18 February 1 - 7, 2024 dallasobserver.com DALLAS OBSERVER Classified | MusiC | dish | Culture | unfair Park | Contents that embraces my personal values, like being authentic and loving people for who they are,” Coffey says. “And, of course, crying my eyes out to ‘Teardrops on My Guitar’ by Taylor Swift.” His relationship with the genre echoes that of many who grew up in the South. He grew up on country and was raised on classic artists such as Dolly Parton. For a time, mod- ern country, which he perceived as promot- ing misogyny and alcoholism, left him feeling jaded about the genre, but he eventually dis- covered artists who reflected and affirmed his values and reignited his love for country. His favorites include Kacey Musgraves, Or- ville Peck and, as always, Dolly Parton. “With the rise of many upcoming queer and POC artists breaking into the scene, they are really challenging the precedent,” Coffey says. “It is no longer just for straight white people. There are now country artists I can listen to and relate to as a queer person, and I didn’t have that as a kid.” Last year’s inflammatory hits notwith- standing, countless country artists have risen to this moment, many of them from North Texas. Dallas native Joshua Ray Walker made a statement on gender stereotypes last year with the release of What Is It Even?, a collec- tion of covers of songs by female pop artists. The album and its cover art, which depicts Walker in a pink, furry shawl, take an artistic stand against detractors who have mocked him for appearing too feminine. The name of the album is even a defiant direct quote from a hateful comment he received. Arlington native Maren Morris has been vocal about her progressive beliefs. She is an advocate for more diversity in country mu- sic and a staunch ally of the LGBTQ+ com- munity, stances that have made her a polarizing figure among country fans. After being called a “lunatic” by former Fox News host Tucker Carlson, Morris raised $100,000 for transgender charities by sell- ing shirts that read “Maren Morris, Lunatic Country Music Person.” Another Arlington native, Mickey Guy- ton, made history by becoming the first Black woman to be nominated for Best Country Solo Performance at the 63rd Grammy Awards for “Black Like Me.” The song details her experience as a Black woman in country music, containing lyrics such as, “If you think we live in the land of the free / You should try being Black like me,” and was released in the wake of the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests. Dallas trio The Chicks (formerly The Di- xie Chicks) will forever be known for their comments about the Iraq War in 2003 (and their subsequent cancellation by conserva- tive country fans), but that was far from their last political statement. Their recent concert tours have included bold feminist and anti-racist messages, including project- ing the names of victims of police brutality onto an LED screen while performing their protest anthem, “March March.” Artists who openly love and advocate for their fans in marginalized communities give listeners like Coffey hope, despite the reac- tionary fans and musicians who are still prominent in the scene. “I really do hope that in the future, this type of country music will not be seen as groundbreaking, but just the norm,” he says. “We will all just love each other a little more and listen to the music we love.” Y’ALLTERNATIVE In the spirit of their punk roots, the Vando- liers have never shied away from making a statement. These days, however, they’ve been feeling the weight of their platform a little more. “Lately, I’ve had this realization that when we do these things, most of the time we just assume no one’s going to pay atten- tion. You know?” Fleming says with a laugh. “We don’t really understand that people like … like our band.” In March of last year, the Vandoliers played what would’ve otherwise been a be- nign show to about 80 people at The Shed Smokehouse & Juke Joint in Maryville, Ten- nessee. The show made national headlines thanks to a certain last-minute costuming choice: The all-male band performed that night’s set in dresses. This was done in response to the anti- drag legislation that had passed in Tennes- see that day. House Bill 9, which was drafted by Tennessee state Sen. Jack Johnson and signed by Gov. Bill Mee, restricts “adult cab- aret performances” (including “male or fe- male impersonators”) in public or in the presence of children. But when the Vandoliers donned their frilliest dresses and walked out that night to Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like a Woman,” it did not feel like a political stunt to them. It just felt like the right thing to do. “We just thought it was kind of horse- shit,” says Graves of the legislation. “Within our platform, we’ve been a part of the trans community and queer commu- nity,” Fleming says. “We have friends in this community. It was just kind of our way of showing our platform where we stood on it. And that’s where we wanted to be. And ob- viously, it took off.” With country music being a battleground for the omnipresent culture war in recent years, the band finds it more important than ever to let their audience know where they stand. “There are people out there thinking these aren’t safe spaces,” Graves says of the culture at country shows. “And I guess some of them aren’t. We want to be the antithesis to that. If we’ve got to kiss each other on- stage, or whatever we do that makes the ass- holes uncomfortable and stay home so that everyone else can feel safe, we’ll do it. I just want our shows to be a safe space and for ev- eryone to feel welcome.” While the band has always been willing to stand up for what they believe in, they’re hesitant to call statements like the one they made in Tennessee “political.” “We really don’t get political,” Graves says. “Like, almost ever.” “If anybody is ever like, ‘Oh my God, the Vandoliers are liberal,’ they haven’t been pay- ing attention,” Fleming adds. “But, at the same time, it’s not an overt act ever and this wasn’t one of those either. We thought it was impor- tant to us. We wanted to show our support.” The band’s insistence that they’re not po- litical might raise some eyebrows, seeing how the performance in dresses was a direct response to a political event, and they per- formed at a rally for Sen. Bernie Sanders during his 2020 presidential campaign. The perceived contradiction is not lost on them. “You say we’re not political, Cory, but we talk about body positivity, you guys take off your shirt,” Fleming says to Graves. “We’ve talked about mental health onstage for the last five years, we’ve played political parties, we’ve done the dress thing … ” “I just don’t consider any of that politics,” Graves replies. “That’s just, like, human is- sues.” The dresses made headlines, but they’re far from the first statement the band has made onstage. The guys are well acquainted with using fashion to send a message. “‘Protect Trans Kids’ is a shirt that I wear anytime we have a big show. I wore it in Anaheim for the Flogging Molly show,” Fleming says. “Cory has one that’s like, ‘If you don’t like abortion, chop your dick off.’ That’s my favorite.” Taking a firm stance on these issues has become more crucial than ever to Fleming since the birth of his daughter. “My kid has softened me up so much,” Fleming says. The softness can be heard in his voice. “My job right now is to tend to her garden and protect it and put in seeds of hope and joy and patience. And if I can do all of that while setting an example of, you know, we’ve gotta love people. That’s the bit.” Fleming hopes that the band’s message of love doesn’t just create a safe space for fans at their shows, but an accepting environment for whoever his daughter grows up to be. “Her gender is not my responsibility,” he says. “I want her to feel like her dad will ac- cept her for whoever she wants to be, when- ever she’s ready to do that.” BORN THIS SWAY The story of the music video for “Sway,” a song Dallas-based country artist Kameron Ross released last year, takes place at the Round-Up Saloon in Dallas. As Ross, who is gay, prepares to perform for a crowd of rug- ged, red-blooded country music fans, he confides in drag queen Alyssa Edwards, a former RuPaul’s Drag Race contestant and native of Mesquite. “I just can’t do it,” Ross says to Edwards. “I can’t go out there and perform for these peo- ple. They’re just … they’re not going to like it.” “So what?” Edwards replies. “You mean to tell me every gig that you book, you’re going to put on a mask because you’re afraid of offend- ing someone for being you? Baby, please.” With Edwards’ encouragement, Ross takes the stage in a sequined jacket and the show begins. The crowd is skeptical at first, and as the song builds up to the chorus, Ed- wards calls in some backup: a shimmering squad of local drag queens ready to hype up both Ross and the crowd. By the end of the video, Ross’ perfor- mance is such a success the cowboys and drag queens are square dancing, throwing darts and playing poker together like old friends. Against all odds, once again, com- munity and the pursuit of common ground have prevailed. The narrative of the “Sway” video parallels Ross’ own life and career: pursuing a career in country music as a gay man, fearing backlash from intolerant fans and coming out on top with support from the LGBTQ+ community. “Although we see a lot of headlines about some of the progressiveness in country mu- sic, [...] what a lot of people don’t see is the backlash that happens afterward,” Ross says. “Many fans start to say that they will boycott award shows or artists like that for becoming too ‘woke.’ And I laugh at that be- cause they aren’t becoming ‘woke.’ They’re trying to become equal.” Marcos Covos Ross was invited to perform at Capital Pride in D.C. last June. The New Outlaws from p17
