One of the new year’s biggest surprises has been the appearance of a pensive son of the soil by the name of Justin Timberlake. In a short teaser video announcing his fifth solo album, Man of the Woods, the former ‘NSync star went a-wanderin’ through forests, fields, mountains and streams, lookin’ fer answers to this big ol’ riddle we call life. Bearded and rugged, he looked like a man who wouldn’t think twice about climbing into the body of a dead horse for warmth. This on-the-nose rebrand inspired rather more hilarity than Timberlake might have expected, resembling as it did a commercial for a cologne that smells of cattle, woodsmoke and good, honest sweat.
For pop stars, the tropes of country music, and rural America in general, are alluring shorthand for maturity and sincerity. In 2016, Lady Gaga reversed out of a club-pop cul-de-sac with the relatively earthy Joanne. Last year, Miley Cyrus mothballed her twerking pants and revisited her country roots on Younger Now. Kylie is promising a new album, Golden, inspired by Dolly Parton, the hot-pink intersection of country and camp. Even Beyoncé turned to country on 2016’s Daddy Lessons, her riff on inheritance, religion and the second amendment. In various ways, pop has never been so country-curious.
“I think when pop stars get rich, there is an instinctive move to buy a farm,” says Chris Willman, music critic and author of Rednecks & Bluenecks: The Politics of Country Music. “And once you’re out there, you may wonder why you aren’t making records as folksy as your new off-the-grid lifestyle. I’d maybe call it ‘ranch hypnosis’. But I find it reassuring that country does still read as authenticity to some degree, long after some of us have given up on it being anything other than southern ex-urban lifestyle music.”
Artists have been heading down to Tennessee to avail themselves of crack session musicians and rootsy ambience since Bob Dylan and Neil Young almost 50 years ago. Nashville is both a thriving music industry hub and an abstract ideal; a factory that turns out myths as well as hits. “When a major artist comes (or comes back to) this region, it’s not just an act,” says Ann Powers, a critic and author who lives in Nashville. “It also usually signals a genuine attempt to tap into a rich musical resource.” At this stage, the extent of Timberlake’s interest is unclear. When he solemnly claims that Man of the Woods is inspired by “where I’m from”, he isn’t whistling Dixie. He was born in Memphis and now owns a decent chunk of Leiper’s Fork, an hour outside of Nashville. But the snow-covered landscapes in the video suggest Montana, where he owns a ranch, rather than Tennessee. By eliding the deep south with the old west, he isn’t so much exploring his roots as creating a moodboard of heartland Americana. How that manifests itself in the music remains to be seen.
The album promises a duet with Nashville crossover star Chris Stapleton, and the tracklisting reads like an Apprentice team’s whiteboard after a long morning brainstorming names for an air freshener: Breeze Off the Pond, Livin’ Off the Land, Flannel. But its first single, Filthy, is Timbaland-produced electro-funk with a video in which Timberlake dances with a robot. Neither he nor the robot look like they could erect a sturdy cabin afore winter comes. Lady Gaga also played it both ways on Joanne, co-writing songs with country hitmaker Hillary Lindsey but hiring Mark Ronson as producer. Pop has always been about dressing up. Stars adopt new guises to refresh the narrative for another album cycle. It gets tricky, though, when the new identity reads as a statement of authenticity. Is this incarnation the “real” one or just another costume? “Country imagery has been played for comedy so much, there’s a danger of seeming self-parodic if you put on the Stetson or go romping in the trees,” says Willman. “I don’t think Lady Gaga meant to seem campy or patronising with her Joanne look but she just did. And I think Miley desperately wanted to convey authenticity to the world, yet maybe it was that very thirst for authenticity that read as inauthentic.” As the Tennessee-born daughter of Billy Ray Cyrus and goddaughter of Dolly Parton, Cyrus has country credentials; even her eye-poppingly postmodern Bangerz tour included a throaty rendition of Jolene. But Younger Now retrospectively underscored criticisms that her interest in urban music was just a calculated phase, especially when, in a Billboard interview, she caricatured mainstream hip-hop as: “Lamborghini, got my Rolex, got a girl on my cock”.
Pivoting from an urban identity to a rural one attracts an awful lot of racial baggage, especially under the current administration. Ann-Derrick Gaillot at news and comment site the Outline criticised Timberlake for “pandering to a whiter America”, while Buzzfeed’s Anne-Helen Petersen went so far as to compare the singer’s new aesthetic to Donald Trump Jr’s Park Avenue frontiersman shtick. Powers, whose new book Good Booty explores the sexual and racial politics of US popular music, points out that the history of country music is racially complex. It’s always been informed by black music – blues, rock’n’roll, soul – and now young country artists such as Sam Hunt and Maren Morris are absorbing hip-hop and R&B into their sound. “While the culture and business of country music remains overwhelmingly white and male-dominated, the sound is not so monochromatic,” says Powers. “In fact, many singers sound like they’re influenced by Justin Timberlake or Beyoncé.”
But in the popular imagination, and the tourist traps of Nashville’s main drag, country codes as culturally conservative and blindingly white. For pop stars who built their success on assimilating – some would say appropriating – black music, a new engagement with country music raises thorny questions. “These moves suggest that these artists are aiming for racially unconfined sounds and images,” says Powers. “Maybe their invocations of the south or the west are meant as a form of acknowledgment: we are white, they seem to be saying, we know it, and we’re not going to fake our racial identities any more. If that’s the intention, it seems to be failing.”
Pop stars don’t necessarily ponder racial politics when crafting a new direction but they do consider the bottom line. On that front, the wisdom of turning to country is uncertain. Younger Now flopped and Joanne was no hit machine but those albums may prove to be canny routes to longevity. With rock in decline, country is the new epicentre of traditional instrumentation, midtempo ballads and other ingredients that appeal to older listeners. “Justin Timberlake is 36 years old,” says Powers. “He’s a dad. Who can blame him for being inspired by Chris Stapleton, who had his commercial breakthrough at 37? Country fans are loyal, they support live music, they even still buy recordings.”
Rock or pop artists who court the country audience know that if they can connect with these fans they will likely have them for life. Pop’s biggest star may be travelling in the opposite direction but she knows the territory better than most. Don’t be surprised if, after the celeb-saturated urban pop of Reputation, Taylor Swift finds her way back to Nashville. And she won’t have to stand in the woods lookin’ thoughtful to do it.
