy, and Reyna Roberts, the Houston native platforms four Black female country singers on the third verse as their voices stunningly unite, voicing “All your life / You were only waiting for this moment to arise.”

Genre-blending stands as the central instrumental strategy throughout the album, fusing country, folk, blues, R&B, Hip-hop, and pop music. Although the theme is prominent throughout the record, Knowles-Carter features an introduction from Linda Martell — the first commercially successful Black female country artist — on “SPAGHETTII” and “YA YA” as a prelude for the genre-melding of later tracks.

The former brings forth a mouthwatering mixture of heavy hip-hop production, steel and acoustic guitars, woodwinds, and string instruments, with the occasional “Western” whistle. A fierce Beyoncé allows herself a moment of grace to call out those who dare to cross her: “Now we on a mission, tried to turn me to the opposition / I'm appalled 'bout the proposition / Y'all been played by the plagiaristic, ain't gonna give no clout addiction my attention.” Her position on those in the mood to defame her name, family, and artistry is made abundantly clear: making threats, not promises, and maintaining loyalty to her community. The trap-country instruments begin to pull back as shots from guns and cameras blaze, and Shaboozey, a Nigerian-American singer and rapper best known for bridging Hip-hop and country music, stands tall with Beyoncé as a united front against their and their community’s opposition. He euphonically recites, “We gon' ride for every member that we lose / Someone here brought fire, ain't no tellin' who (Oh) / Play it cool.” The audience has turned their attention to the artists and their proclamation of unflinching loyalty. Whether that loyalty is to friends, family, or lovers does not matter as its importance is tenacious.

The latter runs four minutes and 35 seconds of unadulterated, raucous energy, beginning with an instantly recognizable sample from Nancy Sinatra’s “These Boots Are Made for Walkin” and a refrain containing an interpolation of The Beach Boys “Good Vibrations.” These additions nod to the music and political strife of 1960s America, explicitly referencing segregation and poor working conditions. There is not a moment where this energy wavers as “YA YA” tacitly transitions into “OH LOUISIANA” with electric guitar, raspy vocal ad-libs, and the ever-present “ya ya ya ya ya”’s. Verse one examines America’s less-than-clean history regarding oppression, and its keenness to erase history that does not fit its self-perpetuated “perfection.” Popular country songs like “American Heart” by Faith Hill, “Color Me America” by Dolly Parton, and “God Bless the USA” by Lee Greenwood use a similar revisionist history when discussing America. Some artists like Jason Aldean and his song “Try That In A Small Town” even go as far as praising America’s racism, sexism, and homophobia. Beyoncé chooses to take the typical country music narrative and turn it on its head by acknowledging the “Whole lotta red in that white and blue,” referencing the blood it took to get America to its status. America’s “History can’t be erased,” no matter how hard those in and out of power might try.

What fans theorized as a cheeky nod to the rumored relationship between Beyoncé and her bodyguard Julius de Boer, “BODYGUARD” carries a passion typical of Beyoncé’s love songs, particularly RENAISSANCE’s “PLASTIC OFF THE SOFA.” The track’s protagonist offers her lover protection as a bodyguard by being his “Kevlar,” protecting him “in the mosh pit” and “defend [him] in the gossip” as a testament to their intimate emotional and physical bond. Backed by an electric guitar and a güiro, “BODYGUARD” serves a sensual proclamation of love.

Adorned with a heavenly bass line straight from 70s funk, “DESERT EAGLE” is an erotic interlude leading into the final section of COWBOY CARTER. The horny hymn unabashedly includes blatant sexual references, such as performing the “Desert Eagle in the backseat” and comparing the Girl Scout cookie to the protagonist's partner going down on her (“Do-si-do and it get creamy in the middle, yeah / One bite and the box is yours). The second entry of the three-parter, “SWEET ★ HONEY ★ BUCKIIN’,” observes Beyoncé, occasionally accompanied by Pharrell Williams, sensually boasting about her sex life above much slower tempo instrumentals than its precursor. Beyoncé takes the audience along on her journey of reminiscing about her relationships' early stages while remaining ignorant of what is to come.

A stark contrast to Lemonade’s “fuck you” attitude regarding her partner's audacity to commit an act of infidelity against her, COWBOY CARTER molds this anger for her cheating partner into bitterness towards the other woman in “JOLENE” and “TYRANT.”

Both songs feature the renowned queen of country music, Dolly Parton. “JOLENE” is a cover of Parton’s 1973 hit, and “TYRANT” features the icon herself. The original “Jolene” was a vulnerable expression of intimidation towards the titular Jolene, combined with a feeling of fright for the possibility of Jolene taking a man that Parton loved dearly. Rather than a vulnerable confession, Beyoncé spews cocky vitriol towards 2024’s “JOLENE” for even attempting to break apart her marriage or assuming it was within JOLENE’s power to do so. The singer makes an unnecessary concession: “I can easily understand / Why you’re attracted to my man,” as JOLENE is more interested in his marital status than his physical looks. Beyoncé places the responsibility for a potentially broken marriage on JOLENE; however, the responsibility for a successful marriage belongs to her husband, not his mistress. The 2024 cover of “JOLENE” does away with the openness in turn for a warning to any “Jolene” that tries to come between Beyoncé, her man, and their family, while Dolly Parton’s “Jolene” displays an ashamed admission of feeling threatened, while Beyoncé proudly wears a “he knows where home is” attitude against those who aim to “dig up [their] planted seeds.”

“TYRANT” has Beyoncé become the eponymous tyrant begging her “Hangman” (her partner’s mistress) to answer her call. Dolly Parton’s feature consists of a few spoken lines, encouraging “Cowboy Carter” to “strike a match and light up this juke joint,” relinquishing herself from the expectations of those around her. Beyoncé’s relationship was a victim of the “Hangman,” and she clarifies to the other woman that she doesn’t “want him back, but [she] can’t let go.” Backed with a fiddle blended with a heavy hip-hop production by David Doman, the tyrant feels slighted, announcing, “You owe me a debt, you stole him from me,” then shamefully admitting, “I hated you once, I envy you now” and finally begs the Hangman to “Just tell me how, tell me how.” After the first verse establishes the groundwork necessary for the plot, the song seduces listeners, witnessing Beyoncé ride her man like hydraulics before concluding her desperate inquiry left hanging in the air. The story ends with the tyrant in anguish and insisting, “Hangman, teach me how not to cry / How not to cry, how not to cry.” A storyline somehow more akin to “Jolene” than Beyoncé’s actual cover, “TYRANT” displays the heartbreaking journey of a woman trying to get past infidelity within a relationship by putting herself in an impossible competition with her husband's “other woman.”

For every song about infidelity, Beyoncé follows with a song about reluctant forgiveness, stifled resentment, and, ultimately, the necessary end of a relationship.

“RIIVERDANCE” takes inspiration from an Irish Riverdance with a strumming guitar, heavy beat, and playful piano backing a whopping eight verses that dissect the death of a relationship. She grieves the loss of the person she thought she knew but eventually forgives him against her better judgment: “I died and someone brought me back to life / But never to my senses.” However, the tables turn as the protagonist is now the one holding the gun (or the power) against her partner and “shot [him] down.” In response, “he cried the day he realized / That lies were hidden in my kisses.” The mutual destruction of a relationship has begun, but the relationship does not end, it just remains in emotional limbo as they have become codependent and do not want to live without the other. A refrain and an occasional chorus punctuate each verse, giving the listener a moment to breathe as Beyoncé heartbreakingly recounts the inevitable ending of a relationship. Knowles-Carter incorporates a delectable amount of bass in her voice as she repeats, “Bounce on that shit, dance / Bounce on that shit, no hands” and “Runnin’ through the river / Runnin’ through the river with you, dance.” A terrifying conclusion to a tumultuous relationship, “RIIVERDANCE” destroys a listener's emotional palate while cleansing it immediately after.

Family is a consistent, candid theme throughout Beyoncé’s discography, and COWBOY CARTER is no exception. It does a spectacular job transitioning from familial relationships with her mother and father to her husband and children.

The second entry of the two singles from the record, “16 CARRIAGES,” effectively uses instrumentals, vocals, and lyrics to describe being forced to mature faster than your physical age. When describing her younger years, Beyoncé pulls back the vocals and instrumentals to represent her emotional vulnerability, disclosing, “At fifteen, the innocence was gone astray / Had to leave my home at an early age.” Childhood trivialities forced “All [her] tender problems, had to leave behind.” The singer saw “Mama cryin’, [she] saw Daddy lyin’,” but her trauma and tribulations from a long-gone past do not hold her back from achieving her dreams. Powerful static drum beats serve as stomping boots running faster and faster toward her end goal, making all her sacrifice worth it: “legacy.”

Proving the apple doesn't fall that far from the tree, “DAUGHTER” addresses the dreaded trope of becoming your father. Beyoncé meets her husband’s mistress for the first time in the bathroom of an event, and at first, listeners observe the situation’s aftermath as Beyoncé notices “bloodstains on [her] custom coutures.” Soon after this admission, the reason for the fight is revealed — “But your arrogance disturbed my solitude” — as audiences are thrown right back to the repercussions. Beyoncé harks back, defiantly [word for singing that isn’t singing] “I ripped your dress and you’re all black and blue / Look what you made me do.” Like her father before her, Beyonce declares herself “the furthest thing from choir boys and alters,” and if you “cross [her], [she’s] just like [her] father” because she runs “colder than Titanic water.” The bridge approaches, string instruments begin to swell, and Beyoncé assumes another genre as she recites a famous aria, “Caro Mio Ben,” in operatic vocal surges and swings. “DAUGHTER” acts as a cinematic culmination of a daughter's journey toward assuming the angry role her father left vacant. Growing up under the magnifying lens of an enraged man can create familiarity and comfort in rage — a rage that manifests when protecting yourself and those you love.

For every fantastic track on COWBOY CARTER, there is a track that could be cut, making for a more digestible album. An extensive album packed with 27 tracks overwhelms the average listener, giving them an excuse not to witness this genre-bending addition. It’s a commitment that some are unwilling to make, potentially isolating a wider audience. On long, plot-driven albums, fun pop singles like “TEXAS HOLD ‘EM” and “LEVII’S JEANS” would serve as nice palate cleansers. However, COWBOY CARTER already has five interludes to accomplish a necessary and appreciated break, so the addition seems excessive. While Beyoncé’s cover of “BLACKBIIRD” serves as a refreshing reminder of Black women’s rightful place in country music, “JOLENE” feels like a last-minute add-on that takes away the appeal of Dolly Parton’s original. For an album with no central storyline, the existence of 27 songs needs to feel intentional to be justified, and sadly, COWBOY CARTER bit off more than it could chew.

Although it would not have hurt the LP to trim down on excessive tracks, if a listener needed a piece of music to satisfy any mood possible, just pull up this album and queue the specific songs that curate the desired sensation. The positives far outweigh the negatives because it is, obviously, a Beyoncé album, but that does not mean it goes without criticism. COWBOY CARTER is a necessary step toward the broader goal of diversifying country music in terms of the artists telling the stories and the audiences that consume them. The Black origins of country music have been ignored for far too long, and the barriers to entering the genre as a Black artist have only grown. However, with a name as iconic as Beyoncé reclaiming what is rightfully hers and her community’s, the flame of Black country is kept alive.

REVIEWSAfterglow ATXApril 11, 2024sydney meier, album review, beyonce