Twelve albums into his career, Brad Paisley finds himself in limbo. In many ways, Paisley is a world apart from the rest of country music’s contemporary superstars. At the same time, he shares a troubling amount of DNA with the fellow titans of an industry headed in the wrong direction.
In 2013, culture critic Jody Rosen coined the term “bro-country” to describe the shape of modern country music. By Rosen’s estimation, mainstream country had become “music by and of the tatted, gym-toned, party-hearty young American white dude.” He was spot on, and four years later very little has changed. The genre’s most popular songs are almost invariably written by white men about some combination of beer, trucks, women and more beer. Take the top song on Billboard’s Hot Country charts — Sam Hunt’s “Body Like a Back Road.” The women and trucks are practically in the song’s title.
The bro-country movement goes deeper than monotonous subject matter. Songs like Hunt’s are crafted specifically to engender radio play. They mix typical southern imagery with poppy, synth-heavy backing tracks and raucous guitar hooks. These songs generally lack notable musicianship, opting instead for heady, chant-able choruses. At times, these bro-country artists are almost rapping — a technique pioneered by Toby Keith as early as 2001’s loathsome “I Wanna Talk About Me.” The stock and trade of the sub-genre is dime-store sexism and blind braggadocio coupled with uncomplicated melodies and bland pop-rock guitar.
Enter Paisley. The West Virginian superstar put out a new album, “Love and War,” earlier this week. Just based on name and appearance, Paisley fits squarely into the bro-country oeuvre — a handsome white guy with an easily-spelled white-guy name wearing a cowboy hat and blue jeans.
Paisley’s music, however, immediately sets him apart. Paisley plays the guitar far better than any other country star alive, peppering his tracks with face-melting electric riffs and explosive punctuation marks. At times, he sounds like an heir apparent to Stevie Ray Vaughan — a stark contrast from bro-country frontrunners like Luke Bryan or Jason Aldean, who would struggle through “Wonderwall.” Paisley is one of the best guitarists of his generation, regardless of genre. The new album puts his talents front and center — the improvisation on “Grey Goose Chase” would make Duane Allman proud.
Paisley has also proven that he can be a phenomenal songwriter. Some of his lyrics are tongue-in-cheek to the point of being laugh-out-loud funny. “High Life” from 2014’s “Moonshine in the Trunk” is a satirical portrait of southern rednecks, and in turn is self-deprecating, endearing and brutally clever. “Grandpa’s with the Lord now,” he sings, exaggerating his southern accent, “But we got a new Ford now.” On “Celebrity,” from 2003’s “Mud on the Tires,” he turns his critical eye to Hollywood glitterati — “I can throw a major fit / When my latte isn’t just how I like it.”
Paisley also has a few lovely ballads to his name. “Shattered Glass,” also from “Moonshine,” is a legitimately beautiful ode to his young daughter. “Come on, baby, make it rain down shattered glass,” he sings. The song would have seamlessly fit into a Hillary Clinton campaign advertisement. Interestingly enough, Rolling Stone has described Paisley as “mainstream country's most prominent liberal” — another thing setting him apart from the likes of Keith, who performed at Trump’s inauguration. It’s easy to see Paisley as the antidote to the debacle facing the genre. He’s smarter, a better musician and far more self-aware than any of his fellow stars.
But Paisley is not country music’s savior. For every feminist anthem he releases, Paisley has a reprehensible mistake elsewhere in his discography. The most egregious example of this is 2013’s “Accidental Racist,” a collaboration with LL Cool J featuring the lines “If you don't judge my do-rag / I won't judge your red flag / If you don't judge my gold chains / I'll forget the iron chains.” The track was so obviously and immediately problematic that Ta-Nehisi Coates bashed it in The Atlantic, writing an article entitled “Why “Accidental Racist” Is Actually Just Racist.” It’s a clear sign someone messed up big-time when Coates gets on the case.
Unfortunately, Paisley was unrepentant. “It's two guys that believe in who they are and where they're from very honestly having a conversation and trying to reconcile,” he said of the song, dramatically missing the point. A do-rag and a Confederate flag are not the same thing, LL Cool J does not speak for all black people and forgetting the iron chains is not the goal.
Paisley also hasn’t always been the kindest to women. Despite having some genuinely sweet love songs to his name, he has also trafficked in the same kind of infantilizing sexism as many other country artists. One particularly uncomfortable example is 2007’s “I’m Still A Guy.” “But when you say a backrub means only a backrub / Then you swat my hand when I try,” Paisley sings, “Well, what can I say at the end of the day / Honey, I'm still a guy.” Remember, this is the genre’s most prominent liberal. Is it tongue-in-cheek? If so, the real meaning is buried far deeper than is responsible, and not betrayed at all by Paisley’s delicate croon. Or take 2009’s “Water.” “Daytona Beach on spring break / Eighteen girls up on stage / White t-shirts about to be sprayed / With water,” Paisley sings gleefully. The new album is an improvement, but Paisley has too many skeletons in his closet.
Then, of course, there is the question of image. Paisley reads bro. He doesn’t do anything about it, either. It’s not his fault he’s a handsome white guy in his 30s, but it does put a damper on his potential as a mold-breaker. And it is his fault that he wears a cowboy hat and jeans to every public appearance he makes. To young viewers, a cowboy hat doesn’t mean George Strait is about to hum a tale of love and loss. It means Jason Aldean is going to tell you how big the wheels are on his truck.
Paisley may think of the cowboy hat as a tribute to his roots, but nearly everyone born after 1995 associates Paisley’s look with lyrically problematic and musically lacking pop-country garbage. It’s unfortunate, of course — popular country artists have always worn cowboy hats. But now, popular country music is not something artists with clear eyes and integrity should be trying to emulate. There are solutions — Chris Stapleton has a huge scraggy beard. Zac Brown wears a beanie. Those guys don’t project bro, and their music is not bro-country. Paisley, meanwhile, has his own page on the Stetson website.
Paisley is a wonderful musician. He is lyrically clever, vocally charming and musically virtuosic. There are dozens of Paisley songs that everyone should listen to. There are also Paisley songs that should never, ever be played again by anyone anywhere. Paisley’s problem is that he might not know the difference. For all his virtues, he can’t — or won’t — be the one who breaks mainstream country away from the bros.
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