Dear Women of Black Country Music... Thank You.
"We hear you. We see you. You exist. Your voice is important." -Rissi Palmer
I love country music. For me, it’s all about the story. I’m especially drawn to vulnerable, authentic songwriting that isn’t afraid to tackle hard truths. I grew up listening to what my dad called country western music, riding shotgun in his 1978 yellow Toyota pickup on the highways of a very racist part of the Northern Idaho Panhandle.
In this small corner of the Universe, country music was framed as white, but the truth is it never was. Black artists and songwriters shaped this genre from the beginning, even if I didn’t know it at the time. I didn’t know about DeFord Bailey, Lil Hardin, Linda Martell, or even, sadly, Charley Pride. The extent of Blackness in my childhood was Mr. T on The A-Team. That changed when I went to live with my grandma in the more racially diverse Bay Area. There, I fell in love with street-corner breakdancing, Soul Train, and the realization that the world was much bigger and more beautiful than I had been led to believe. I suspect many white country music fans have similar stories—ones we’re reluctant to admit.
In 2022, I saw Allison Russell open at Berkeley’s Greek Theatre and completely fell in love with her energy, voice, and unapologetic truth. Who IS this woman? I started following her online, and through her, my understanding of what makes country country grew deep roots. I discovered Rhiannon Giddens' open-book teachings on the banjo, Rissi Palmer's Color Me Country radio, and the one and only Alice Randall—who I knew, but didn’t know.
Listening to Black country artists and songwriters has forced me to face hard truths about myself, while also unlocking joy, hope, and so much learning. It’s a space filled with the courage to be fully, authentically yourself. That’s why this is the first Reflections piece for my website—a space dedicated to courage, even when it's awkward, messy, and deeply uncomfortable. Because when we dare to show up as our whole selves, we create openings for connection, for understanding. And we feel less alone.
The Song That Led Me Here
The first song I ever wrote, Mama’s Like These, contains an ode to a song I’ve loved since 1994. In XXX’s and OOO’s (An American Girl)—written by Alice Randall and Matraca Berg (and recorded by Trisha Yearwood)—the original lyric is:
"Got a picture of her mama in heels and pearls / She's trying to make it in her daddy's world."
My version reflected life as the daughter of a single dad:
"I keep a poster of Audrey Hepburn in pearls / Wish I was a woman with her grace / But I'm an American girl, livin' in my daddy's world."
I knew I loved XXX’s and OOO’s, but I didn’t know who had written it. As I studied songwriters I admired, I discovered Alice Randall—and that she had a book coming out about Black Country Music. I waited. I had no idea that the woman behind that lyric had also lived a motherless-to-mothering story, just like me.
Expanding My Understanding of Country
In the meantime, I read Her Country by Marissa Moss. I sought out singer-songwriters who had been sidelined by mainstream country radio. I built a playlist of women inspired by the book, belted out their songs every morning in the shower, and started noticing how many of them were Black. Then Beyoncé released Cowboy Carter, and the internet buzzed with one question: What makes country, country?
Alice Randall’s book, My Black Country, offers my favorite answer.
Spoiler: Cowboy Carter is absolutely a country album.
People often quote Harlan Howard when defining the genre:
"Country music is three chords and the truth."
But Alice Randall expands the definition.
Country Music is a combination of:
American folk music
Celtic influences
African influences
Evangelical Christian influences
And it carries four particular truths:
Life is hard.
God is real.
The road, liquor, and family are worthy subjects.
The past is better than the present.
This last truth, Alice says, often creates a divide. While mainstream country music often romanticizes the past, many Black artists have had to look forward to carve out space for themselves.
A Velvet Carpet for Pearls
In My Black Country, Alice Randall weaves meticulously researched history with her personal experience, shining a light on the systemic erasure of Black voices from country music. By sharing these stories, she is mothering them back into existence, reminding us that country music doesn’t exist without Black people.
I’m deeply grateful that Alice took the time to write this memoir. I listened to the audiobook and savored the magic in her voice as she “lays down a velvet carpet for her pearls”—the first family of Black Country Music. I would pause to listen to the songs she referenced, layering them over her words. Each time, I heard something new. I especially loved the emotion in her voice when she shared memories. You can hear her tears.
I was also surprised to find myself reflected in so many of these stories—especially her relationship with her mother and her adopted mama of Black Country music, Lil Hardin. This is the power of storytelling. When we see our own truth in someone else’s, despite differences in geography, race, or time, we touch something universal. We bring forward empathy. We validate one another’s experiences.
Looking to the Future
The idea—that some black artists must look forward—hit home again in another beautifully written book: Black Country Music: Listening for Revolutions by Francesca T. Royster. In it, country-punk artist Delila Black says:
"We have to be innovative because we don’t have a choice. And because of those innovations, we’re already in the future... Black people are already in the future. Of course we’re futurists. We have to be."
That makes so much sense to me. When an industry does everything it can to erase you from its past and won’t give you airplay or resources in the present, where else can you go? You go forward.
To be a Black creator, songwriter, artist—or even a fan, as Francesca Royster points out—is to embrace risk and live in your truth every single day. That courage, that refusal to be anything other than exactly who you are, is so damn inspiring. And the stories resonate. They expand the circle of country music, connecting more people, helping us see and hear one another more fully. And isn’t that what it takes to move us all forward?
The World Needs This Music
The world needs the magic, medicine, and wide range of sounds that Black women are bringing to country music right now. We need these stories. We need these songs. We need this music.
May we-the fans-do our part:
Listen generously.
Support Black creators reclaiming country music and leading the genre forward.
Show up for concerts and conversations with awareness.
Help BIPOC fans feel welcome and safe at live shows.
Cheer on the artists we love with our hearts and our wallets.