I don’t love country ironically, and I don’t love it because it can be depressing; it’s just a messy genre that I enjoy as a messy person. I don’t love endless debates about what constitutes “true” country music, there are simply songs I emotionally relate to, songs that cause me to pause and lean on the doorframe, and sigh a little, or a lot. Such as a lot of Luke Combs’ stuff. And Zach Bryan. And Miranda Lambert. And Morgan Wallen. And Darius Rucker. And so on.
I was recently in the Dallas-Ft. Worth area, finally on my first proper trip to Texas, and it was great to be able to just waltz into a bar and hear live country music again. Dallas is beautiful and businesslike, and Ft. Worth is beautiful and all over the place.
I liked the Ft. Worth Stockyards area especially, if you’re in town and would like to see some majestic longhorns when you’re not busy drinking and listening to beautiful women sing their hearts out.
It saddens me to find myself at this particular inflection point in America’s history, where a bunch of us are angry at each other, and scared of one another, and I am certain that we will see even darker times before we manage to figure it out.
I’m not going to give you any platitudes about how country music can heal our divides either, though it’s nice to see it be more popular than ever before, in spite of our collective cultural bullshit.
Zach Bryan, for example, has a new single out right now with Kings of Leon, “Bowery.” It starts with a “sorry, fuck!” and it pretty much captures how I feel about everything, this country included.
Everything from, “You picked the wrong one / If you’re in it for the long run” to the lines “But when the time’s right / I’m a hell of a good night” speaks to me about our strange dating scene and the way America is simply scary and yet captivating right now, especially now.
Lyrically, it’s a much more complex song than I’ve just presented here, but that’s the Zach Bryan way, shifting casually from simple to poetic.
The girl he’s singing to in the song is “not sure” about the place the singer brings her to, with its “Jesus is Lord” billboard, far away from the city.
I could get into some annoying political or class analysis here, but I’m not going to do that, because to dissect this song is to kill it.
It’s just a vibe. Catchy and preemptively brokenhearted.
The new Zach Bryan album won’t drop until 2026, and I keep thinking about where we’ll all be by then. Probably in a continuing kaleidoscope of chaos. “Madeline” is meanwhile the other new single he released this summer alongside Gabriella Rose, and I find that one much harder to listen to, and not because it’s a bad song. It’s too good, frankly.
The Midwestern Gothic companion to “Bowery,” “Madeline” reminds me of all of the friendships I’ve had with men who were more than just friends, but whom I’ve preferred to stick that particular title on forcefully, like a cattle brand. It’s a door-standing-ajar kind of song, a strip of light underneath it, and a cold, starry darkness all around, if I am to be allowed to attempt poetry of my own for just a second.
I listened to “Madeline” lying under a woobie (a type of poncho liner) in Texas, feeling the party drain out of me, wondering about the future. I think those are the moments in which country music, and folk for that matter (Zach Bryan doesn’t always like being called country, just by the by), can really tear you open.
But it tears you in the way that you need to be torn, right along the hidden seams.
I’m not sure if I recommend this kind of musical brooding to my readers, so I have to say, it’s helpful to have a friend who’ll interrupt it, kick the door open, and suggest you go eat some brisket or something.
In the meantime, I can’t wait for Bryan’s 2026 album, With Heaven On Top, as the unknown future continues to roll toward us.
I don’t know what the hell is going to happen, but I know that we will still sing about it.
Images: Kathya Meza, Katrina Paisano
