The New Yorker Radio Hour - Emily Nussbaum on the Culture Wars in Country Music

Episode Date: August 4, 2023

Last month, the country singer Jason Aldean released a music video for “Try That in a Small Town,” a song that initially received little attention. But the video cast the song’s lyrics in a new light. While Aldean sings, “Try that in a small town / See how far ya make it down the road / ’Round here, we take care of our own,” images of protests against police brutality are interspersed with Aldean singing outside a county courthouse where a lynching once took place. Aldean’s defenders—and there are many—say the song praises small-town values and respect for the law, rather than promoting violence and vigilantism. The controversy eventually pushed the song to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 chart. The staff writer Emily Nussbaum has been reporting from Nashville throughout the past few months on the very complicated politics of country music. On the one hand, she found a self-perpetuating culture war, fuelled by outrage; on the other, there’s a music scene that’s diversifying, with increasing numbers of women, Black artists, and L.G.B.T.Q. performers claiming country music as their own. “I set out to talk about music, but politics are inseparable from it,” Nussbaum tells David Remnick. “The narrowing of commercial country music to a form of pop country dominated by white guys singing a certain kind of cliché-ridden bro country song—it’s not like I don’t like every song like that, but the absolute domination of that keeps out all sorts of other musicians.” Nussbaum also speaks with Adeem the Artist, a nonbinary country singer and songwriter based in East Tennessee, who has found success with audiences but has not broken through on mainstream country radio. “I think that it’s important that people walk into a music experience where they expect to feel comforted in their bigotry and they are instead challenged on it and made to imagine a world where different people exist,” Adeem says. “But, as a general rule, I try really hard to connect with people even if I’m making them uncomfortable.” New Yorker Radio Hour listeners, we want to hear from you.  We have a few questions about the show and how you listen to it. The survey takes about twenty minutes, and your feedback will help us make our podcast better.  Take the survey here.

This is The New Yorker Radio Hour, a co-production of WNYC Studios and The New Yorker. Welcome to The New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick. The country singer Jason Aldeen released a song called Try That in a Small Town, and at first, it didn't get any particular attention. But last month, a music video for the song came out, produced by a company called Tackle Box Films. The video put Aldeen's song in a very different light. It featured footage of protests that followed the killing of George Floyd, and it was filmed at a county courthouse where a lynching once took place.

So lyrics like, try that in a small town, see how far you make it down the road. Well, it seemed to be celebrating vigilantism and violence. Some have even said that the song is pro-lynching. Aldean's defenders, and there are many, say the song praises, all-town values and respect for the law. A few seconds of the protest footage were later removed, and the controversy helped push the song to number one on Billboard's Hot 100 chart. Staff writer Emily Nussbaum, a huge fan of country music, has been in Nashville over the last few months, reporting on the very complicated politics of country music right now. On the one

hand, there's a culture war like the battles surrounding the Aldine song. On the other hand, there's a music that's actually diversifying with more women, more black artists, more LGBT performers, claiming country music as their own. Now, Emily, you described Nashville as a town midway through a bloody metamorphosis. What did you mean by that?

Well, when I first went down to Nashville, I was primarily going down there because there was a bunch of different artists who I was interested in. I was interested in all this Americana, and I mainly wanted to write about the rise of outsider artists and the kind of a new outlaw in country music. In Nashville terms, what does that mean?

What I mean is the kinds of musicians who, both because of their identity and the kind of music they play and their politics, are outside the mainstream of what's on country radio. A lot of them, women, black country artists, queer country artists. But what I found when I got there was that the city itself was a secondary subject for the piece, because the city has changed radically within the century, but definitely within the last couple of years,

especially since the pandemic. There's been this massive political change that has to do with the state of Tennessee as well and with the governor of Tennessee. And there's also been tremendous gentrification and the two things overlapped. And they're inseparable from the dynamics within the country scene, which really do have this culture war split

between people on various sides. Are you saying that Nashville's movement left? Well, Nashville's a blue city. Nashville has traditionally been a blue bubble within a red state. Like Austin or something. Yeah. I mean, this is a common dynamic throughout the country, but

there's a city-state clash that's been going on. And again, this is stuff that I learned really while I was down there because I set out to talk about music, but politics are inseparable from it. And there really was all this stuff going on, including the fact that Nashville's

become a magnet for right-wing figures like the daily wire move there during the pandemic or just after the pandemic started. And the governor is really trying to crush the blueness of the city, like the city council turned down. They refused to host the RNC. And so the governor essentially vowed revenge. And the whole state is so gerrymandered that it's become impossible for people to fight these policies. But the Nashville scene that you saw. that you spent a lot of time experiencing in clubs and studios

and the people's homes and all the rest is something much more variegated, much more interesting. It's not all Toby Keith and Morgan Wall. Not at all. And actually, that's to me... So how is that diversification come about? And what is the scene actually like now? Well, I focused on a bunch of different groups of musicians,

but in the aggregate, I focused a lot on female singer-songwriters, the extreme expansion and prominence of black country artists, often in Americana, but also in mainstream country, and a really vibrant queer country community. And also, there are many more mainstream stars who have come out. These are three groups that have very different types of issues structurally. But the main thing is they play a wide variety of really vibrant music that includes the kinds of things that often don't go on country radio, which include a more stripped-down kind of production style. But also lyrics about all sorts of experience. And are there audiences correspondingly big?

I mean, I don't know their exact audiences. Definitely people who play a Americana are playing for a passionate, loving audience, and there is a way to make a living in it, but it does not have the commercial force of what's called Music Row that goes on to country radio. So it's a different economic calculation. But the big stars of Americana, like Jason Isbell, are huge stars that I'm sure a lot of our listeners know about. But beyond Jason, there's an enormous community of great musicians that have no chance of getting onto. terrestrial country radio, but people should seek out. Because it's... Who are your favorites? I mean, some people I like are mainstream country stars, like Ashley McBride and Casey Musgraves and Marin Morris. And Marin Morris has been pretty vocal about social issues.

How has that affected her career? Marin Morris is the standout right now on the commercial side of it, on the people who get played on country radio. She's been a vocal, progressive advocate for all sorts of things. I want my fellow country music artists, an artist in general, to understand that inclusivity is not only the right thing, but it's good for business. You open yourself up and your sound to a much larger audience, even if you lose some along the way. And that hasn't hurt her. It has absolutely, she's gotten huge pushback.

I mean... It's hurt her in a serious way? Well, she wasn't at the... I mean, this year alone, she was... I mean, Jason Aldeen, who... people may be familiar with from this recent stuff going on with the song of his. He got into a clash with her. He and his wife, who are very maga, conservative, people got into a clash with her online. She called him, she called his wife, um, Insurrection Barbie. And, and they both

sold t-shirts off this clash. And he had people at his concerts boo her. So there's definitely that. But, you know, he was at the last, I think it was the AMC Awards. And she was not. She, you know, and when I, I don't know exactly what she's going to do or where she's going to be, but... Well, now she... Marin Morris is now working with Jack Antonoff, who's a pop music producer. Do you find that some of these musicians

who are in country and have more progressive politics move from country to pop just as, you know, so many have before? I mean, there's a strong dynamic, especially... Taylor Swift, for one?

Yeah, especially of women in country music, essentially the space for them with interrestrial country music, music is small, the pressures on them, and the expectations for their behavior are narrow and punitive. And so inevitably, they either choose or get pushed out and end up becoming more in the pop sphere. And so this is not just Taylor Swift, it's Brandy Carlyle, it's Casey Musgraves, who did the same thing. And I don't know whether Marin Morris is going to end up doing more pop stuff. That's not for me to say.

So you're saying their musical evolution, they were pushed into it almost for political... career reasons. I think it depends on the individual person why they ended up leaving. Honestly, when I first started talking to people in Nashville, one of the questions that I just could not get over was people kept saying, well, you know, women are a less commercial prospect and country radio. And, you know, there's this guy that I interviewed for it who was a radio consultant. And there was a big blowup about this because in 2015, he said, women are like the tomatoes and the salad. And they need to be distributed. variously, and men are the lettuce. I mean, very strange, but the rules in country radio are that you shouldn't put on more than 15% female voices and never two in a row. The actual rules of it are that there are many fewer women in radio. So part of it is just if you want to get your songs out there, it reduces your opportunities. Some people may be more interested in making pop stuff. Some people may not want to be punished for the stuff they say. I mean, I think there are many reasons why people leave country radio. But the frustrating thing is if you love country music and you

love somebody like Marin Morris and Casey Musgraves, like I love Casey Musgraves album. You know, all of these people, I love them playing what to me is in the category of country. And the idea that people would have to leave and find a mainstream audience and go pop in order to be able to breathe is just ridiculous to me. So I could never understand the idea like, how could they possibly be non-commercial. They're huge stars. It seems to be a fascinating connection between what's happening now and what took

place 20 years ago when the Dixie Chicks, they were then the Dixie Chicks, they were then, the Dixie Chicks, who now the chicks, spoke out against the war in Iraq. Just so you know, we're ashamed of the President of the United States is in Texas.

Well, they're not exactly the people your civics teacher would expect to find at the center of a raging debate about free speech in America and whether you can oppose a war and still be a patriot. After all, these three women have been the reigning queens of pop and country music. How did that change country music? Yeah, I think that what happened with the Dixie Chicks had such an incredible lasting echo and sense of fear and set of assumptions that have carried over, which was, to me, surprising, because I was like, you know, that was a long time ago.

Those two decades ago. It came up in many conversations. The basic thing that happened, was that the Dixie Chicks were a massively commercially popular, beloved group from Texas, who were exceptionally great musicians. They made one comment at a concert. I mean, people always talk about it as an early version of cancellation. And the thing just lit on fire, and two things happened. One of them was the Dixie Chicks were pulled off the radio, people burned their albums, but also the country community also turned against them and did not support them.

But in the aftermath of that, the Rardi-Sexeckels, and stringent structural rules about women on country radio became all the more sort of sinister and overwhelming. And the idea of being a female country star became more out of reach and difficult. There are amazing female country stars. They're amazing singer-songwriters in both commercial music and what used to be called Alt Country and is now often called Americana. but the fear of being what people call chicked remains.

And then I'm sorry to go on about this, but you could contrast that with the story of Morgan Wallen, who's very, very popular, bro-country star who's on now. Who when he similarly got criticized in the press, instead of his stuff. Morgan Wallen was supposed to go on Saturday Night Live during the pandemic, and he was party. and not wearing a mask, and so he was pulled off.

Then he went on and apologized for that. Then a video came out of him saying the N-word. And after that, he was briefly pulled off country radio, and people criticized him. And immediately his record shot to the top of the charts. So it was the exact inverse of what happened with the Dixie Chicks. And he's remained an incredibly popular musician. He's part of a group of musicians who dominate commercial country radio

and leaving aside the specific dynamics of his cancellation, the narrowing of commercial country music to a form of pop country dominated by white guys singing a certain kind of cliche-ridden, bro-country song. It's not like I don't like every song like that, but the absolute domination of that keeps out all sorts of other musicians.

I think the most interesting person in your piece, if I had to pick one, is Adim the artist. You describe them as a DIY artist with a punk mentality. So what does that all mean? Yeah, Adim is part of a large community of artists who I think would fit this description. And Adim's great. Adim is a non-binary artist who plays country music, their last album that they self-financed online

where everybody gave in $1. They put out an album that's called White Trash Revelry. And it's a fantastic album. It's really empathetic and funny and provocative and political. And it really broke out at the beginning of the year. And when I first spoke to them, they had just put out the album and were hoping that it would break through. And over the next few months, they were on a million top ten lists and they ended up debuting at the grand old opera. Do they face real resistance in the country music world because of sexuality and the politics of the music? Eddeme is within the category that people often call American.

And I feel like they're embraced by the community there. And the community within Americana is diverse, inclusive, varied, and just more open to different kinds of voices. I don't think A deem has any sense that they could appear on mainstream country radio. And I wish that would change, so that there was more of range. I will say that there's been a big shift in terms of whether mainstream country artists can be out. there are several out gay mainstream country artists including Brandy Carlisle, Brandy Clark,

Shane McAnally, who's one of the most major songwriters. And so I do think that the atmosphere, even on Music Row, has changed about this. Also, T.J. Osborne. I mean, I could name some other names, but it's not just a singular person. But in Americana,

I feel like queer identity and, you know, for instance, singing a love song to somebody of your same gender is not a taboo and is not necessarily pushing the lines in the same way. Well, in fact, you just did an interview

with Adim the Artist, and we're going to hear that right after the break. Fantastic. Past few years, the rent keeps getting higher. And the neighbors all have cars we can't afford it. Emily Nussbaum's essay,

Country Music's Culture Wars, and the remaking of Nashville is at New Yorker.com. We'll continue with Ademe the artist in just a moment. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. Weight goals we might not be here by December. This is the New Yorker Radio Hour. I'm David Remnick.

As the controversy over Jason Aldeens, try that in a small town, blew up. One country artist put out a musical response called Sundown Town. It's a satirical song that seems to praise hatred and ignorance. The song was by Ademe the Artist, a country singer and songwriter based in East Tennessee, who had released a handful of records in the last decade before starting to attract attention. Adim put out the album, White Trash Rebellery late last year,

and performed at the grand old opera in June. The New Yorker's Emily Nussbaum, who recently reported for us on Nashville in the state of country music, talked with Adim the artist. I know you did different kinds of musical jobs before you started putting out country music. You were, I believe, you did music on cruise ships.

Could you tell me a little bit about your power, into country music when you were younger? Oh, yeah, sure. I mean, I really liked country music, but I didn't know how to play the guitar. And then somebody taught me chords at church. I started doing kind of like Counting Crows does gospel night songs. I'd say like probably 13 years ago I moved to Tennessee.

And I think that through that time, like listening to the insubble. decisive political work of Joe Troop, who is an Appalachian picker from the same mountains my family's from, who was openly gay, you know, and not afraid to hold space for both of those things. I think that I felt this sort of like, I don't know, an invitation to participate in this kind of ongoing conversation that was happening in that moment. And so I wrote a collection of songs unsure if they would ever come out. Like I pretty much was just putting it on Patreon.

And I recorded it with these mics that I'm talking into right now. I recorded and produced and mixed and engineered a record called Cast Iron Pan Sexual. I didn't have language for the way I felt. Been taught since I was born to other everybody else. And if I was one of me, I could not be one of them. Rainbow oven boys who chose to live in sin. I'm not saying, And it's because I'm proud.

Never came out. I never came out. And it got a mention in Rolling Stone. And it was like the first time any of that stuff had happened to me. You know, everything else had been like, well, this is cool because it's run by this person who's the cousin of this band that you like. You know what I'm talking to my dad and trying to explain why this blog is exciting to me that they covered me. But telling your dad that you're in Rolling Stone is pretty much just like, oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Cool, that's great.

Into it, proud. Like the Grand Ole Opry of getting journalism. I want to talk about another song, Rednecks, Unread Hicks, which is another very funny, bold song. Everybody gather around got another one here. It's got pronouns listed. It's a genuine queer singing Black Lives Matter to a Jimmy Rogers melody. I'm wondering how audience is reacted.

the song. It's a statement piece about your role in country and a different interpretation seeing the world through a different lens. Yeah. I don't know. I don't play it very often. Really? I mean, it's not, it's not one that I play out a lot. Like, if I can read that the room is in that vibe and that there is a noticeable and verifiable queer presence. You know what I mean, I don't mind making discomfort. You know, when I played at the Ryman, you know, I disparaged some country music artists who I find reprehensible. I won't name them here, but it was Jason Aldeen. Okay. And, you know, people got mad and yelled, but I made a decision to talk about some things that if I hadn't talked about would not have elicited those types of response.

I knowingly made people uncomfortable. Just what did you say? I know it started with me saying the thing that drives me crazy about country music is that people like Jason Aldeen and people cheered. And I said, no, fuck him. You know, so that was kind of the start of this back and forth. Anyway, all that to say. I think that it's important that people walk into a music experience where they expect to feel comforted in their bigotry and are instead challenged on it and made to imagine a world where different people exist.

I think that's good. I'm here for it. I'm ready for it. But as a general rule, I try really hard to connect with people, even if I'm making them uncomfortable. A lot of people are never going to get me or appreciate me or like what I do or respond to what I do. And that's whatever. I don't care. I'm not the best at this. You know what I mean? Like my biggest accolade so far, well, it's probably the Grand Ole Opry thing. But the things that have happened since white trash revelry came out are not things that I dreamed of happening when I put out cast iron pansexual.

Because I came out as non-binary with cast iron's release. because working on those songs made me realize my gender. I realized listening back, like, oh, man, all the ways that I was refusing myself to inhabit a space of queerness because of my marriage, because I'm married to a woman, because I pass a straight in public, that fear of taking up space, that fear of using language that isn't mine, There are a lot of folks significantly more marginalized than I am that I could imagine taking umbrage with my champion of this language. But also it is my identity. It's just who I am.

And I think that having the capacity to do that with my sexuality while also ruminating on gender and telling myself things like, yeah, I don't identify with a gender binary. I never really have, but I don't want to be annoying to my friends and change my pronouns. I don't want to take up space that isn't mine by like calling myself a member of the trans community when there are other people who have like Worst dysphoria than me and who you know what I mean and So I think playing through that same Equation was like a really huge Piece of me being like you know what I just have to be earnest about who I am and and and and

The systems that manipulate and disenfranchise based on those markers have nothing to do with me I mean, they have everything to do with me, but you know what I mean? Like, I can't allow that to dictate what I talk about and what I reveal about myself. You know, a lot of your songs on White Trash Revelry, in really thoughtful, poetic, complex ways are about growing up memories, complicated memories of your family. And I wonder, how has your family responded to the album or also to your... increasing prominence and all the different things that have happened? I mean, they haven't really. My mom doesn't speak to me.

Oh, I'm sorry. Oh, it's okay. She says it's in my best interest, and I accept those terms. My dad was at the Grand Ole Opry. He came. It was lovely. I love my dad, but he and I differ politically just about as much as, as two people could, you know. He was a really fervent Trump supporter and, uh, I think he probably has

a disproportionate amount of friends who he knows the kind of things they say about people like me. And he probably says the same kind of things about people like me. So I think that it really is tough for him because like, you know, he thinks I should be carrying a gun around with me. And, you know, I think that he, he really does. feel concerned. But otherwise, I think he's really, I think he's reluctantly proud of me. I mean, he told me that somebody at work asked him if he ever thought that he'd be going to see me at the Grand Ole Opry. And he said, I didn't think it'd take this long. My dad has believed in me for a long time and thought I was good at this before I was, you know. You have a lot of personal songs on

your album, autobiographical songs. Could you play one of them for us? It's called books and records. And I know it's about selling things off in a state of economic desperation. Oh, yeah. I got to, let me see. What guitar do I have here? The past few years, the rent keeps getting higher. And the neighbors all have cars we can't afford. Working two jobs now, and brother, I stayed tired. We keep always stand to make. A little more The way it goes we might not be here by December We both know there's gonna have to be a break

Price my blood to try and turn back on our power Oh Lord there's gotta be a better way Selling off our books and records Instruments our grandparents play We've been selling off our books and books and records Selling off our books and records, but we're gonna buy them back some. These past you winters have been harder than expected.

Unknown numbers call us all hours of the day. We've both been learning how to cook our suppers cheaper. Stretch it out until the weight goes, I doubt we ever will retire. But the cast iron will be season, we'll buy them. If we're lucky, we'll have moments by the fire. A record on readbooking. And selling off our books and records. Instruments our grandparents play.

Selling off our books and records. Buy them bad. Thank you. That was beautiful. And, you know, I wanted to talk to you a little bit about the class politics of country in Americana. And, I mean, that song's about being broke. But there's this thing that goes on in mainstream country music that's all about the persona of the blue-collar man. Right. And you've written about this a little bit when you've written about people wearing that.

as a costume. You know, I criticized Toby Keith for writing a song called Trailerhood while he was sitting in his big house counting his money out. I mean, these are soft-handed people we're talking about here. And I'm a queer person.

I'm working on a practice of nurturing my femininity. That's me. But I'm also, I have a garage full. of tools and I use them to fix things around the house and to build things for the house to make it more functional. I can't afford to have someone come fix drywall if something falls through the wall. So I do all this stuff. It's like when people call us toothless Hicks. Like liberals say this. They say toothless Hicks and it's like, do you know why we're toothless? It's because of that health care you're always saying you support. We don't have it.

I talk about my Hollywood teeth. I bought myself pop-in veneers when I got a record deal because I was like, I'm going to try to look Hollywood. I can't afford real dental work. I haven't been to a dentist in a decade. So I have these stupid fake white vampire teeth that I pop in before I perform and then I look like I'm not a toothless hick.

You know? It's a weird thing. Why would you deride someone for being born poor. This is reminding me of the Jason L. Dean song called Try That in a Small Town. This really repellent pro-vigilantism song. And Anne Powers, the music critic was tweeting saying, I wonder whether any mainstream country artists are going to come out openly and say that there's a problem with this. And I wonder whether you feel that people in the industry have an obligation to speak up about some of this.

Should Dolly Parton say something? The truth is, I don't know. The truth is, I don't know. I think about this a lot because I don't know, I don't know what anybody's responsibility is to this. Dolly Parton is just a country musician. She's not an activist. Like, I'm not here to talk shit on Dolly Parton.

I'm sure I'm going to get roasted. No, I'm not trying to get you to. I genuinely, I was wondering, just because I was like, is it the obligation of people with that kind of platform and power to talk about what's going on? Is it a different kind of political emergency? I'm not saying that it is, but that's the question that it raises because, and I talk about this in my piece, this is basically a lot of people are like, I don't want to alienate half my audience. I'm not saying that's her motive at all, but she's just an example. I mean, I think anybody that calls themselves anti-racist and that wants to make a more progressive inclusive scene or a more progressive inclusive world that is more equitable for all of us has a responsibility to not prop up shit like Jason Aldine does.

I don't know that they have a responsibility to speak out every time something. and like that happens, because it just keeps happening, you know what I mean? That would be all we talked about. And so it's tough for me sometimes because I don't have this, I don't feel like to criticize people that I respect and admire and look up to equates to me denigrating them. I don't think those are the same thing. We've talked about this before, but you told me that you were planning to leave Tennessee.

Is that still true? and what are your reasons and what's going on with that? Yeah, yeah. It's all very much like a, yeah, eventually we'll leave kind of thing. I think there's a lot of urgency to it because of all the political stuff happening. It's really hard to imagine feeling safe in this state right now. I mean, they just banned HRT and hormone blockers and any type of medicinal care for trans youth under the age of 18 in Tennessee.

They're trying to ban it completely. It's really scary. I mean, our kid uses different pronouns on different days and has a very expansive understanding of gender that is clearly far beyond the zeitgeist of Tennessee's vernacular. Yeah, I mean, it's worrisome. We are homeschooling currently. But it's like, you know, if my kid wants to go to public school,

I want them to have that freedom. And here, I just don't feel like my kid has that freedom. But, I mean, beyond that, there's also just, you know, gentrification is happening in a really visceral and unchecked way here. You know, we rent from a friend of ours. And if we weren't renting from a friend of ours who was giving us a really good deal on rent, there's no way that we could afford to live in the city anymore anyway. and to add that to the fact that, like,

people are very outspoken about not wanting people like me here right now. It's a weird thing. A Deem the artist's most recent album is White Trash Revolry. Emily Nussbaum is a staff writer at The New Yorker. I'm David Remnick, and that's The New Yorker Radio Hour for today. Thanks for listening and see you next time. Everybody's going to be so sad to see the flag disappearing to the earth with me.

Mama, do you think you still? I'm going to see the thing. The New Yorker Radio Hour is a co-production of WNYC Studios and a New Yorker. Our theme music was composed and performed by Merrill Garbess of Tune Arts with additional music by Louis Mitchell. This episode was produced by Max Walton,

Breda Green, Adam Howard, Kalalia, David Krasnow, Jeffrey Masters, Louis Mitchell, and Gophane and Putabuele, with guidance from Emily Boutin, and assistance from Harrison Keyfine, Mike Cutchman, Michael May, David Gable, and Alejandro Deket. The New Yorker Radio Hour is supported in part by the Cherina Endowment Fund.