Tennessee's Moon River Music Festival has announced the lineup for its September 2020 fest, featuring GRAMMY winners Sheryl Crow and Nickel Creek as headliners. 2020 Best New Artist GRAMMY nominee Yola, GRAMMY-winning legends Indigo Girls and the Rebirth Brass Band, as well as longtime gospel powerhouses The McCrary Sisters, will also perform.

The festival, which is in its seventh year, will also feature a set from founder/curator Drew Holcomb, with his band Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors. Billy Strings, Dawes, Shovels & Rope, Molly Tuttle and Natalie Hemby also join this year's lineup.

Watch: Amy Ray Talks New Indigo Girls Music & Achieving Equality In The Music Industry | Newport Folk 2019

The two-day festival returns to Chattanooga, Tenn. for the third time, after relocating from its original, smaller venue in Memphis in 2018. The fest will be taking place Sept. 12–13, along with a special kick off concert on Sept. 11—a live taping of NPR's "Live From Here with Chris Thile" at the Soldiers & Sailors Memorial Auditorium. Participating artists for this show will be announced at a later date, with Moon River ticketholder getting pre-sale access on Feb. 19.

Moon River prides itself in giving back to the local community, and has donated over $20,000 in annual ticket donations non-profit partners including Friends of Outdoor Chattanooga and St. Jude Children's Hospital of Tennessee.

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"In just a few short years, Moon River Festival has become one of the most eagerly anticipated annual events in our community," said Chattanooga Mayor Andy Berke.

Event founder Holcomb is also excited: "Absolutely thrilled to invite folks back to Coolidge Park in beautiful Chattanooga, Tenn. this September. I could not be more proud of this year's lineup and cannot wait to share the stage with them!"

Remaining tickets (the pre-sale happened last week) go on sale Feb. 13 at 10 a.m. EST. For more info on the lineup and tickets, visit their website.

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Country fans first got to know Tyler Hubbard as the voice of Florida Georgia Line. Upon his solo debut in 2022, they got a deeper look into his life as a devoted family man. Now, the chart-topping singer/songwriter wants to show his skills as the genre's feel-good party starter.

Hubbard's second album, Strong, turns up the energy with 13 tracks that focus on spreading the joy he's feeling in his own life. There's several parallels to his self-titled debut, including another tribute to his late father on "'73 Beetle" and reflections on his small-town Georgia upbringing with "Take Me Back" and "Back Then Right Now." Yet, every narrative feels more celebratory — buoyed by Hubbard's purposeful delivery, his hopeful lyricism, and uptempo melodies.

It's a natural evolution for Hubbard, who has projected positivity in his music and his image since his FGL days. And now that the world has welcomed him as a solo act — including two No. 1s at country radio with "5 Foot 9" and "Dancin' in the Country," and several sold-out shows in 2023 — he felt it was only right to bring good vibes with his second LP. 

"I was carrying the momentum from last year — the first album, being out on tour, the energy from the fans," Hubbard shares. "If you come to my live show, it's a lot of happy, fun dancing energy, and that's what I've really enjoyed kind of leaning into right now."

Ahead of Strong's release, Hubbard sat down with GRAMMY.com to chat about his album process. Below, he breaks down the most important components, from writing nearly every song on his tour bus to happily riding in the "good time lane."

Building On The First Album

The first album was more of an introduction to who I am, and this album is more settling in. It's inspired by the live show more than anything, and the fans themselves, as opposed to me and my story. 

I kind of want [these songs]to feel like distant relatives to the first album. I'll use that analogy a lot of times in sessions and just say, "Let's elevate, and let's move forward and progress, but let's keep it in the same family." 

When I was writing both these projects, it was a tough time. You know, going through the pandemic and all that brought along, transitioning into different careers and not knowing what was gonna happen with FGL for a while. Obviously, my marriage really inspired the song "Strong," but there's sort of that principle [from album one to album two] of going through a hard season that you come out on the other side of it stronger. 

Writing On The Road

Last year, I was getting in front of my audience for the first time [post-pandemic] and really getting to see what they wanted, what was resonating, what was working, maybe what was missing in the set. So I was able to pull that energy from the fans right back to the bus. The majority of this album I wrote on the road last year, which is where I love to write songs. I love to write in town too, but [there's] something about being out on the road — you just feel a little extra creative and a little less distracted. 

Back in the day, when we were starting off and really roughing it, we didn't have anything else to do but our careers, so we'd come home from the road and we'd write three or four days a week, and then we would go hit the road and play shows. But now that I'm a husband and a father, I try to compartmentalize it, so when I'm home during the week, I can take some time off to be with the kiddos and my wife.

And fortunately, now, I have my own bus, so I can bring writers out, and we can just hunker down on my bus all weekend and write songs. It's pretty fun because you kind of feel like you're binge writing a bit. But once you get in that creative space and your wheels are turnin', it's nice to stay there for more than four or five hours like we do in Nashville, turning it off at 4 o'clock and going home. It keeps it fun.

Creating Music For The Stage

We were mainly thinking about the live show [when we were writing]. It just felt like [we were writing] songs I couldn't wait to play live. 

There's some heart, there's some depth, there's emotion and vulnerability in a lot of these songs that I like to play live, but overall, I want it to just feel fun. There's enough stuff in our world to make us sad, so I'm just like, if I can put music out that makes people feel good, that's what I want to do. 

Especially in the context of our genre and our culture — it feels like there's a lot of sad boy country going on right now. You know, nothing wrong with that, I like to get real and emo a bit. But I think if everybody's doing one thing, I try to lean to the other. And right now I love where we're headed, in the good time lane.

I was soaking up everything Keith [Urban] was doing [while touring with him last year]. I watched his set most nights. He's kind of the king of fun tempo live energy. [We were] either [trying to] make Keith jealous or make Keith want to record one of the songs we write. So some of these songs are probably inspired by trying to get a Keith Urban cut. 

"Park," "Wish You Would" and "Vegas" are [three] of those songs. They go really well live and have been really, really fun. The crowd starts moving in a weird way when ["Wish You Would"] comes on. It looks like they're just, like, lettin' loose and not really coordinated at anything. [Laughs.]

"Back Then Right Now" is the single, so people are knowing that one [more] and it's cool to see them singing it and engaged. "BNA" is gonna be a lot of fun to play live. I could probably play this whole album top to bottom and be pretty happy with that being the set.

Honoring Where He Came From

I wanted this album to still be dynamic — as uptempo as it is, I still wanted the fans to be let in a little bit more into who I am and deeper into my life. Hopefully with each project I put out, I have some songs that let people in a bit more and tap into a vulnerable place, and challenge me as a person and a writer to just continue to go there. 

I have a unique relationship with my hometown. I love where I came from, and I'm proud of where I'm from, but it's not somewhere that I'm still living — I've been in Nashville longer than I was in Georgia, I've been here for over 18 years. A lot's changed since then. The house I grew up in is not there, my dad's gone, my mom's moved to Alabama. 

It's an interesting dynamic, because in our genre, it's cool to be really proud of where you're from, and really pay homage to where you're from. And I still do — a lot of these songs are literally born because of where I came from. But at the same time, I don't have that same relationship with where I'm from. I just thought it was a little bit of a different approach on the relationship with the hometown with ["Take Me Back"]. I hope people can relate to it.

Recruiting Trusty Collaborators, Like Producer Jordan Schmidt

The collaborators and songwriters on this project, there's a couple of new ones, but there's a lot of guys that I have a big history with. A lot of that's just due to the fact that if I'm bringing writers out on the road, it's guys that I know and trust, and that I've had success with. I'm not speed dating on the road — it's just very intentional, efficient time.

They've proven themselves, and so there's no reason to not go back to 'em. I just can't reiterate enough how thankful I am to be in this city, in this songwriting community. I have so many people that make me a better songwriter and push me as an artist and come with great ideas. It makes it that much more fun to write songs and do what I love.

Also, to know me, and who I am, and where I'm headed, and what I want to do and say, that helps tremendously because we're not just shooting in the dark. I think "Wish You Would" is a song that's a little unique and feels really fun. If I was going to pick a direction, that's a cool, fresh sound that I'm really enjoying right now.

Leaning Into Feeling Good

I'm in a really sweet season. Not just with the work stuff, but my family is in such a good spot. My kids are 3, 4 and 6, so they're in a really fun, just joyful season. I can have a bad session or a tough day, and I can go home and get overwhelmed with joy and love in the house. It's just awesome energy. I'm really grateful for that, and I'm really kind of leaning into it. 

I hope [fans] understand how grateful I am to be here to be still doing this 13 years later, and to be able to have another opportunity to experience a lot of firsts again, and get to continue to connect with them. I just love what I do, and I gotta give the fans a lot of credit for allowing me to do it. 

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Last August, Oliver Anthony became the quintessential definition of overnight success. His working class anthem "Rich Men North of Richmond" went from viral sensation to history-making hit, helping the singer become the first to top the Billboard Hot 100 without any prior chart history.

But while "Richmond" showcases Anthony's brutally honest songwriting and raw delivery, its message and success are far from what define him. And he's proving just that with his debut album, 'Hymnal Of A Troubled Man's Mind.'

Helmed by Nashville superproducer Dave Cobb, the 18-track collection is rife with stories of addiction, depression, faith, and fury as Anthony documents the decade leading up to his unexpected rise to stardom (it also features eight Bible verses as interludes). A stark departure from "Richmond" in some ways and others not, the album is proof that his viral moment wasn't a fluke. 

One element that remains is Anthony's defiance of adhering to any cookie-cutter artist blueprint, which was further evidenced by the Easter Sunday arrival of Hymnal Of A Troubled Man's Mind. It's one of the many ways Anthony is showing that he's still fiercely independent, and that his unprecedented ascent hasn't changed the man he is or the music he makes.

"My day-to-day life hasn't changed a whole lot other than just not having to wake up for my job every morning," Anthony — who was born Christopher Anthony Lunsford, but pays tribute to his late grandfather with his stage name — admits. "I have this new career, but at the same time I don't know how long I'll be doing this either. At the end of the day I want to truly make a difference, not just play a bunch of shows to make a handful of executives a bunch of money only to get a pat on the back."

On the heels of releasing Hymnal Of A Troubled Man's Mind — and playing a sold-out hometown show — Lunsford spoke with GRAMMY.com about how he's navigating the balance between fame and privacy, and staying true to himself through it all.

Your stage name is your grandfather's name, so he clearly means a lot to you. Can you tell me a bit about the man Oliver Anthony was, and why he inspired you to pay tribute to him in such a way? 

Originally I was using his name as an alias because a lot of the songs I was writing talked about things my employer wouldn't approve of, like smoking pot. It was a way of hiding my identity so they couldn't Google my name and find everything. 

Another reason I did it is because we looked a lot alike. I'm the only redhead in the family other than him, and we're both 6'6" and left-handed. 

He was also just a very down-to-Earth guy. He never was one to talk much and never took the bait on politics and other stuff, he was always very down the middle. He was a hard worker too, taking a job later in life at a chemical plant where he moved up in the ranks despite being mostly self-taught. 

He was a role model of mine in many ways. During his final years, he experienced cognitive decline that made his death more of a slow goodbye. When I started writing all of these songs I was still really grieving his loss.

The full listing of your stage name, at least in the beginning, was Oliver Anthony Music. What was your intention with adding the "Music" part onto it?

The "music" is supposed to capture the timeless era from the beginning of the Industrial Revolution to into the late 60's and 70's. I'm not trying to paint it as an ideal time in American history by any means, but it was just a very real time. People weren't just living then, they were surviving. I wanted to capture that era of America before we became reliant on ordering everything from Amazon, going to the grocery store for all our food and depending on people on TV to tell us how to think, where to go or what to do.

That's what Oliver Anthony Music is supposed to encapsulate — that precious time in our history that, in certain parts of the country, still exists. When you go into rural Virginia, West Virginia, Kentucky and the Carolinas, it almost feels like time is slowed down a bit, almost like they're 20 or 30 years in the past. 

That's why we recorded this album on 1940's microphones inside an old church. We didn't even hire a photographer for the album cover. Instead we used a Polaroid camera that Dave Cobb had sitting in his drawer. This was never intended to have all the flash of modern production. It's supposed to just be as raw, from the heart and sincere as it can be.

Is "Rich Man's Gold" a song about your grandfather and how the circumstances of his upbringing shaped him into the man you remember? 

It also focuses on the contrast between the lifestyle we live now compared to the one we lived not long ago. The main verse in the song talks about how we weren't born to just pay bills and die. The point behind that is so many people today have encapsulated their lives in student loans, credit card debt, financing new vehicles they don't need, and buying big houses as a way of filling a void they'll never be able to fill. 

I think true fulfillment in life comes from basic things we overthink, like love and connection with our family, neighbors and friends, and just living a more purposeful life. A lot of us go to work at a job we don't really like because it pays the bills, even though it falls well outside our passion, leaving us only a couple hours a week to spend doing what we truly love. Then before you know it, you're old and die and that's it, you don't get another shot at it. 

Time is the most precious thing we have, and at any moment we don't really know how much left of it we have. The song really hones in on all that to show how a lot of people are alive, but they're not really living.

How has the overnight success you've experienced changed, or not changed, who you are as a person? 

I've kept a lot of my same friends and would say that my personal life hasn't changed a whole lot. I've still got the same s—ty Suburban with a salvage title and 330,000 miles on it, and the same s—ty clothes — although I have been able to put money into a few investments to set my family up with some financial security. But I've been really careful not to change my life a lot. 

I never, ever want to get to a point in my life where I feel like I'm better than everyone else. It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about it. That's one thing that's been a problem from the beginning because I never wanted to get on Facebook and say "Hey, look at me!" When "Richmond" blew up, I didn't want to post a lot, and instead opted to let things run their course. But due to the monetization of social and online media, people were incentivized to make posts about me since I was a trending topic, with much of it being completely fabricated. 

So it's been a weird balance of figuring out how I can, with good conscience, keep my voice out there without being an attention seeker. It's a weird balance because if I'm not posting and speaking my mind, then somebody else pretending to be me is going to do it instead.

I really just want to use what little discernment I have to make decisions that I'll look back on in 20 or 30 years and feel proud of, and not like somebody strong-armed or pressured me into something that my heart wasn't into.

One of the ways you showed that after going viral was by promoting other amazing Appalachian artists that RadioWV has featured. Who are some Appalachian artists you've been listening to or think deserve a bigger platform for their music?

To be honest, what I listen to is pretty limited and is mostly made up of people who are dead. I mainly discover new music through YouTube videos — I don't have Spotify, Pandora or anything like that. I've had the chance to meet and talk with folks like Logan Halstead, and am a big fan of his work, though. 

It drives my wife absolutely crazy, but anytime we're in the truck together and I've got control of the dial I'm putting on Hank Jr., Waylon Jennings, Jerry Lee Lewis, Lightnin' Hopkins and random stuff like Cuban dance music. I like listening to a lot of old material and folk music from other countries. It just feels more real, and nobody is trying to shove it down my throat. 

At least when I'm listening to somebody who's dead, I know that they didn't manipulate me to somehow stumble across it like how so much is today with algorithms and pay-to-play. That's also what was so cool about "Richmond," because it blew up in such an organic way with no record label or management pushing it. 

Getting back to your original question about Appalachian artists, there's so many people from the region that would blow the doors off anyone on country radio right now, that most people may never actually get to enjoy because they simply aren't getting the exposure. I'd love to see things go back to the days of good music being played and bad music doesn't rather than it all being about how much money you've got behind the song.

You previously hinted at getting into ministry in the future, and this new album of yours is littered with Bible verses. With that in mind, what does your foundation in faith mean not only to your music, but who you are as a person? 

Leading up to everything that's happened, it's obvious from listening to my music that I was severely depressed and dealing with regular suicidal thoughts and anxiety attacks. Every part of my life, from my career to my marriage, my family and my future seemed very grim. I was in a bad place leaning on alcohol, like a lot of adult men do, because they have a tough time opening up about their struggles. 

At some point I got in touch with Draven Riffe from RadioWV and made plans to record a few songs on my property the following weekend. We got to talking about the personal issues going on in both our lives and how we'd both just decided to give our lives to God. I felt like I didn't have anything left in me, so I just told God that I've done things this long by myself and haven't been able to figure anything out, so please guide me where to go and show me what to do. 

I ended up recording seven songs with Draven that weekend, but the most special moment definitely came on "Richmond." As soon as we finished recording, I looked up at him, and we locked eyes. After a moment he said, "I know we just met and I don't want you to think I'm crazy, but I swear I could feel the presence of God with us when we recorded that." 

The song ended up doing what it did, but the icing on the cake came months later during my first show after going viral at the farmer's market where over 12,000, including Jamey Johnson, showed up. I talked with him afterward and he told me he had been off songwriting but that God spoke to him and told him he needed to meet me that day. To have one of my favorite artists of all-time show up at my first gig because God told him to after everything I'd been through, it became so clear to me that I was doing what I was meant to. 

A lot of people joke that they sell their souls to the devil, but in my case I truly feel like I've signed my soul to God. He put me here to give me purpose because my life had been without it up until then. 

I don't know that I'd even call myself a Christian, but I definitely believe in Jesus Christ and find a lot of wisdom in the timeless knowledge of The Bible. There's parts of Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Matthew — all of which have excerpts on the record — that are full of practical advice on living, whether it's with marriage or finances, lust or alcoholism, or even how to interact with your neighbor. That advice written many years ago is still so relevant in today's society even though most things are totally different. 

My first time in a church in 10 years was for our Easter show the other day, so I'm definitely not the church-going devout religious kind of person. I just got to a point in my life where I didn't have any other choice than to let God take control of things. You can see just how much change has happened since then — it's undeniable.

Aside from ministry, is there anything else you want to pursue with your newfound platform?

Our family just bought this old farm that was operational until a couple years ago. We're in the process now of getting it going again. Once it's operational we want to start educating the public and maybe bringing people out for workshops on gardening and other homesteading basics. 

I also want to partner with other people in that space, like Joel Salatin, or some of these YouTubers that are getting people excited about gardening on only a quarter-acre in their backyards. It tastes better than anything you can buy — even at a high-end grocery store — and can be done for little to nothing. It's so rewarding to do and something I hope to repopularize as part of this whole thing.

It sounds like you're really trying to practice what you preach in terms of what you sing about and how you embody that spirit in everything you do.

Music and my whole life in general is just trying to hold on to that beautiful, raw, less glorified and flashy way of living that's still readily available in this country. There's so much noise and everything moves so quick now that it's hard to slow your brain down enough to get excited about gardening, being outdoors and clearing the land or raising livestock. There is no instant gratification to that, it's a process. 

If you get on YouTube and scroll through 100 Shorts your mind will start going a million miles per hour, which makes it hard to want to slow down to clean up after some stupid cow afterward. It makes it very hard to integrate the two things together into how we live today. 

What has making this music taught you about yourself? 

One thing I've learned is that if I want to try to have good mental health and be a normal functioning member of society, I've got to create music. In the same way that some people use a journal to write out their thoughts, songwriting is how I'm able to get my feelings and perceptions out of my own head. When life is going really well, it's harder for me to write songs because usually my motivation stems from things going wrong. I could probably write some catchy lyrics, but they wouldn't mean anything to me. 

Everything I write about I feel deep down inside, which can also be said about some of my favorite songs. That's the beauty of music — writing it as a way to clear your head and listening to it to remind you that you're not alone.

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When Sheryl Crow released her tenth studio album, 2019's Threads, she declared it'd be her last — even calling it "a beautiful final statement."

"People don't listen to whole bodies of work anymore. In fact, I'm not sure they even listen to a whole song anymore," Crow explains. "So it seemed kind of, not only futile, but also, at this stage, it seems like a long process that's expensive when really, it's best to put out something you really believe in."

As it turns out, she really believed in her eleventh album, Evolution. 

Crow's music has always been as insightful as it is catchy, and Evolution is perhaps the most existential example of that. Throughout, the nine-time GRAMMY winner  poignantly muses over the state of the world and humankind, while also reflecting on the moments and the ideals that still give her hope. Along the way, she throws in very Sheryl Crow quips ("Anger sucks, but at least your brand's trending," she sings on "Broken Record") and makes some important statements ("We are brilliant, we are kind/ But sometimes we miss the glaring signs," she urges on the title track).

If Evolution ends up being Crow's actual last album, she'd certainly be going out in signature style. It's a culmination of what's made her music so timeless: unabashed honesty, soulful musicality, and unbridled joy. 

GRAMMY.com sat down with Crow to discuss her unexpected album, her "liberating" new creative process, and major moments that have made her career feel like a fairy tale.

After declaring that you wouldn't make any more albums, how did creating Evolution change your perspective on the rest of your career? Do you think you'll go back to making albums?

Well, this was not like any experience I have ever had. I've never made a record where I wasn't there for it. I mean, I was there, but when I typically make a record, everything starts and ends with me. 

This was me sending a guitar vocal to this incredible producer, Mike Elizondo, who basically was like Martin Scorsese. He would take my little screenplay and just build this cinematic landscape around it. I've never had that experience where I walk in and hear myself in the context of something I've never heard before. And it was really a beautiful experience. 

Once I got over the fact that I'm not playing everything — once you check your ego and go, Wait a minute, this is exactly what you wanted. You wanted your stories, your thoughts to be built on — it made it so different than any process I've ever experienced. 

Will I go back and make records the way I used to? I don't know. I'm going to quit saying I'm never gonna do an album again, because I don't know. [Laughs.]

You've said that this is kind of a diary turned into an album. You can actually feel that in some of the songs. I can envision you sitting down and just spilling your heart out, and then it turning into a song.

I've never made a record where I just wrote the song and then let it go, and then it came back to me. It was a really colossal gift that I gave myself, to let go of it and be okay with what came back to me. 

Luckily, there was no disappointment in what came back, because I know Mike Elizondo so well — like, for 20 years. And the interesting thing about this process is the whole thing came together over one song that we put on the record [last]. 

It's called "Digging In The Dirt," it's a Peter Gabriel cover. It's on the deluxe [version of Evolution]. I called Mike, I said, "I have been really soul searching. I've done a guided mushroom tour. I am really trying to navigate how I'm feeling about this moment in our humanity, and I want to do this song 'Digging In The Dirt,' would you produce it?" He said yes. 

We sent it to Peter, and quite a long time went by, and [when we] got it back, he'd put himself on it. Then, it was like, Okay, we have an album.

I imagine that you probably weren't thinking he would put himself on the cover.

I wasn't. We sent it to him and he really liked it. And I said, "If, you know… no pressure!" 

Of course, it's a compliment. But I think his work is pretty emblematic of what this record is about: Digging deep and taking no prisoners, calling out what you see, trying to figure out a way to get back to [your] authentic self — which is what every human being at some moment in their life will struggle with.

I feel like you've always been pretty outspoken in your music — not in an abrasive way, but just in a way that you're very assured of the message you're spreading.

I hope so. It's a weird thing to be now — because when you think about music before MTV and VH1, like before videos, you'd write a song and there was no image that was attached to it. Then MTV and VH1 [come along, and] suddenly you're writing little stories [for visuals], and that gets in somebody's head. Like, I can listen to Madonna song, and instead of what I experienced, I remember the video.

Now, you put out songs, and there's so much branding and social media that you're attached to before you ever hear the song, that it taints what your songs are about, you know? And it can also make you [think], I would never listen to her because she's a liberal. 

It's like we're programmed to decide if we could like somebody's song based on how we feel about that person. It's different than it used to be. All that to say, there's nothing that can stop me from writing, because it's the thing that I know how to do. It's a salve for me.

I saw an interview with the Guardian where you answered fan questions, and someone asked about how your creative process evolved. And you were basically like, "I don't know who's listening anymore, and I don't really care who's listening. So I'm just gonna say what I feel." Do you feel more creatively liberated than you ever have?

I do. I mean, there were many periods during the process of making the albums in the early days where I would sit and listen to the body of work and go, I gotta write something that could maybe get played at radio. There's none of that anymore. Because radio is based on streams, and streams is based on social media and TikTok, and all that stuff. And also, being my age, I can't even hope to be played anyway. So it is liberating.

That's not to say that it's not frustrating. It is frustrating to feel like you're writing some of your best work and [have to ask] Will anybody hear it? But I had to stay out of the outcome, just like I've always done, and be into the process. And that's where I continue to find my joy.

You've been able to celebrate a lot of success before the streaming era took over. This year actually marks 30 years since "All I Wanna Do," hit No. 2 on the Billboard Hot 100, which started a very epic run for you, including your first GRAMMY wins. What do you remember from that time?

When I reflect on that night, I think I was not equipped to hold all that. In fact, it's funny, I look at what I wore, and it was very not designer. I just was a country bumpkin. [Laughs.]

We had already toured for, like, a year, and nothing had really — I mean, it was just starting to pick up, and then "All I Wanna Do" came out, and it exploded. And then I was nominated for GRAMMYs, and won the GRAMMYs, and then the next day, we played in San Francisco like it never even happened. 

It took a little time — in fact, the better part of that year — to realize that, at that time, the GRAMMYs, which was the one night of the year that everyone tuned into, that winning a GRAMMY could change the trajectory of your career. Just from the GRAMMYs, and that visibility, my record sales expanded exponentially. It was just over the top. 

It was a whirlwind. And what looked like, to most people, as being an overnight success, to me, being a 30-year-old, I felt like I'd worked my whole life — I studied piano, I taught school. I had a whole life before I ever made it. 

It was a bizarre time. And obviously, there's no guidebook for how to become famous and how to navigate that. So I just tried to really stay in my lane, and I didn't really enjoy it as much as I could have enjoyed it. I wish now I could go back and say, "You need to enjoy it more! Be a rock star!" [Laughs.]

You were just inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame and you've hung out with — and recorded with — Bob Dylan and Johnny Cash. I would say that puts you in the ranks of a rock star!

I've been so dang lucky. And that was an amazing thing. I grew up in the middle of farmland, in a town with three stoplights. And my parents were like, "You work hard and you're a good person, good things will happen." 

You just don't really know what life can be like. As you get older, you realize that the stories we tell ourselves [when we're younger] about what [life] can be can be very limiting,

In my particular instance, I could not have envisioned knowing these massive heroes that I got to brush up against, and I got to learn from. I think there's not an award on the planet that could measure knowing some of these people. 

I mean, even singing with Willie Nelson, for as long as we've sung together is — the Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame [performance with him] was just icing on the cake. To be in a "club" — as my dad calls it — with the people that wrote the book on it is just very humbling.

I read that you didn't even want to record "All I Wanna Do" at first. Is there a song you've never gotten sick of playing?

After two years of touring that record, I was so sick of ["All I Wanna Do"]. Now, of course, I play it with absolute and total gratitude, because it's taken me to St. Petersburg, to Tokyo, to Bogota, to Tel Aviv. That song has literally taken me all over the world, and I've watched people who don't speak English sing the many thousands of words in that song. 

There is one song that I love every time I play it, and when it comes on the radio, I don't turn it off. It's "My Favorite Mistake." The original intent of it, the experience of writing it, the feel of the song. It feels like the best song in my catalog.

That's a big statement! You don't see artists making that statement a lot, because they're like, "Oh, I can't pick one, they're all like my children!" 

"My Favorite Mistake" is my favorite child. There, I'll say it.

It's amazing to have a piece of work like that, right? I can imagine that you have so many songs you're proud of, but it's very cool to have a song, no matter what it meant to other people, for it to feel so special to you.

It is. You hear that woo-woo statement of "I was just a vessel." I've had a few of those songs where I go, "Okay, that's weird. I don't know how I wrote that song top to bottom." There are those songs, and I do look at that and go, "Okay, there is some divinity in that." 

Because we learn really early on how to craft a good song — what the form of a good song is, how to build interest in it, how to make it exciting, how to hold the listener. All kinds of crafting tricks. But on the odd occasion you get, like, a "Redemption Day," which you go, "I don't know how I wrote that song, because that's not even how I write," and 15 years later, Johnny Cash records it. 

There are those songs where you think you just got to be in the room for it. "My Favorite Mistake" was a little bit like that. It was so effortless. Most of the lyrics I sang onto the mic as I was playing it on bass, writing it with Jeff [Trott, Crow's frequent collaborator]. 

It just fell together, and it felt so authentic to how gutted I was over my relationship falling apart. And I think sometimes that is what makes a song universal — it's the emotion we all experience no matter what the experience looks like. 

That can very much apply to Evolution as well — in a very different way than "My Favorite Mistake," but there's a lot of relatable sentiments on this album. 

I think as a mom, as a person who's raising two young people, a lot of what I'm asking myself — and what I'm witnessing, which causes me to scratch my head — I don't know what to do with it. And you can't really engage anymore in narrative conversation where people share ideas, and try to come up with solutions, and make compromises. Because we are now being, I guess, in some ways, programmed to not do that, you know? To not give in to the other side because it might be a show of weakness.

My safe haven is to write songs, and this process was really that. And I can safely say, without ego, I love the way that it turned out, and that is because I did not produce it. It's just my songs and a great movie around them.

So your biggest takeaway from this album is that you should stop producing your own work…

My biggest takeaway is I should just sit and write little songs and then fire them off to a producer.

You know, that's what they're there for, right?

Exactly! That's why we pay you, anyway! [Laughs.]

You're such a statement-based artist and you've always stuck to your guns. What are some things that you look back on and you're like, Man, that is exactly what I set out to do?

Oh my gosh, I have so many that now I allow myself to feel proud of. I think it's our knee-jerk to not ever give ourselves a minute of homage. 

I got to sing with Pavarotti. I got to sing a piece by Mozart in front of my mom and dad in Modena Italy for War Child. The look on my parents' faces will never leave me, ever. My parents are musicians. I don't think they could have envisioned their little girl, like, singing legitimate music, after the years of piano lessons and getting my degree in voice and piano. 

To see me up there singing Mozart with Pavarotti, and then getting to play my own music with Eric Clapton backing me [at the same event], that one moment was a personal highlight for sure.

I've had some incredible experiences — getting to sing with, like you said, Dylan, and getting to walk out on stage with the Rolling Stones and strut around and be a rock star. But doesn't it all come back to your parents, ultimately? I will never forget the emotional looks on their faces. And I will carry that with me forever. 

Well, especially, like you've been talking about, coming out of such a small town. What you've accomplished is so rare, especially coming from a place with three stoplights.

To bring your parents all the way to Italy! They'd never been out of the country and [I had to say] "Okay, you guys are gonna have to get a passport. You're gonna drive an hour and a half to the airport in Memphis, Tennessee. You're gonna fly all the way across the world." 

You know, those are the things that fairy tales are made of. And I would say that my life has been a fairy tale.

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"Genres are a funny little concept, aren't they? In theory, they have a simple definition that's easy to understand. But in practice, well, some may feel confined."

With those words, spoken on "SPAGHETTII" by Linda Martell — the first commercially successful Black female artist in country music and the first to play the Grand Ole Opry solo — Beyoncé provides a proxy response to her original call on Instagram 10 days before COWBOY CARTER was released: "This ain’t a Country album. This is a “Beyoncé” album." 

She delivered on that promise with intent. Through a mix of homage and innovation, Beyoncé's latest is a 27-track testament to her boundless musicality and draws  from a rich aural palette. In addition to its country leanings, COWBOY CARTER includes everything from the soulful depths of gospel to the intricate layers of opera. 

Beyoncé's stance is clear: she's not here to fit into a box. From the heartfelt tribute in "BLACKBIIRD" to the genre-blurring tracks like "YA YA," Beyoncé uses her platform to elevate the conversation around genre, culture, and history. She doesn't claim country music; she illuminates its roots and wings, celebrating the Black artists who've shaped its essence.

The collective album proves no genre was created or remains in isolation. It's a concept stoked in the words of the opening track, "AMERIICAN REQUIEM" when Beyonce reflects, "Nothing really ends / For things to stay the same they have to change again." For country, and all popular genres of music to exist they have to evolve. No sound ever stays the same.

COWBOY CARTER's narrative arc, from "AMERICAN REQUIEM" to "AMEN," is a journey through American music's heart and soul, paying tribute to its origins while charting a path forward. This album isn't just an exploration of musical heritage; it's an act of freedom and a declaration of the multifaceted influence of Black culture on American pop culture.

Here's a closer look at some of some of the musical genres touched on in act ii, the second release of an anticipated trilogy by Beyoncé, the most GRAMMY-winning artist of all-time: 

Country 

Before COWBOY CARTER was even released, Beyoncé sparked critical discussion over the role of herself and all Black artists in country music. Yet COWBOY CARTER doesn't stake a claim on country music. Rather, it spotlights the genre through collaborations with legends and modern icons, while championing the message that country music, like all popular American music and culture, has always been built on the labor and love of Black lives. 

It's a reckoning acknowledged not only by Beyoncé's personal connection to country music growing up in Texas, but the role Black artists have played in country music rooted in gospel, blues, and folk music. 

Country legends, Dolly Parton ("DOLLY P", "JOLENE," and "TYRANT"), Willie Nelson ("SMOKE HOUR" and "SMOKE HOUR II"), and Martell ("SPAGHETTII and "THE LINDA MARTELL SHOW") serve mainly as spoken-word collaborators, becoming MCs for Queen Bey. Some of the most prolific country music legends receiving her in a space where she has been made to feel unwelcome in music (most notably with the racism surrounding her 2016 CMA performance of "Daddy Lessons" with the Dixie Chicks) provides a prolific release of industry levies. Martell, a woman who trod the dark country road before Bey, finally getting her much-deserved dues appears as an almost pre-ordained and poetic act of justice. 

"BLACKBIIRD," a version of the Beatles' civil rights era song of encouragement and hope for the struggle of Black women is led softly by Beyoncé, backed by a quartet of Black female contemporary country songbirds: Tanner Adell, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy, and Reyna Roberts. 

Beyoncé holds space for others, using the power of her star to shine a light on those around her. These inclusions rebuke nay-sayers who quipped pre-release that she was stealing attention from other Black country artists. It also flies in the faces that shunned and discriminated against her, serving as an example of how to do better. The reality that Beyoncé wasn't stealing a spotlight, but building a stage for fellow artists, is a case study in how success for one begets success for others. 

Read more: 8 Country Crossover Artists You Should Know: Ray Charles, The Beastie Boys, Cyndi Lauper & More

Gospel, Blues, & Folk (American Roots)

As is Beyoncé's way, she mounts a case for country music with evidence to back up her testimony. She meanders a course through a sequence of styles that serve as the genre's foundation: gospel, blues, and folk music.

"AMERIICAN REQUIEM" and "AMEN" bookend the album with gospel-inspired lyrics and choir vocals. The opener sets up a reflective sermon buoyed by  the sounds of a reverberating church organ, while the closer, with its introspective lyrics, pleads for mercy and redemption. The main verse on "AMEN", "This house was built with blood and bone/ The statues they made were beautiful/ But they were lies of stone," is complemented by a blend of piano, and choral harmonies. 

Hymnal references are interlaced throughout the album, particularly in songs like "II HANDS II HEAVEN" and in the lyrical nuances on "JUST FOR FUN." In the later track, Beyoncé's voice soars with gratitude in a powerful delivery of the lines, "Time heals everything / I don't need anything / Hallelujah, I pray to her." 

The gospel-inspired, blues-based "16 CARRIAGES" reflects the rich history of country songs borrowing from the blues while simultaneously calling back to songs sung by field laborers in the colonial American South. "Sixteen dollars, workin' all day/ Ain't got time to waste, I got art to make" serves as the exhausted plea of an artist working tirelessly long hours in dedication to a better life. 

Rhiannon Giddens, a celebrated musician-scholar, two-time GRAMMY winner, and Pulitzer Prize recipient, infuses "TEXAS HOLD 'EM" with her profound understanding of American folk, country, and blues. She plays the viola and banjo, the latter tracing its origins to Sub-Saharan West Africa and the lutes of ancient Egypt. Through her skilled plucking and bending of the strings, Giddens bridges the rich musical heritage of Africa and the South with the soul of country, blues, and folk music.

Pop, Funk, Soul & Rock 'n' Roll 

All in, Beyoncé is a pop star who is wrestling with labels placed on her 27-year career in COWBOY CARTER. Fittingly, she brings in two other pop artists known for swimming in the brackish water between country and pop, Miley Cyrus and Post Malone. Her intentional inclusion of two artists who have blurred genres without much cross-examination begs the question, Why should Beyoncé's sound be segregated to a different realm? 

On "YA YA" Linda Martell returns as the listener's sonic sentinel, introducing the track like a lesson plan: "This particular tune stretches across a range of genres. And that’s what makes it a unique listening experience." The tune sinks into the strummed chords of Nancy Sinatra's "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" before leaping into a fiery dance track that features reimagined lyrics from the Beach Boys, with soulful vocal flourishes and breaks that show the throughline connection between '60s era rock, funk, and pop music.

Robert Randolph lends his hands on "16 CARRIAGES" with a funk-infused grapple on his pedal-steel guitar. It's a style he honed through his early years touring and recording with his family band and later in his career as an in-demand collaborator working with names including the Allman Brothers, and Norah Jones. 

The lesson is solidified as the album transitions into an interlude on "OH LOUISIANA," featuring a sped-up sample of a classic track by Chuck Berry. This moment emphasizes the pop superstar's nod to civil rights era music history, spotlighting a controversial artist celebrated for his pioneering contributions to rock 'n' roll. (It's a part of music history Beyoncé knows well, after starring as Etta James in the 2008 film Cadillac Records, a veiled biopic of the legendary Chicago label Chess Records.)

Classical & Opera

Opera was missing from many listeners' Beyoncé Bingo card, but didn't surprise those that know her background. Beyoncé was trained for over a decade starting at an early age by her voice teacher David Lee Brewer, a retired opera singer who once lived with the Knowles family. 

COWBOY CARTER gives sing-along fans a 101 opera class with "DAUGHTER." In Italian, Beyoncé sings passages from the 1783 Italian opera "Caro Mio Ben," composed by Giuseppe Tommaso Giovanni Giordani. The aria is a classic piece of vocal training that fittingly shows off her full range — taking us back to the earliest days of her vocal teachings.

Hip-Hop & R&B

Midway through the album on "SPAGHETTII" Beyoncé announces, "I ain't no regular singer, now come get everythin' you came for," landing right where expectations have confined her: in the throes of a romping beat, experimenting with sounds that blend hip-hop with R&B and soul. The track notably highlights the talent of Nigerian American singer/rapper Shaboozey, who also shows up to the rodeo on "SWEET HONEY BUCKIN'" brandishing his unique mix of hip-hop, folk-pop, and country music. 

Beyoncé worked with longtime collaborator Raphael Saadiq on this album, a career legend in the R&B industry, who lends his mark to several tracks on which he wrote, produced, and played multiple instruments. Beyoncé also utilizes the Louisiana songwriter Willie Jones on "JUST FOR FUN," an artist who draws on a contemporary blend of country, Southern rap, and R&B in the hymnal ballad. 

The violin-heavy "TYRANT" and "SPAGHETTII" both underscore hip-hop's long love affair with the classical string instrument (See: Common's "Be," and Wu Tang Clan's "Reunited" as the tip of that particular iceberg) with a blend of soulful R&B lyrics paired with beat-based instrumentalization. 

In a world quick to draw lines and label sounds, Beyoncé's COWBOY CARTER stands as a vibrant mosaic of musical influence and innovation. Ultimately, Beyoncé's COWBOY CARTER isn't seeking anyone's acceptance. As a Texan once told she didn't belong, her critical response claps back at this exclusion.  It's also a reminder that in the hands of a true artist, music is limitless.

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