“We were Jesus save me, blue jean baby
Born in the USA
Trailer park truck stop, faded little map dots
New York to LA
We were teenage dreamin’, front seat leanin’
Baby, come give me a kiss
Put me on the cover of the Rolling Stone
Uptown down home American kids
Growin’ up in little pink houses
Makin’ out on living room couches
Blowin’ that smoke on Saturday night
A little messed up, but we’re all alright””

— American Kids, Kenny Chesney

Country music is a staple of rural America. Playing quietly in every grocery store, blaring in the slowly passing truck on main street, or enjoyed at local festivals, it is absorbed subconsciously if not by choice. In “Seeking Understanding,” I welcomed WOS readers into my rural American upbringing and its impact on my experience of urban communities. Country music is a significant piece of this upbringing. A piece, that once trading my dirt roads for the streets of Chicago, I realized played a key role in the shaping of my cultural identity and understanding of nationalism.

As the title suggests, this column is dedicated to “seeking understanding, “a theological and cultural posture for the furtherance of the gospel and the unity of people through the overcoming of divides. Divides—rural and urban, racial, socio-economic, or denominational—run deep. As deep as the art of a community and culture—perpetuated quietly in the background, blared on the streets, or danced to at festivals. As faithful Christians seek to make and engage culture in communities throughout America, it is the subtle yet influential messages of cultural art that must be analyzed and unpacked for self-growth and the breakdown of misunderstanding. Not to be taken as a critique of country music as a genre, the following analysis hopes to point out specifically how country music, as an element of rural American culture, shapes a specific understanding of the American identity.

American Kids, country music star Kenny Chesney’s 2014 hit, seems to capture the essence of an American childhood. Blue jeans, road trips, school buses, ball practice and nominal Christianity. The lyrics are general, welcoming the listener into a broad, if not generic definition of what is means to be an American kid. Additionally, a reminiscent, reflecting voice is used. Both these components are common to nationalistic songs within the country music genre, as seen in Rodney Atkins’ “It’s America” which speaks fondly of lemonade stands and Chevys comprising the American experience. The words themselves, familiar and endearing, placed to what Chesney describes as a “fun” tune,[i] may not initially inform the listener of any distinct cultural identity being portrayed, but the music video takes the cultural implications further. A colorful bus is cast against a desert backdrop, possibly reminding the viewer of the carefree spirit of the 1970’s.[ii] There is guitar jamming, creek wading, and an American flag flying. And there are lots of happy faces. White faces.

While seeming to promote an inclusive and welcoming understanding of American identity through its generality, Chesney’s song and others of its kind, weave a narrative exclusive of some of its rural own. The US Census Bureau estimated in 2018 that Shenandoah County, Virginia is 7.3% Hispanic or Latino.[iii] Of the entire state’s population, Hispanic or Latinos are 9.3%.[iv] Interestingly, these numbers are similar to those of Memphis (7%)[v] and Nashville (10.4%)[vi], country music centers of the US. Could possibly one face in the American Kids music video represent the children I grew up with in the candy aisle of the grocery store? Aren’t they America’s kids too? It would seem in country music, there isn’t space for them, so a subtle form of nationalism is furthered within the popular music of rural America.

Another art form brings this faulty cultural perspective to task. Lynn Nottage’s Pulitzer Prize winning stage play Sweat, appeared at Goodman’s Albert Theatre in Chicago March 9th- April 21st, 2019. Looking at the lives of Reading, Pennsylvania steel mill workers, Nottage brilliantly unfolds the complexity of the human experience in Trump’s America, providing a case study for communities throughout the United States. Sweat opens with sound bites of news clips and speeches setting the audience into the early 2000’s, suggesting the theme “we need to redeem America.” The context of this need for redemption unfolds in the local bar, the main set of the play. Here co-workers and friends from the steel mill linger, processing their lives as blue collar workers, celebrating success, analyzing the past, and dreaming for the future. As a promotion opportunity surfaces and the economy spirals, relationships falter, ending in tragedy and seemingly irreparable misunderstanding.

In contrast to Chesney’s hit, Nottage’s play is in no way generic, but rather storied. Mill worker Tracey’s story effectively reaches the heart of the white middle class in the audience. A self-made individual, coming from a legacy American family, with a great-granddaddy that was a craftsman, Nottage taps into the pride of the Caucasian American through Tracey’s identity, an identity which is shaken when her job security is removed. Next, Nottage delves into the narrative of the black working class in the life of Tracy’s closest friend, Cynthia. She faces several challenges herself: the challenge of earning her way into the union, the fight to provide her child with the opportunity of higher education, and the perseverance through mistreatment, even from her closest white friends. Finally, Nottage welcomes the audience into the life of the Latino via bar worker Oscar. Unnoticed by the community, yet working devotedly within the community, Oscar, seeks a better, happier life, just like the white and black factory workers. All three groups are pursuing their own American dream.

Nottage expresses in her art a community that is not limited, but complex. Sweat gives faces and personalities to the individuals in its community, embodying the American story as one unique to the individual yet marked by the commonality of human ambition, hope, and pain. This skill is not unknown to the country music genre. As Dolly Parton croons about her “Coat of Many Colors,” a story unfolds of a mother and daughter, of poverty, pride, and faith. But recording artists need new hits. And so what follows are songs like American Kids. An inadequate form of storytelling which continues to shape thinking, leaving products of rural culture bereft of a truly inclusive form of American patriotism.

What if country music presented a holistic perspective of what is means to be American? One that includes the Spanish speaking neighbor who drives a Chevy, the Asian family that runs the local buffet, and the Hindi man who recently bought the gas station. What if the next great country hit, was a bit more honest? For some, that may be too much to ask. But as culture makers and culture consumers, with eyes set on furthering the gospel of Jesus Christ, creating and engaging more storied and complex art cannot be a question. It must be practiced, so that as the next generation of rural teens head to the city for college, they are equipped with practical culture awareness. Or, as the elder generation leading the church struggles with political and multi-cultural issues, there is a launching point for constructive dialogue. If believers are to engage with America as it is, the art we make and use must wrestle with complexities.

July 4th found me proud to be an American. A perfect sunny day, I took the bus to a friend’s cookout, head bobbing and feet tapping to the “Patriotic Country” playlist blaring in my headphones. The son of Mexican immigrants, Manny[i] could have been one of those kids in the candy aisle of the grocery store when I was young. His dad grills the best arachera and his mom’s hospitality continually astounds me. The only disappointment of the evening were the conversations I missed because I don’t speak Spanish. But that didn’t really matter. Caucasians, Mexicans, Costa Ricans, and multiracial individuals, we gathered as friends—laughing, shrieking, and celebrating as the fireworks boomed. These are my people. This is my country. We are all American kids.