19 February 1 - 7, 2024 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents Ross has a lifelong devotion to country music, going back to a Shania Twain concert he attended when he was 8 years old. He be- gan pursuing his music career soon after and went on to release his debut album, I’m Done Lovin’ You, in 2006 at the age of 16. When he came out as gay in his early 20s, however, he quickly realized the effect his identity could have on his career. He had seen it happen to other queer country artists. “Ty Herndon, for example,” Ross says, referring to the first mainstream male coun- try singer to come out as gay. “Ty’s a friend of mine. Once he came out, his career kind of completely shifted.” After coming out, Ross felt the need to take a step back from music for a while. “It was something I needed to figure out,” he says. “I wasn’t sure if, as a queer art- ist, I would be accepted in the same sense as someone who identifies as straight and how hard that would make things for me.” Ross credits his found family in the LG- BTQ+ community (including his fiancé, Dal- las-based baker Lio Botello) with helping him find his voice and supporting the sec- ond, more authentic act of his music career. To Ross, the “Sway” music video does more than provide a fun and thought-provoking story to go with the song. It’s an homage to the people who got him where he is today. “I do feel like we accomplished a really good message with it, you know?” Ross says. “We incorporate every bit of our community from the drag community, from our trans friends, every aspect of it, and we shot it at Round-Up. I think part of it was making it local and having that local representation. All the queens are local to Dallas.” With anti-drag legislation dominating the news cycle, Ross felt it was essential to pay tribute to drag queens when creating the music video. “It showcases the power that drag queens possess,” Ross says. “They have been champions in fighting for equality since be- fore I was born. They do the most for our community and do it in heels. [...] While they were targets of terrible bills around the country, I wanted to be sure to include them and make it clear that I support them just like they all support our community.” The “Sway” video not only showcases Ross’ pride as a gay man, but contains a nod to his Latin roots as well, with Alyssa Ed- wards addressing him by his full name, Ka- meron Ross Martinez. Ross decided to drop his last name at the beginning of his career, but now feels it important to make his heri- tage known. “That is something that I’m slowly want- ing to bring back into things,” he says. “It shouldn’t be me hiding the fact that I have a Latino last name.” Last June, Ross was invited to perform at Capital Pride in Washington, D.C. It was a far cry from the setting depicted in the “Sway” video. The humble Texas saloon was traded for a large open-air stage, and instead of a small crowd of doubtful cowboys, he played to 475,000 queer people and allies who were ready and willing to accept him and enjoy his music. For Ross, the experi- ence was exhilarating and overwhelming. “I’m on stage, and I’m having a good time, but I didn’t know how many people were there,” he says. “You can only see so far. It just goes on for miles.” Ross is optimistic about the future of country music and the role marginalized communities will continue to play in it, de- spite any backlash from conservatives. “There is sort of a push and pull in coun- try music,” he says. “But that’s why diversity in country music is that much more impor- tant right now. We are making a difference, so people of color and LGBTQ+ folks must keep fighting for country music because it’s our country too.” While other progressive-leaning country artists have strayed from the scene in favor of more like-minded genres such as pop, Ross can’t picture himself making such a transition — partially because his singing voice is “very country,” but mostly because of his firm belief that he has as much right to be in that space as anyone. “I love country music and no matter what, we’re staying and we’re going to fight this battle,” he says. “We’re here. We’re not going anywhere.” THE OUTLAWS While country music has always had its con- servative base, it also has a long history of controversial artists who pushed the bound- aries of genre conventions. Kitty Wells’ “It Wasn’t God Who Made Honky Tonk Angels” was banned from the Grand Ole Opry in 1952 for its daring mes- sage that women who get cheated on are per- haps justified in cheating right back. Loretta Lynn’s “The Pill,” an ode to the role of birth control in women’s liberation, was banned by several radio stations upon its release in 1975. Willie Nelson is a longtime activist and has advocated for environmentalism, marriage equality, drug reform and many other pro- gressive causes. Johnny Cash testified in fa- vor of prison reform in front of Congress in 1972 and his choice to perform in prisons is still considered radical today. Nelson and Cash belonged to a move- ment known as outlaw country, a sub-genre that sprang up in the ‘60s and ‘70s in cities like Austin and Lubbock as a counterculture backlash to the Nashville establishment of the time. These long-haired renegades drew inspiration from outside genres such as rock, blues, soul and rockabilly and were the antithesis of their era’s mainstream country music, which strongly skewed conservative and remained creatively stagnant by design. They were subversive and radical up- starts back then and fully canonized heroes of the genre today. This progressive movement occurring in country music is a similar paradigm shift. In some circles, living authentically or giving oth- ers space to do so makes you an outlaw. But just like their hippie forefathers, these artists are dedicated to making country music acces- sible for everyone, no permission required. The Vandoliers can’t be anything but true to themselves. After all, that’s what they believe country music is all about. “It rewards authenticity,” Fleming says of the genre. “That’s what people want out of these songs. Whether you’re listening to Willie Nelson or Johnny Cash, the old school, or listening to new guys like Charley Crockett and the Turnpike Troubadours, the thing that you’re being attracted to is their story and their vulnerability. And when you get into the realm of talking and writing and performing like that, you’re not going to make everybody happy.” That appreciation for the authentic is what unites country fans across the political spectrum. The stories and worlds created in these songs feel so down-to-earth and tangi- ble that the listener feels like they’re having a conversation with a friend or neighbor. Progressive artists still capture this feeling, but with the awareness that not all of our neighbors are straight and white. Ross connects with his audience both with his authenticity and by being the role model he wishes he had growing up. “If I had someone like me growing up that was doing the stuff I’m doing now, it might’ve made things a little bit easier for me,” Ross says. “I want to be able to be that person for somebody who is, I don’t know, 15 years old and still trying to figure themselves out.” As for the Vandoliers, creating music and live experiences that are diverse and accept- ing is second nature at this point. “You should be able to wear a cowboy hat and Converse,” says Fleming, calling back to his punk-to-country crossover. “You should be able to be gay and go to a country show. You should be able to be trans and put on a nice dress and not feel like you’ll get beat up or made fun of when you go to the show.” “Would 100% wear a dress again to keep douchebags out of our show,” Graves says. Carly Gravley The Vandoliers perform at Friendsgiving at the Longhorn Ballroom in November 2023. 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