Beyoncé, Texas Grannies and Tricks Like Jolene
Beyoncé’s latest album, Cowboy Carter, might not be country — but it sure is Texan.
My grandparents hailed from Texas — Marlin, Texas, to be precise.
A North Carolinian by way of Texas, my grandma Christine never quite shook her longing for home, even into her early eighties. I grew up listening to her wild stories — from her arduous first job picking cotton to moving in with her older sister as a young woman eager for independence from her parents, and daring escapades across the border into Mexico with her brothers in search of marijuana.
“It’s a wonder I never wound up dead or in jail,” she would often say with a roaring laugh, and I was inclined to believe her.
Towering over six feet tall, my grandma carried her height with a spirited and authoritative presence that left a profound impression on everyone she met. As a child, she was teasingly nicknamed “The Jolly Green Giant,” a moniker that hinted at the challenges she faced growing up, shaping her into the larger-than-life woman we admired.
She never hesitated to express her opinions or loudly make her displeasure known. “I ain’t stuntin' bout you,” my grandma would dismissively mutter to anyone workin’ her nerves.
She was a self-described “Crazy Texan Woman” who sometimes played the part. After marrying young and rapidly expanding their family (to ultimately include 11 children), my grandparents’ relationship was marred by infidelity before I was born.
Growing up, I heard tales of my grandma summoning a friend and dashing across town to confront the “other woman”.
Beyoncé’s version of Jolene captures some of her fiery spirit:
“Takes more than beauty and seductive stares
To come between a family and a happy man
Jolene, I’m a woman too
The games you play are nothing new
So you don’t want no heat with me, Jolene”
Yet, whatever pain she inflicted on the mistress didn’t absolve my grandpa. Her favorite story was when she knocked him out cold with a well-aimed frying pan during a heated argument. “I had to run next door and fetch the neighbor,” she would say, cackling until her eyes watered. “I thought for sure I’d killed him!”
In a 2021 Texas Monthly article titled “Strong Texas Women,” Mimi Swartz noted Texas women rejected the reserve of New Englanders and scorned the delicacy of Southern belles. I’ve never encountered a passive Texan woman, though they may certainly exist.
Amidst the album’s controversy, Beyoncé’s rendition of Jolene has sparked debates, with some labeling her lyrics provocative and even violent.
As a descendant of a formidable wife who would beat the brakes off Jolene, I’m torn between indifference and irony, acknowledging the paradox of labeling a Black woman’s lyrical content “violent” in a nation saturated with racial violence.
My grandparents lived through a time when being Black after dark in the wrong neighborhood could cost you your life, white lynch mobs terrorized Black communities, and juke joint brawls often turned fatal. In modern-day Texas, gun culture prevails.
“The state’s past is steeped in brutality and bloodshed,” declares a review of a recently published book exploring Texas’s racial injustice and violent crimes from 1965 to 2020.
In many ways, being Black and growing up Texan was synonymous with violence.
When I listen to Cowboy Carter I glimpse bits and pieces of my heritage. The southern accent, with its twang and drawl, is familiar. From “Ameriican Requiem” to “Amen,” the lyrics echo the essence of a faraway home. This is an album crafted for those raised on Big Red and boudin.
I see brown-skinned, curly-haired country boys, just like my grandpa, in fitted Levi’s jeans and long-sleeved shirts in summer to protect their flesh from the unforgiving Texas sun. I catch the earthy scent of suede leather from my first pair of cowboy boots — the color denim blue. My taste buds begin to yearn for smoked barbecue and a giant dill pickle too.
“Is you is, or is you aint?” — indeed.
Cowboy Carter reminds me of my crazy Texan grandma, from whom I learned my birthright is to be bold, take up space, and own my story, no matter how messy. Someone whose genetics denied her the opportunity to do anything less.
Even after dedicating her life to Christ and devoting much of her time to churchin’, she remained a sanctuary for my chaos — because she’d lived a life that made her chuckle in remembrance of her own. She stayed fiery ’til the end, throwing shade that kept us laughing, as she lay in her hospice bed last year.
I can’t say for sure what grandma Christine would make of Cowboy Carter, but I imagine she’d be tickled at all the fuss over another high-spirited, proud Texan gal like her.
Hey y’all, I’m Shanon Lee. For years, I contributed to The Lily at The Washington Post. Now, I write what I wanna write and say what I wanna sayyyy *in my Orlando Brown voice*. You can find more of my writing here and follow my musings on social here. Book a consultation for writing or building your author platform here — and if you like my writing, give me my flowers boo (aka tips welcome!). Lastly, don’t forget to subscribe!✨
