The music industry evolves at a dizzying pace. And I’m here to help you make sense of the “Key Changes” in these roundups of music new analysis.
Do you remember when country music had a sense of humor?
Sure, punchlines have taken a backseat to the sullenness and swagger of some of the genre’s current male superstars, but it hasn’t always been that way.
From the old-time comedic personas of the Grand Ole Opry and the cornfield sketches of “Hee Haw,” to the silly songwriting of Roger Miller and Brad Paisley, there’s a long history of country music using winking comedy to make the audience feel in on the joke.
The fact that the Country Music Association gave southern standup Leanne Morgan a prime spot on its awards show last year might suggest that country music’s ready to prioritize punchlines again.
I’ve taken note of several performers who have different ways of combining country songs with colorful yarns and campy wit. I could reel off a number of other examples:
- honky-tonk stalwart Sunny Sweeney’s upcoming musical theater production;
- Georgia-bred singer Hannah Dasher’s kitschy cooking content and dispatches about her grandma’s wild ways;
- drag queen Trixie Mattel’s countrified material;
- The Cowgays’ take on what went unsaid in ’90s country, and;
- Tennessee singer-songwriter Andi Marie Tillman’s viral downhome characters.
There are three others, Shane McAnally, Danae Hays and Pooja Reddy, who I’ve gotten to see in action.
All of these performers share the impulse that’s inspired country comedy over generations: brushing off condescension toward country culture and celebrating its eccentricities.
They’re also helping broaden its perspectives.
Shane McAnally
McAnally is the ultimate industry insider. He released one country album of his own before coming out as a gay man, which he knew could stand in the way of his chance at stardom. From then on, he’s channeled his creative energy into writing and producing for other artists. That work has resulted in more than 50 country No. 1 hits.
Sam Hunt’s suave southern seduction, for instance, ruled the charts with McAnally’s help.
When I heard that McAnally was testing out some sort of autobiographical show at Nashville’s Bluebird Café last year, I wanted to see what he was up to. As it turned out, he’d collected absurd tales from his working-class, rural Texas upbringing with a single mom who stuck a tanning bed in the living room of their trailer and charged people to use it. And he’d woven in some of the hits he’s had a hand in.
McAnally even took the show on the road a bit, opening for an artist he’s worked with. This wasn’t just a fleeting interest in comedy — this was McAnally embracing a whole new outlet.
“Now, at 51 years old, I’m trying to be the most me that I can be,” he told me. “In all these years of writing songs, I’ve been really writing other people’s stories.”
What McAnally’s come to realize is that people also want to hear the story of the openly gay country songwriter whose behind-the-scenes work has made a profound mark on the genre.
Danae Hays
Then there’s Danae Hays. Music came later for her. She built a TikTok following with outlandish portrayals of characters plucked from her Alabama small town, and as a former athlete, she threw herself into physical comedy.
@danaehays Do y’all think it’s fair how Sharon Jean is being treated?
After the escapades of characters like Sharon Jean put Hays on the map, she sought out Nashville collaborators. She’s released a string of songs that aren’t exactly radio-friendly, some of which put a witty, winking lesbian spin on redneck tropes.
Hays brings her songs, stories and characters on tour, and last year I saw her make her Grand Ole Opry debut with a wholesome version of her act. That night, Hays linked her new-generation approach to the template that Jerry Clower popularized in the ‘70s, and even wore a bright red western suit modeled on one of his.
“Jerry is not your conventional stand up artist,” she said of the late comedian. “He’s a southern storyteller, and that’s how I’ve always enjoyed making people laugh is through stories. And that kind of went away for a while.”
To much of Hay’s crowd, these are familiar references.
Pooja Reddy
Pooja Reddy, on the other hand, began writing comedy about her rural Southern upbringing to explain the apparent paradoxes of her youth to crowds in New York, where she lives:
“I would be lying if I said that it wasn’t laughable and crazy and ridiculous that somebody that looks like me, a subway-riding, ‘my body my rights’-chanting, city girl, says that the voice inside this head is an old white man named Everett.”
Her South Indian family immigrated to Kentucky, where she spoke Telugu at home even as she joined white friends and neighbors in becoming a country music-loving outdoor enthusiast.
“I grew up hunting and fishing and I’m a proud southerner,” she explained. “I understand how ridiculous that sounds, but. people from the South are not that different from people in other places. Maybe if it’s coming from me, then you might actually buy it.”
Reddy recently made a trip to Nashville, where I caught an abbreviated version of her comedy set at Zanies Lab. She also collaborated with locals on music for her full-blown country cabaret show.
Reddy’s work is the ultimate example of an approach to country comedy that’s thoroughly relatable and that has the potential to help open minds.
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