One of the hardest things to do is to acknowledge that the thing you love isn’t just imperfect — it’s flawed.
For me, that thing …
One of the hardest things to do is to acknowledge that the thing you love isn’t just imperfect — it’s flawed. For me, that thing is country music. I’ve been a fan for as long as I can remember. There’s nothing better than the sweet sound of a steel guitar, and as a journalist, I’ve always been drawn to the music’s way with words. Storytelling is baked into the heart of country music, and I would argue that no other genre does it better. Unguarded and unapologetic, country music wears its heart on its well-worn flannel sleeve. But ever since I heard Mickey Guyton perform “Black Like Me” at the Grammy Awards in March, I’ve been thinking a lot about my relationship with the genre. I couldn’t believe that I had never heard Mickey Guyton’s name before, let alone her incredible voice. How has an artist who’s signed to a major record label for a decade never put out a full length album? And why has country radio largely only played her songs in the middle of the night when no one is listening? The answer is easy: She’s Black, and she’s a woman. This isn’t surprising to me. I’m well aware of country music’s apparent preference for white male artists. I’ve always just accepted it as part of the industry, a necessary evil to keep its conservative audience happy. And as an Asian American woman, whose ancestors didn’t grow up here, I never really felt like it was my place to question the genre’s white Southern roots. Lessons from country music: Country music response to Wallen racism shows Republicans how they failed on Greene But my impression was that there just weren’t many women of color in country music, that the industry skewed white and male due to its nature, not by its actions.
