Cowboy Carter: Beyoncé’s Bold Reclamation of Country Music and the American Identity

It’s summer and Cowboy Carter, Beyoncé’s eighth studio album which debuted in March of this year, still has me in a chokehold. And as we just marked the celebration of Juneteenth and are quickly approaching the Fourth of July, I’ve been reflecting on Beyoncé’s album as not just a creative offering but as a political statement.

Cowboy Carter speaks to the experience I have always had as a Black woman in America: This country offers the freedom to create the kind of lives we want to have, but it also has a dark painful history that deeply impacts the way people like me see ourselves represented and how we live our lives. Like the contrast between our nation’s two “independence days”—Juneteenth and the Fourth of July—I have always felt like my two experiences as a Black woman and an American have been separate. Cowboy Carter brings both sides of that experience together and asserts that they are in fact one story and history. Through this album, Beyoncé offers a timely and public example of reclaiming and redefining the American experience to include the people and the history that is often ignored and forgotten.

The American narrative has almost exclusively centered whiteness, prioritizing the experiences of white people. Black people and other racial minorities in this country have always had to square our often racist and violent past with what America purports itself to be “the land of the free” and the place where we are all created equal. While some have never had to grapple with their place in America and its history, there are many who question this country’s commitment to them, its people. This intersection of whiteness and power leaves entire swaths of the country wondering where they fit in—in their politics, society, and even art.

Beyoncé’s 2016 Country Music Awards (CMAs) performance with The Chicks sparked backlash around Beyoncé’s “belonging” in country music, highlighting ongoing struggles within the genre over politics and identity. Her experience of being excluded from a space over which whiteness has claimed ownership was not an isolated incident, and it’s one that is especially familiar to people of color in the United States. It’s an experience that reflects issues way beyond just country music like the exclusion of the contributions of people of color in America’s historical narrative and how people of color are still fighting for full access to spaces that should be freely accessible.

For many, that sense of exclusion and lack of belonging is why American symbols like the flag, and language like patriotism and freedom, are seen as something not to be celebrated, but something to be wary of, and in some cases, feared. Over time, these symbols and terms have been co-opted and weaponized by far-right extremists and white nationalists to marginalize non-white communities, reinforcing the message that we don’t belong. In country music, this manifests as a perception that the genre belongs to a very specific type of American, despite its history and vast diversity of styles and fans.

“Cowboy Carter is a Black album from a Black artist that boldly challenges the prevailing narrative of who belongs in country music—and by extension, America”

Enter Cowboy Carter: Beyoncé’s triumphant, inventive, and intentional second act to the global phenomenon Renaissance, and a powerful statement challenging the accepted narrative about who belongs in country music. Born out of that moment of exclusion, with this album Beyoncé again wades into a genre that has roots deeply connected to Black history and has for decades erased and mistreated its Black artists—a form of whiteness as ownership in action.

I grew up immersed in Black culture—music, art, and Barbie dolls—but only recently discovered Linda Martell, a pioneering Black country star from the late ‘60s to early ‘70s and the first Black solo artist to perform at the Grand Ole Opry, who was thrust out by racism and misogyny. And despite knowing The Beatles, I didn’t know their 1968 hit “Blackbird,” which Beyoncé covers, was inspired by the Little Rock Nine. On her version, Beyoncé features four young Black women in country music—Tanner Adell, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy, and Reyna Roberts—introducing me to their work. All four are accomplished artists in their own right, but this was my first time hearing them because I avoided the entire genre of country, thinking that it wasn’t for me.

The lyrics on Cowboy Carter rang equally as important and intentional to me as the voices and production. In the opening track “AMERIICAN REQUIEM,” Beyoncé defiantly responds to the backlash from her 2016 CMAs performance and offers a resounding response with, “If that ain't country, tell me, what is?” On “SPAGHETTII,” Linda Martell opens with “Genres are a funny little concept, aren’t they?/ Yes they are… / In theory, they have a simple definition that’s easy to understand/ But in practice, well, some may feel confined,” referencing her own exploration of genre blending, and the intertwined history of country, folk, rock, gospel and R&B. And “YAYA” explicitly calls out America’s selective memory of its history: “My family live and died in America/ Good ol’ USA/ Whole lotta red in that white and blue/ History can’t be erased.” Calling out these experiences and voices so explicitly with a platform as large as Beyoncé’s strikes me as bold. Candid conversation about America’s history in public forums often invites backlash and trolls but it needs to be had anyway.

Even the imagery on Cowboy Carter challenges the notion of ownership, boldly embracing symbols of our country. The album art features Beyoncé carrying Old Glory, our nation’s flag, and her in a red, white, and blue rodeo queen leather outfit atop a white horse. And the original vinyl cover features her posing like the Statue of Liberty with red, white, and blue beads in her braids and a complimenting sash that includes the legal spelling of her mother’s maiden surname, Beyincé. The album’s Americana theme—embraced by an influential Black woman—is everywhere, and it’s provocative.

Cowboy Carter is a Black album from a Black artist that boldly challenges the prevailing narrative of who belongs in country music—and by extension, America—especially crucial amid heightened racial and political tensions. By broadening whose perspectives are uplifted as American, it allows more people to see themselves reflected in the words declared at our founding, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by the Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” All of us that call this country home have a right to take part in that sentiment. And in some respects, Cowboy Carter expresses the same sentiment, that country music, and America belongs to all of us.

As we sit firmly between Juneteenth and the Fourth of July, Cowboy Carter prompts reflection on our national identity, belonging, and how we live up to our foundational ideals. In 2026, America will celebrate its 250th anniversary, and next year marks the 160th anniversary of Juneteenth, pivotal moments in our history. These starkly contrasted moments are separated by about 90 years, the span of a single lifetime, and are each central to America’s story. Connecting these two points in America’s history offers a richer, more inclusive understanding of who our country is.

America has real and tangible challenges that are inextricably tied with its history, and now is an opportune moment to reckon with this country’s past and reimagine its future. Cowboy Carter serves as a bold and timely reminder that America is a place where everyone has the right to take up space.

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