Beyoncé - Cowboy Carter Review
A fiery soundtrack to a gritty revolution, the unyielding spirit of Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter.
Earlier this year Beyoncé’s eagerly-awaited follow-up to 2022’s Renaissance rolled into town like a gun-slinging outlaw, hellbent on shaking up the established norm like a rattlesnake at a hoedown. But Cowboy Carter, Beyoncé’s eighth studio album, is far more than just glittery country and western pastiche. Beneath the dusty veneer of cowboy hats and silver spurs is arguably Beyoncé’s most complex and politically charged album to date.
The country and western backdrop is a shrewd move. No other genre of music encapsulates traditional American values and patriotism like country music does. It’s the audible transmogrification of cowboy boots, swinging saloon doors and hazy slugs of bourbon. Here, Beyoncé uses this as a canvas onto which she can subvert the American dream. She has spoken much about the album being inspired by her own experiences of racism and throughout the album’s sprawling 27 tracks, she reminds us that country music’s largely white-washed stereotype wouldn’t exist without a host of mostly forgotten black artists.
But if you want people to listen to your message then you have to give them something worth listening to. And thankfully, for the most part, Cowboy Carter delivers.
The album opens with Ameriican Requiem, a musical tour de force which lights the torch-paper triumphantly. It’s less a song and more an opening ceremony, you can almost hear the fireworks explode as Beyoncé declares “Now ain't the time to pretend, now is the time to let love in”. Strange then that after such a rousing opener Beyoncé immediately veers into quiet contemplation with a soothing cover of Paul McCartney’s Blackbird. McCartney has cited the US civil rights movement as inspiration for the song and its political inclinations are even more prevalent here. Unfortunately, the over-polished production and radio-friendly sheen means that it loses much of the original’s vulnerable intimacy. It’s a solid effort nonetheless and certainly works much better than the other two cover songs on Cowboy Carter, but more on that later.
16 Carriages picks up where Blackbird left off before brilliantly exploding into rousing soft-rock territory. It’s pure single-fodder which sees Beyoncé at her absolute best as she defiantly reminisces “Sixteen dollars, workin' all day, ain't got time to waste, I got art to make”. Protector is a heartfelt ode to motherhood, featuring Beyoncé's seven-year-old daughter Rumi Carter. Incidentally, this makes Rumi the youngest female artist of all time to enter America’s Billboard Hot 100.
Cowboy Carter is peppered throughout with short vignettes and spoken word segments. Willie Nelson appears twice and Dolly Parton even introduces her own song. It’s all a little jarring and superfluous, though some might argue it’s in keeping with the bombastic nature of the album.
Texas Hold ‘Em is thigh-slapping country fun which gives way to the excellent Bodyguard, a song which might have benefited from being saved for another, less conceptual album. It’s a fantastic pop gem that unfortunately gets a bit lost within all the country and western hoo-ha that surrounds it.
And then we come to Jolene, widely considered to be one of the greatest country songs ever written, what could possibly go wrong? Dolly Parton recently stated that she had long been waiting for someone to elevate Jolene in the same way Whitney Houston had with I Will Always Love You. Unfortunately, Beyoncé doesn’t even come close. It’s a garbled mess, with unnecessarily extended verses re-written to portray Jay-Z’s infidelity. It’s a shame because on paper it could have been an album highlight which introduced a whole new generation to a classic song. Daughter is far better. It even beats to a similar drum to Jolene, making the Dolly Parton cover even more irrelevant.
At this point, the album starts to buckle under the weight of its own bloated running time. The country theme starts to become fatigued and the novelty wears off a bit. Spaghetti feels a little out of step and songs like Alligator Tears and Just For Fun are perfectly serviceable but come nowhere near the heights of the opening salvo. Even the appearance of Miley Cyrus on Most Wanted and Post Malone on Levii’s Jeans fails to get things back on track.
Fortunately the album’s final third fairs much better. Beyoncé is always more exhilarating when she’s on the attack and Ya Ya sees her come out of the blocks with all guns blazing. Musically it’s a smorgasbord of rock history, utilising samples of the Beach Boys and Nancy Sinatra to great effect whilst Beyoncé channels her inner Tina Turner. The components join forces superbly as she riotously reupholsters the star-spangled banner - “whole lotta red in that white and blue, history can't be erased, you lookin' for a new America?”
After a bizarre cover of Chuck Berry’s Oh Louisiana (the original but sped up into chipmunk territory) Tina Turner’s influence is again present on Desert Eagle, which appears to remould the Nutbush City Limits riff into something completely new and enjoyable but not quite as electrifying. II Hands II Heaven is another highlight which features a pulsing electro backdrop that surprisingly isn’t a million miles removed from something you might expect to find on Radiohead’s Kid A.
Dolly Parton returns to introduce Tyrant. However, Dolly’s presence is the song's only real country connection. We’re firmly rooted in classic Beyoncé territory here. Fidgety violins are almost swallowed whole by a gargantuan bass line, whilst Beyoncé implores “Hangman, teach me how not to cry”. Tyrant segues into Sweet ★ Honey ★ Buckiin’, which is essentially three songs in miniature but is undoubtedly another genre-bending highlight and quite possibly the finest moment on the album.
The gospel-inspired Amen concludes Beyoncé’s epic Wild West sermon, an album which is brave, bold, and brilliant but not immune to the occasional musical misstep. Its inflated track-listing may have benefitted from a mass cull but then again, that kind of defeats the point. It’s a politically charged - chart-bothering - dollar-spewing - country and western-infused - black reclamation behemoth that serves as a provocative reflection of an America that many would agree is also far from perfect. Ultimately, Cowboy Carter has no choice but to be bigger than the sum of its parts because, well, Beyoncé.