Capitol Records Nashville

After a decade kicking around Nashville, Mickey Guyton has finally made the album that matches her incredible voice: big, strong and smooth á la Faith Hill, Martina McBride and Carly Pearce. Remember Her Name is also a lot more thought-provoking than your average country record. The spirited title track works as both a cry to remember Breonna Taylor—the young Black woman slain by Kentucky police in her own home—and a reminder for females not to lose themselves in the face of adversity: "Remember her face/ She felt the storm and danced out in the pouring rain/ Remember her laughing/ Through all the pain." Guyton originally released "Black Like Me" during the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests; on it, her voice travels from a dusky almost-whisper to gospel-choir highs as she tells her own tale of racism from childhood to now, even as she's a success story. Bright and shining "Words" examines the expectation, as a success, to act like everything is OK when people "don't like the songs that I sing or the man who gave me my ring/ They even hate that I'm black." She knocks it out of the park on a cover of "If I Were a Boy" (made famous by Beyoncé) and its spiritual match, "What Are You Gonna Tell Her." That gorgeous ballad doesn't shy away from the prejudices that little girls still face despite all those "the future is female" T-shirts: "Do you just let her pretend that she can be the president? … Do you let her think the deck's not stacked?" It's not all bad news, though. "Different" is an upbeat, Meghan Trainor-style "mama said" celebration of how women don't all have to look the cookie-cutter same. Soaring "Love My Hair" gets even more specific, delivering a cry of freedom for women of color who've been "othered" for their appearance: "I used to think what God gave me wasn't fair/ I'd braid it all to hide the curls up there/ I found my freedom when I learned not to care." There are cries for unity amid the nation's political divide (anthemic "All-American" spells out how people, wearing Daisy Dukes or dookie braids, are all part of the same melting pot), her fun take on a drinking song (never mind whiskey or tequila, Guyton celebrates rosé: "Everybody love a good cliché") and the banjo-playful "Smoke"—as in, where there's smoke in a relationship, "There's a grandma-chicken-grease-fire-truck-in-the-street-preacher-preach kind of fire." She also has a clutch of love songs, from the gospel-tinged "Lay It On Me" to the slow-hand balladry of "Dancing in the Living Room" and Whitney Houston-esque joy of "Higher." Remember is a smart and diverse, yet focused record that's not trying to be anything other than country. Guyton is refreshingly personal and honest and, as a result, a true inspiration. You would have to be inhuman not to learn something from her. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

After a decade kicking around Nashville, Mickey Guyton has finally made the album that matches her incredible voice: big, strong and smooth á la Faith Hill, Martina McBride and Carly Pearce. Remember Her Name is also a lot more thought-provoking than your average country record. The spirited title track works as both a cry to remember Breonna Taylor—the young Black woman slain by Kentucky police in her own home—and a reminder for females not to lose themselves in the face of adversity: "Remember her face/ She felt the storm and danced out in the pouring rain/ Remember her laughing/ Through all the pain." Guyton originally released "Black Like Me" during the 2020 Black Lives Matter protests; on it, her voice travels from a dusky almost-whisper to gospel-choir highs as she tells her own tale of racism from childhood to now, even as she's a success story. Bright and shining "Words" examines the expectation, as a success, to act like everything is OK when people "don't like the songs that I sing or the man who gave me my ring/ They even hate that I'm black." She knocks it out of the park on a cover of "If I Were a Boy" (made famous by Beyoncé) and its spiritual match, "What Are You Gonna Tell Her." That gorgeous ballad doesn't shy away from the prejudices that little girls still face despite all those "the future is female" T-shirts: "Do you just let her pretend that she can be the president? … Do you let her think the deck's not stacked?" It's not all bad news, though. "Different" is an upbeat, Meghan Trainor-style "mama said" celebration of how women don't all have to look the cookie-cutter same. Soaring "Love My Hair" gets even more specific, delivering a cry of freedom for women of color who've been "othered" for their appearance: "I used to think what God gave me wasn't fair/ I'd braid it all to hide the curls up there/ I found my freedom when I learned not to care." There are cries for unity amid the nation's political divide (anthemic "All-American" spells out how people, wearing Daisy Dukes or dookie braids, are all part of the same melting pot), her fun take on a drinking song (never mind whiskey or tequila, Guyton celebrates rosé: "Everybody love a good cliché") and the banjo-playful "Smoke"—as in, where there's smoke in a relationship, "There's a grandma-chicken-grease-fire-truck-in-the-street-preacher-preach kind of fire." She also has a clutch of love songs, from the gospel-tinged "Lay It On Me" to the slow-hand balladry of "Dancing in the Living Room" and Whitney Houston-esque joy of "Higher." Remember is a smart and diverse, yet focused record that's not trying to be anything other than country. Guyton is refreshingly personal and honest and, as a result, a true inspiration. You would have to be inhuman not to learn something from her. © Shelly Ridenour/Qobuz

Perhaps it was meant as a celebration of the pleasures of home, but there's a telling complacency lying within the heart of the title of Born Here Live Here Die Here. Seven albums deep into his career, Luke Bryan sees no reason to mess with the cheery sound that brought him fame and fortune. Boozy anthems sit alongside sentimental ballads, with the two extremes bridged by sunny pop tunes about love, the outdoors, and other country concerns. Bryan may still act like it's 2010 but he can't turn back the hands of time. Now firmly ensconced in middle age, he moves a little slower and sounds a bit gentler than he used to, an overall mellowing that changes the tenor of his music. What once played like a party now feels like comfort or, at best, the soundtrack to a midweek happy hour. Bryan's signature friendliness helps sell these subdued good times, but the leisurely pace also means he often sounds like a dad telling dorky jokes. When he rhapsodizes about "Knocking Boots," there's no danger he'll seduce a stranger, and when he sings about being "Too Drunk to Drive," he's completely sober. His measured attack suits a singer who is slowly turning into an old pro even though it can also highlight how he's still singing about the same things he did a decade earlier. The lack of musical and emotional evolution doesn't necessarily hamper Born Here Live Here Die Here -- it was designed as slick entertainment and that's exactly what it is -- but it does suggest Bryan may be playing with some borrowed time. © Stephen Thomas Erlewine /TiVo

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