Beyoncé has won the Album of the Year (AOTY) award for Cowboy Carter at the 67th Annual Grammy Awards. She is now the first Black woman to win the AOTY award this century—the fourth only Black woman to win this award at all, following in the legacy of Natalie Cole, Whitney Houston, and Lauryn Hill.
All I can say is: Finally. And what a win it was.
It’s one thing to win the night’s most prestigious award. It’s another to win for Cowboy Carter—an album that weaves the singer’s personal story of growing up as a Black girl in Texas with the expansive history of Black country music: from honoring Linda Martell, country music’s first Black woman superstar, to featuring modern-day Black country singers like Tanner Adell, Reyna Roberts, Brittney Spencer, and Shaboozy, and helping propel their careers, to paying homage to the Black entertainers who toured throughout the Chitlin Circuit.
It’s a sweeter success because it feels like home—one that doesn’t forget (nor does it ever ask forgiveness for) where you’ve been and perhaps more importantly where you’re going. Unapologetically Black Americana, it encourages us to be the same: proud of who we are, despite what others might think or say.
It’s not lost on anyone that Beyoncé’s win, which occurred on the second day of Black History Month, is a welcome reprieve for many Black Americans mourning the political reality of repeated executive orders to erase our history, as well as rollbacks on diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) mandates, policies, and procedures in the federal government and corporate America. For a country girl from Houston to win the Recording Academy’s biggest award is barrier-breaking precisely because it allows us to be seen and fully recognized, even in the face of the limits placed upon us because of race, gender, class, and place of origin—then and now.
For many, Beyoncé and Cowboy Carter are just vessels for the essential work that so many Black country music who have come before her have done. This applies especially to country music, which has always been a place for anti-Black and anti-woman sentiments to flourish and prosper. Confederate flags are flown with music at country music shows. Historically, Black country musicians like Miko Marks, The Pointer Sisters, and Rissi Palmer have been subjected to racial slurs at concerts, or have been told by labelheads that they would not be able to sell records because they are Black. The racially charged mistreatment that Beyoncè experienced at the 2016 CMA Awards is a common experience shared among Black country music artists—not to mention, what Beyoncè experienced, yet again, on the initial rollout of Cowboy Carter. When the first two singles of the album (“Texas Hold ‘Em” and “16 Carriages”) were first released, country music radio stations and programmers refused to play them, believing that Beyoncé is not country, but simply “expanding her kingdom,” using her class as a way to delegitimize her claim to country music; one that is never used against white men and women in the genre.
Read More: Beyoncé Has Always Been Country
But, Beyoncé is not your average white man or woman in country music. She is better.
It is unrealistic to think one album has the power to undo decades-long racial segregation in the American music industry. Country music radio programmers have said the industry is ready for a Black woman star, but Black women country stars are few and far in-between. Change does not occur overnight, even if that night makes history for Black women in music. It’s a slow process: Harvey Mason Jr., CEO of The Recording Academy, spoke about recent efforts and changes in The Recording Academy’s membership base and addressed criticism from artists, like The Weeknd, who once called for a boycott of The Grammys. It’s also dangerous for any person of color, specifically Black women, to seek validation from any institution—especially one that has had a shaky relationship (at best) with Black music.
But it will always be dangerous to be Black and female in America. While Cowboy Carter will not change that, what it did show us is that we will never be invisible. We will never be forgotten or erased. And in the event we are overlooked in this lifetime, there will always be another generation to uplift us again. We will speak the names that are lost to time, and also live within us. We are always here. And we’ll always have hope.
Even in our darkest hour, hope is our biggest weapon and our guiding light; for, most substantial movements of change originate from a dream. For country girls like Beyoncè who grew up watching her idols on television, who spent her years as a teenager in the back of a bus being transported from show to show across the country, dreams can often feel like a flicker in the distance, rather than something within reach. But what we need most in this country is for young Black girls and women to be able to dream—to dream for a better reality for themselves, and those before them. For Linda. For Tanner. For Reyna. For Brittney. For all of us.
In her acceptance speech for the AOTY award, Beyoncé said “It’s been many, many years.” Indeed, it did feel like a moment of brief exhale—a way to acknowledge just how long this moment took to arrive.
But I’d also like to offer an addendum: A dream cannot be measured and quantified. Hope cannot be tracked and framed by third parties. All that matters is that we do not lose sight of it, and that we maintain the strength to not only survive but thrive.
After Linda Martell was blacklisted from the country music industry, she took on a milieu of jobs to support her children. She was an education aide. She was a bus driver. She did whatever she had to do for her children and grandchildren to thrive. Now, at the age of 83 years old, she is receiving her just due. The onus is always on us to hold the door open for the next Black woman to arrive.
Because if not us, then who?
