Each week, we add new music, older tracks, which are known as “Gold adds”, and tracks that might not fit our general format, but still deserve a place in rotation because they serve our mission of showing the depth, breadth, and influence of Black musical expression - These are known as “Variety adds.”

. If you make music and want it considered for rotation, 

 If you want to give feedback directly, reach out to me at jgreen@mpr.org.

Tune in to hear our host Sanni B. live on The Message from 10 AM to 1 PM Monday through Thursday!

Keep all these tracks in one place with the 

 Spotify playlist. This playlist is updated weekly with all the new adds. When that playlist is cycled with new tracks, the tracks live forever on the 

 playlist. That playlist contains all of the music that we've added since the week of July 11, 2022 in chronological order of when it was added. All of the tracks available on Spotify, at least.

Julian Green built and manages the music library for Carbon Sound and oversees content creation.  


Julian Green

All of the tracks added to rotation on Carbon Sound the week of April 22, 2024.


Image for New on Carbon Sound Spotify playlist

Natalia Toledo

New on Carbon Sound

Old on Carbon Sound

New Music on Carbon Sound - Week of April 22, 2024

's first year at Morehouse, the full-time student and part-time producer found himself at a crossroads. He had migrated to the trap capital from St. Louis, his stage name an amalgamation of his hometown's bus line and Brick Squad rapper OJ da Juiceman's emphatic description of his beats, and enrolled in fall 2012. Now, he was caught between his mother's wishes and his hip-hop ambitions: A collaboration with the buzzing Atlanta rapper 

," had become a cult hit, and was threatening to change the balance of his freshman life. Every day he would venture out of class and into studio sessions with either Future or Gucci Mane, and every day it grew more difficult to balance both. Eventually, he chose to invest in the beats he was making, in part spurred by Future's work ethic. "He'll always push me," Metro 

. "Like I'll always think I'm working hard, he'll be like, 'Metro, you're not working hard enough. You need 

The push paid off big for both artists. Metro Boomin has become a key architect of modern rap, and his decade-long partnership with Future has dramatically shaped both careers. Metro produced most of the seminal Future album 

." In 2016, the nature of their working relationship was spelled out explicitly to many when 

 to thousands at Madison Square Garden and many more streaming at home. Just before the drop on "Father Stretch My Hands, Pt. 1" was a Future exclamation: "

If young Metro don't trust you, I'm gon' shoot you

." In the subsequent years, they have continued their hitmaking streak working mostly apart. Future has tallied five No. 1 albums since 2017, as well as four Top 5 collaborations with Young Thug, Lil Uzi Vert, Zaytoven and the late Juice WRLD. Metro Boomin has earned top billing on two albums with 21 Savage (one with Offset) and another with Big Sean, helmed the soundtrack for last year's 

Now each a star in his own right, Future and Metro have reunited for two new albums in recent weeks — 

 (April 12), each alluding to that declaration turned producer tag turned call sign. Few rappers have been more prolifically great than Future, and he has rarely taken a supporting role in his work, but on these songs Metro Boomin emerges as a marshaling force, one worth putting faith in. The albums demonstrate just how dramatically the balance of this partnership has shifted, and the headliner that Metro has become.

Metro Boomin doesn't really have a public-facing persona. Most rap producers don't, but most rap producers also aren't solo artists in their own right; their behind-the-boards work is often perceived as a function carried out in deference to performers. There are producers who have found stardom as rappers — Dre, Kanye, RZA — but Metro is one of few in history to become a star without operating as an "entertainer" in a traditional capacity; most who have tried similar maneuvers have stumbled. (The only recent self-starter, DJ Khaled, is still something of a mascot, mastering his own universe by leaning hard into caricature — and he's managed all of this without really being a producer, either.) Metro doesn't seem to covet the spotlight, nor is he built for it. Instead, his brand is based on his production's supreme clarity of purpose. In the months-long tease of his reunion with Future, 

 that a quote of his calling it the "ultimate project" had been mischaracterized, saying: "This is why I don't really do press or interviews often. We just let the work speak." In that vein, a Metro Boomin beat comes with some assurances: It is authoritative and self-evident, and not just because of the tags. Even amid its many variations, it is defined by its boom.

Though the exchange between Metro and Future has evolved past its original equilibrium, they can still be effective as a pair. Despite all he's achieved as a maestro, Metro requires a mouthpiece, and Future, as an evasive, enshrouded figure, has always been the best avatar of that reticence. For his part, Future gets to explore the full dimensionality of his autotuned yips and murmurs inside Metro production. The strobing beats have often brought out the duality of his voice, its most alien qualities ("Lil One," "Jersey," "Wesley Pressley") and its most human ones ("I Won," "My Collection," "All Right"), allowing for a greater range of motion.

These two new albums, though, catch the duo at a curious intersection in their respective paths. Metro has never been more in command of his skills, as both beat maker and impresario. Future, while still versatile, has grown a little emotionally and lyrically stunted in recent years. On a surface level, his maneuvers aren't out of step with his early catalog, but the soul that used to possess his songs feels diminished, blunted by repetition and hardened by suspicion and cynicism. "Finding love got me more paranoid / I can't tell who real anymore," he raps on "

"; "Livin' in the trenches, it's survival of the fittest," he adds on "

." His best stuff had a certain reluctant, lightheaded, lean-induced vulnerability ("Codeine Crazy," "March Madness," "Just Like Bruddas") or the croaked gregariousness of a freewheeling international pimp (I think often of how he fell in love with a girl from France and took a few "Pakistanians" to lunch in the span of a few bars on "31 Days"). These days, he is still going exotic places and surrounded by beautiful women, but there is little sense of texture, of what is happening in the room or beneath his hedonistic veneer.

Future's most memorable moments here are when his hubris reaches the heavens. "Turn a bad girl good, I got the power of messiah," he sings on "

": "It could be God himself, anyone after me is a downgrade," he yelps over an arena-rock riff. "

" has him pop into an event just to show off the outfit he's wearing and the woman he's with, and it's that superficial swagger that defines his role in these songs. The rest falls on Metro, who doesn't just build the venue he's in, but brings the party itself, and he makes sure that Future is always sitting in VIP. About a minute into the overcast "

," a second spiraling beat emerges, one synth whirling around another like a ribbon on a maypole, and Future dutifully navigates its cadence as bubbling 808 bass rips sputter beneath. The sinister knock of "

" is so striking it draws Future back into the domineering trap mode of his early mixtapes. The sheer number of dynamic beats on view here is overwhelming, the "never stop creating" ethos the two artists bonded over seemingly locked in overdrive: two albums in three weeks, totaling two and a half hours, with the second being a double disc. The albums are bloated, but not aimlessly so. They feel designed to make the listener marvel at the productivity, and in a beat maker's world, curation is often secondary to volume and breadth.

The full extent of Metro Boomin's capabilities as a producer can perhaps best be heard in his service to this album's guests. "Everyday Hustle" is a horn and soul procession fit for the leathery splendor of Rick Ross. "Like That," an "Eazy-Duz-It"/"Everlasting Bass" mashup, is amped up enough to put a battery in Kendrick's back. The streaking cathedral bells and choral trap of "Type S***" welcome both the vocal overlays of Travis Scott and the ghoulish contortions of Playboy Carti. "All to Myself" ushers The Weeknd into a protective mode with its body-rolling Isley Brothers homage. "Red Leather" offers plaintive, J. Cole-friendly guitar licks. It's no wonder artists are ready to ride for the producer — so ready, in fact, that many of them appear prepared to back him in a standoff with the biggest star in rap.

 arrived, with much fanfare, as a platform for Kendrick Lamar to challenge Drake in his fiery "Like That" verse. Beef between Metro and Drake has been simmering for a while (

), and in the wake of that verse, an unofficial anti-Drake coalition has convened. Rick Ross 

, and has since been vocally antagonizing him, in 

, "They could never diss my brothers, baby / When they got leaks in they operation / I thank God that I never signed my life away," referring to his brief connection with Drake's OVO label. Later, A$AP Rocky 

: "Still don't trust you, it's always us, never them / Heard you dropped your latest s*** / Funny how it just came and went," he raps, after leveraging his relationships with Rihanna and the mother of Drake's son for bragging rights. All are former Drake collaborators, and yet they seem united against him. Even J. Cole, who was a side attraction in the "Like That" exchange, 

, and appears on this album as a sort of peace offering.

Drake has certainly earned the ire of his colleagues, not just for his incessant indirect barbs and private schemes, but because he has been insurmountable for a long time and a real fatigue has set in. Siccing Kendrick on Drake in a surprise feature was quite the flex, one that built buzz for both albums and put murmured sentiments out into the open. Last week, 

 that for Drake to let this provocation goad him into battle would be high-risk and low-reward: Kendrick is built for this kind of thing, and Drake would have to overcome his lingering rep as a softer, less forward and less technical kind of MC, all of which hurt you in the disinformation war that is rap beef. That, of course, was before salvos from The Weeknd and A$AP Rocky landed on 

, making this a multifront bombardment. The picture now looks less like titans of different worlds clashing and more like a schoolyard jumping, performed at Metro's request.

Drake is clearly aware of this dynamic, and so his maneuver on a response leaked over the weekend, 

," is a clever one: He makes the case that his opponents are aiming at a perch they cannot reach, and that in banding together they only demonstrate his supremacy. "What the f***, is this a 20-v-one, n****?" he asks, selling his annoyance before addressing Kendrick directly: "You done rolled deep to this, it's not f***in' deep enough / Beggin' Kai Cenat, boy, you not f***in' beatin' us / Numbers-wise, I'm out of here, you not f***in' creepin' up / Money-wise, I'm out of here, you not f***in' sneakin' up." There is only one outright burn for Metro himself: "Shut ya ho ass up and make some drums, n****." It is meant as a slight, to consign him to the background while the performers hash this out, but it is unwittingly a mark of what makes Metro special: His ability to take up so much airtime simply by keeping to himself and his drums.


As for Future, that he doesn't speak a word across these two albums that could even be construed as a shot at Drake lends credence to the idea that, on this stage, he is simply the man in front of the man. This is Metro's beef, these are Metro's albums, and in this context, the now-famous tag — if he don't trust you, I'm gon' shoot you — is a rallying cry. His stature now is not unlike the mob don with whom everyone wants to curry favor, understanding that being in his good graces pays off. Seeing how well it has worked out for Future, who wouldn't follow suit?



{"type":"doc","content":[{"type":"paragraph","content":[{"text":"","type":"text"}]}]}

Sheldon Pearce

After a decade ruled by their influence, the buzzy reunion of two hip-hop giants finds one imbued with a startling new power.


Man in black jacket points at man in purple jacket

Theo Wargo/Getty Images for MTV

Future, Metro Boomin, Travis Scott - Cinderella (Official Audio)

Future, Metro Boomin - Came to the Party (Official Audio)

Future, Metro Boomin, The Weeknd - All to Myself (Official Audio)

Why Future trusts Metro Boomin

Alexis Rose is a resident DJ at Modist Brewing in Minneapolis and a prolific fixture of house dance floors across the Twin Cities. It's hard not to feel the same exuberance she exudes from behind the decks while you're on the floor. Alexis' mix smoothly blends subgenres of house music to hypnotic effect.

Stay tuned for new mixes on Carbon Sound every other Wednesday. If you’re a DJ and want to be considered for the series, email a mix of yours to jgreen@mpr.org.

Alexis Rose’s mix of house subgenres shines bright


Alexis Rose is a resident DJ at Modist Brewing in Minneapolis and a prolific fixture of house dance floors across the Twin Cities. It's hard not to feel the same exuberance she exudes from behind the decks while you're on the floor. Alexis' mix smoothly blends subgenres of house music to hypnotic effect. 

Alexis Rose (4/10/24)

Alexis Rose (4/17/24)

Timothy Wilson of Urban Lights Music talks about how to take care of your records

“It totally skipped a generation,” Timothy Wilson says. “There was about a 10-year gap, maybe 15, where everything [vinyl] just kind of stopped. Now, it’s spun back around again.”

Wilson would know. He’s the owner and operator of City Lights Music, a record store on University Avenue in St. Paul that has been a mainstay in the community for 30 years. “We’ve seen the rise and fall of vinyl and the rise and fall of CDs and cassettes,” Wilson says. “And now we’re back to vinyl again, so that’s an awesome experience, and we’re excited.” 

There’s a large customer base who are excited, too. Wilson has noticed that it’s a lot of younger people who are the collectors now, and he’s thrilled that they’re getting to experience the sound quality of vinyl, to view the artwork, and to read the liner notes while listening, giving them “a chance to know the artists — who played bass, who played drums, who played guitar.”

Every Saturday, Urban Lights hosts Faders Up, an event that brings in area DJs to talk equipment, to discuss new music and goings-on in the industry — and of course, to spin a live DJ set. Every fourth Saturday, Faders Up is strictly vinyl, where DJs can bring in their crates and spin 45s, 12-inch singles and album cuts.

Wilson says he often gets people visiting the store who want to learn how to DJ, and he and his team will spend time teaching them the basics. “Believe it or not, there are people that we’ve had come in that we’ve actually taught to DJ, and over the course of six months now, they’re booked for the next year as far as weddings and corporate events and all kinds of stuff,” he says.

It's the young people who seem to energize Wilson. “They come in and they’re like, ‘Hey, talk to me about Al Green. Talk to me about Lionel Richie, Whitney Houston’ — whoever they want to know about, and they want to know about it on vinyl,” he says. “So that’s a cool thing. 

“Vinyl’s final,” Wilson enthuses. “Get with it!”

Luke Taylor

Photographer

Eric Romani

Urban Lights Music owner and operator Timothy Wilson is energized by a new generation excited about vinyl records.


Eric Xu Romani | MPR

“Vinyl’s final — get with it!” 

Zora stopped by to talk to Carbon Sound’s host Sanni about music she’s been working on since the release of her first album ”Z1”, themes and sounds people can expect from her next album, her everlasting love for hip-hop and performing, and a whole lot more.


The Message - Zora Interview Pt. 1

The Message - Zora Interview Pt. 2

ZORA - The Bitch is Back (Live @ The Fillmore)

RUNNITUP

Beyoncé on Her Alter Ego, Sasha Fierce | The Oprah Winfrey Show | Oprah Winfrey Network

Rihanna - Disturbia

ANTI (Deluxe)

ZORA - hush [official music video]

John Kueppers

Interview: Zora on The Message

 on an issue of utmost national importance: Who would win in a rap battle between 

? "Gotta go with Kendrick," he said. "I think Drake is an outstanding entertainer, but Kendrick, his lyrics ..." It was pretty clear what distance he was covering between "entertainer" and "lyricist"; it's one that has been subject to debate since hip-hop's earliest days. But just as fascinating, to me, is the idea of asking the commander-in-chief such a question in the first place: not simply pitting the two divergent stars against each other in the critical imagination, but supposing that any such showdown could be conclusive — that it could say something substantial about the artists' standing — when even the framing of Obama's answer seems to be partitioning them.

Such a battle may yet come to fruition thanks to Kendrick Lamar, who recently made a surprise appearance on Future and Metro Boomin's "

" to take aim at Drake and the other peer with whom they have formed the defining rap triumvirate of the last decade, 

. Kendrick, no stranger to putting others on notice, made plain his distaste for the duo collaborating and asserting their primacy on the chart-topping 2023 single "

," and decided to shoot back. On Friday, only a few weeks removed from the explosive Kendrick verse, Cole provided his own lukewarm response on the song "

. His fire didn't even last the weekend: During a set at his Dreamville festival, 

, calling it "the lamest s*** I ever did." "I felt conflicted 'cause I'm like, bruh, I know I don't really feel no way," he continued, "but the world wanna see blood" — in essence admitting he was going through the motions of a ritual he does not believe in.

In recent years, Kendrick, Drake and Cole have been frequently lumped together as a stable of thoroughbreds sometimes known as the "big three," in part because of how their respective rises overlapped across the 2010s. Drake was the first to break through, as a teen-drama bit player turned passive-aggressive love bomber, and his performance of emotional availability and inclination toward pop melody quickly made him a pervasive (and sometimes malignant) presence, consuming everything in his path. As Drake was expanding from Young Money scion to 

, Kendrick emerged from the indie-rap giant TDE's Black Hippy supergroup as a world-weary eyewitness powered by a formidable, disarming lyricism; his cinematic debut, 

, set the stage for a blue-ribbon career, elevated by the intrepid jazz-rap pièce de résistance 

 for music. Cole, a small-market rapper-producer studying at St. John's, realized his rap dream by becoming a 

, and the striving, parochial focus and withdrawn disposition of his subsequent albums made him a self-tormented rap monk for a devout following of armchair intellectuals.

Every aspect of the recent exchange between these three makes me question who and what beef is for, especially now. There is an obvious thrill in rappers going head-to-head for the sport of it, particularly at this level of visibility, where exposure becomes theater. But in today's game, the terms of the wager feel opaque: None of the participants seem to even be playing by the same rules, much less for the same prize. Any pursuit of rap's invisible throne seems almost immaterial without real matters of succession to be settled. Can such a thing have meaning if the factions don't at least agree on what is being fought for?

Even if the gladiatorial spectacle of great competitors duking it out for glory has historically been entertaining and at times career-making, rap beef has usually come with tangible stakes. 

 were fought over territory, airplay and rap's birthright. 

 was about authorship. His feud with Pusha T is an extension of Pusha's feud with Drake's mentor, Lil Wayne, over style. Every Nicki feud — Lil Kim, Remy Ma, Cardi B, Megan Thee Stallion — seems to come back to the Highlander principle that there can only be 

, which has long been dispelled and yet seems to remain primary directive driving her quarrels. Even Jay-Z's shots at Nas on "

" were a response to Nas claiming he was taking Biggie's name in vain, as both men made a play for his vacated title as King of New York. This latest feud isn't predicated on any slight, real or perceived, but instead is largely about positioning — who gets to finally break away from the pack — and yet there is little for any of them to lose, and less to be gained.

Drake and Kendrick are natural foils that play into an established binary, the commercial juggernaut facing down the highbrow philosopher messiah. Neither portrayal is entirely fair: Drake has, on many occasions, displayed not just bars but battle savvy (and a love of the form, co-hosting a King of the Dot rap battle in 2011), and Kendrick spent much of his last album 

 to put him on the cross as a lyrical emancipator. Yet there is still something symbolic at play in pitting them against one another. It is hard to imagine a more blatant dividing line for hip-hop morality, and it helps that they are the most celebrated rappers of their era, if by vastly different measures.

Cole has often felt like the odd man out in this conversation. Neither hitmaker nor auteur, his inclusion in the so-called "big three" seems to be out of respect for the relevance he enjoys via a reverent fanbase, but his limitations stand out when compared directly to his peer group. What's more, even though it was in part his invocation of the "big three" on "First Person Shooter" that started all this upset, he has never had the disposition for the pugnaciousness and scheming of rap kingmaking. Drake is petty and has never met a dig he couldn't take to the grave. Kendrick is proud and has never met a challenge he couldn't take personally. Both modes lend themselves not only to settling gripes in the open, but the shoulder-checking required to emerge atop a hip-hop scrum. Even releasing his diss on a project called 

 implies an apprehension in Cole that simply does not fit the format.

As declarations of war, "Like That" and "7 Minute Drill" could not be further from one another, and each one says a lot about the rapper who made it, perhaps more so now that Cole has backed down. On "Like That," the barbs are strung together like razor wire, and there is a charge that runs through it, the exhilaration of getting something off your chest. Kendrick is teeming with energy, on the front foot, making a case for his skill as singular and undercutting Drake's advantage in the process. "I'm really like that / And your best work is a light pack / N****, Prince outlived Mike Jack," he raps, nodding to Drake's recent move into a dead heat with the King of Pop for most Hot 100 No. 1 singles. (It is clear that most of his vitriol is for Drake, with whom he has traded jabs for many years.) The verse was effective in riling up the internet, enough to pressure a response from Cole, and it's hard to argue against its potency, but it's unclear what is being accomplished. Unlike his scorched-earth verse on Big Sean's "

," where Kendrick was an upstart staking claim to an authority that had yet to materialize but felt inevitable, "Like That" does not say anything his work hasn't already said for him, and it cannot cut into the market cap of his competitors. He also has not changed the state of play, as Pusha T once did. He sidesteps detailed talking points for undermining both artists to come at them straight on, which is more in line with a move to maintain the status quo than to shake things up.

"7 Minute Drill" is the response it deserves — halfhearted and full of pulled punches. The song and its subsequent disavowal are befitting of the rapper who made "

," one wrestling with the pressure of his ego at all times. Cole directly cites "Takeover," critiquing the Kendrick album arc (and 

, specifically) by reusing Jay's blueprint: "Four albums in 12 years, n****, I can divide." There was never a path to victory in this for Cole; the worst Kendrick album, whatever it may be, is better than the best Cole album. His has always been an underdog story, underscored by the "platinum with no features" mantra, and to play to that persona in this situation is a tacit acknowledgement that he is punching above his weight. In this way, Cole recusing himself from the clash feels less like some damning confirmation that he is not The One, and more like proof that he and his opponents are simply after different things. And it underscores something that fan accounting of rap beefs tends to overlook: The case for your legacy is made by your music in its totality, no matter what you do in battle. After all, Jay-Z, the one being cited for his landmark offensive against Nas, is recognized by many (myself included) as the greatest rapper ever — and he lost that fight.

Each member of the "big three" has, at one time or another, revealed themselves to be students of Jay's tactics; though Nas' "

" ruled the day back in 2001, "Takeover" has held as a defining document for them. Kendrick once said that the latter was better because Jay was "saying more facts." I'd say it's more that it makes you believe a fiction — that it carefully rewrites the Nas narrative to suit Jay's ends. You can hear Kendrick's obsession with "facts" in the upfront "Like That" verse; Cole clearly shares the ethic in his bending of the truth; and the debater's methodology surfaces in a Drake diss like "

." But their paths diverge in their adoption of this gospel, as each seems to have a different Hovism running in their mind. For Cole, it is "

, I been doing my best just to stay hater-free / Still, watch what you say to me," as the ease-seeking, reluctant combatant. For Kendrick: "

 / He's all right, but he's not real," as the obsessive heir apparent. For Drake: "

," as the all-consuming data machine in a time when fans wield figures like a cudgel. One seeks success in solitude, one in culture-shifting, one in quantifiable ubiquity. Militancy suits Kendrick best, and to play by those rules is to skew the elusive target at the center of rap discourse in his favor.

That's why it is hardest to imagine what Drake might get out of all of this if it continues into a second phase. He has yet to respond, but it feels as if any response would only diminish him. 

, a chart certainty at this point, and he will likely never be "rap" enough for those who really value this kind of exercise. Unlike previous Drake foes, Kendrick is the only rapper in his class who isn't dwarfed by his numbers, and thus presents a true challenge for a shrewd competitor. Why take the risk for no reward? There is no cachet to be earned in such a clash because, as every Drake album this decade makes clear, he has no interest in playing the prestige game anymore. His security lies in his sheer undeniability — an armor that even a perception-shifting diss labeling him a 

 couldn't pierce. This even being a conversation must be as unfathomable to him as it is to Kendrick.

If that feels like an anticlimactic outcome for hip-hop's reigning titans squaring off, blame it on the context-flattening effect of our current social reality. Rap purists and pop number-crunchers are all wading around in the same murky discourse soup, and a lot of the metrics that used to feel like a given are looser now, superimposing a shape on something gray and amorphous. It figures, then, that the truest means of ascent is to try and to get to the top of the trending list, and to stay as long as possible; the only thing of equal value to everyone is collective attention. The diehards will never admit it, but beef has become far more about the drama than the bars or even the hostility, which explains both the overenthusiasm for a pretty down-the-middle shot from Kendrick, and the sourpuss complaints about Cole's retraction. Watching the video of that apology, I can't stop thinking about his characterization of beef as a vicious spectacle: "The world wanna see 

." In that context, you can think of the "Like That" verse as chum in the tank, bait that hooked Cole into a squabble he didn't even really want. Maybe if there was something that actually needed hashing out, it'd be worth it.  

If the current conflict between J. Cole, Kendrick Lamar and Drake feels confusing, it's because the artists often hailed as hip-hop's "big three" have never played by the same rules.


J. Cole and Drake stand together on stage

Astrida Valigorsky/WireImage

Astrida Valigorsky/WireImage/Getty Images

Takeover

Can rap beef exist when no one agrees on what's being fought for?

Natalia Mendez

The British singer, songwriter, producer, and musician put on a mesmerizing show in Minneapolis on Saturday. Treanne and Ruthven opened up. 


Sara Fish for MPR

Sampha casts soulful spell over sold-out First Avenue crowd

Vegyn - “Turn Me Inside” feat. Léa Sen

All of the tracks added to rotation on Carbon Sound the weeks of March 25 and April 8, 2024.


New Music on Carbon Sound - Weeks of March 25 and April 8, 2024

Kwey's mix for Carbon Sound features Afrobeats and amapiano grooves so hard, so smooth, you might forget we recorded it in the cold of Minnesota. Kwey works diligently to bring this global music to the Twin Cities with SAMAMBO, an event series that features local and national DJs

Kwey champions Afrobeats and amapiano in his mix for Carbon Sound


Kwey (4/3/2024)

Kwey (4/3/24)

How long have fans been speculating over the details of 

's new album? It depends when you start counting: Some began buzzing over it the second her previous record, the dance-centric 

, was released in 2022 and touted as "act one" of a trilogy. But the chatter has been especially fervent in the past two months, as singles, visuals and other teases popped up during the Grammys, Super Bowl and on the artist's own social media. The Beyhive's busiest bees analyzed clues that pointed toward a country music-inspired sound; they dissected the history of that genre, and how Black musicians have often been written out of it.

 has finally arrived. Is it a country album? In many ways, yes — but it's also a sprawling work filled with disparate influences and references, while remaining a Beyoncé album at its heart. Two NPR Music staffers, reporter 

, have been listening since the stroke of midnight. They come to you now with the 10 most important things to know about exactly what 

, served as a world-building homage to the unsung Black queer youth who created house music, 

 continues the lesson plan. In a statement soon after the album's worldwide release, the artist's Parkwood Entertainment shared that each song on the 27-track project is its own version of a reimagined Western film: "She took inspiration from films like 

, often having the films playing on a screen during the recording process."

Each track, whether an interlude, collaboration or poignant solo, rides out like a full-length film full of scenic grandeur, character and conflicts that any Chitlin' Circuit aficionado or spaghetti Western cinephile can obsess over. As a whole, 

 serves as a well of discovery, full of samples, sonic Easter eggs, Knowles family callbacks and, most importantly, an appreciation for pioneers in the country world.

2. ... with a searing image of its titular central character.

In the cowboy, Beyoncé finds her ideal figure of the American West and South. She cites the rodeo as the first place where anyone who loved country music and culture could gather and mingle and feel welcome. It's an image that runs counter to the experience that inspired the album: performing her song "Daddy Lessons" at the CMA Awards in 2016, where she has said she "did not feel welcomed ... and it was very clear that I wasn't." The 

 character exists in conversation with the history of Black cowboys, the loaded meaning behind the term and its function in the American imagination.

There are plenty of categorically country sounds on 

. String instruments are its sonic heartbeat, and the do-si-do of the slide guitar on "DESERT EAGLE" and "TEXAS HOLD 'EM" feel perfectly matched with Bey's feathery vocals. The jovial wiggle of the accordions on "RIIVERDANCE" tip a hat to zydeco music and the artist's Creole heritage. "PROTECTOR" (featuring Beyoncé's youngest daughter, Rumi) is anchored by acoustic guitar. "SWEET HONEY BUCKIIN' " interpolates "I Fall to Pieces," the shuffling standard made famous by 

. Compared to Bey's past work in an R&B world full of glitz and glamor, many moments on the album, even with their layered arrangements, feel like intimate jam sessions straight out of a Nashville writing camp.

Across the track list, elements of hip-hop, bluegrass and Chicano rock, with pop, rock, Jersey club music and operatic runs. "YA YA" conjures the charisma of 

. "BODYGUARD" is a breezy surf-rock romp with Latin percussion and a little whiskey on its breath. "AMEN" rings to the rafters in true gospel splendor. "SWEET HONEY BUCKIIN' " stacks genre upon genre and yet never overwhelms, instead connecting the dots between them with dusty horse gallops. The production credits stretch far beyond the scope of country stalwarts, making the album a treasure hunt for fans and issuing a challenge to the ways country music has come to be defined.

5. It's got country and Americana icons to set the tone...

Voices from country lore appear throughout the track list, signposts for the album's deconstructions of genre. The outlaw country pioneer 

, who once bucked the Nashville sound himself, stands in as the host of KNTRY Radio Texas, Beyoncé's fictional pirate station. 

 draws a line from Becky with the good hair to Jolene, and turns up again before "TYRANT," encouraging Beyoncé to light up a juke joint. In a prelude to one of the album's most adventurous cuts, "SPAGHETTII," Linda Martell, an undersung, trailblazing Black country star of the '70s, lays out a sort of mission statement: "Genres are a funny little concept, aren't they? Yes, they are. In theory, they have a simple definition that's easy to understand. But in practice, well, some may feel confined."

6. ... and it's flipping some old tropes.

There are covers of country classics here that stand out for how stealthily they're reimagined. Parton's 1973 hit "Jolene" shows up early in the album, but Beyoncé adds her own sauce to flip its storied narrative. A vigilant Bey (flip-flopping between being upset and unbothered) clocks the "bird" chirping round her man; unlike Dolly, who responds to a similar threat with a plea for mercy, she puts her rival on notice: "

I'm warnin' you, woman, find you your own man

Jolene, I know I'm a queen, Jolene / I'm still a Creole banjee bitch from Louisianne

." This twist renegotiates the common push and pull of rolling-stone / damsel-in-distress infidelity that's historically been a hallmark in country standards, and has only recently started to shift (see also: 

When Linda Martell shows up in the opening moments of "SPAGHETTII" to pose her question about genres, the slick rhetorical framing cuts to the main conceit of 

and centers Martell herself as a case in point. As a pioneer in the country space, Martell made history with her 1970 album, 

, and was the first Black woman to perform on the storied Grand Ole Opry. But because of the racist aggression she endured when moving from pop to country, Martell soon left the business. Now, at 82 years old, Martell's getting her due. Her voice is immortalized on both "SPAGHETTII" and "THE LINDA MARTELL SHOW," both tracks that play hopscotch with a range of genres. "I am proud that Beyoncé is exploring her country music roots," the veteran 

. "What she is doing is beautiful, and I'm honored to be a part of it. It's Beyoncé, after all!"

8. It shines a light on the stars of country's new age.

A recent study tracking country music programming from 2000 through 2020 revealed that only 29% of country songs played on format radio were by women artists, and of that 29%, 0.01% were Black women. And so along with honoring pioneers, 

 platforms new stars in the field who are still working their way through its entrenched gatekeeping and redlining.

 strums her banjo on the album's lead single, "TEXAS HOLD 'EM." Virginia's Shaboozey, whose 2022 release, 

, offered songs for a post-"Old Town Road" country-rap world, cuts through two tracks with his unforgettable tone. "BLACKBIIRD" features the vocals of four Black women — 

, Brittney Spencer, Tiera Kennedy and Reyna Roberts. This soulful cover of 

' classic about Black women's plights and resilience during the American Civil Rights movement puts its subjects in a spotlight that country radio rarely does, bringing home the reality that opportunities for artists like these have scarcely grown in the years since Martell broke ground.

9. It saddles up over the pop-country middle ground.

, Beyoncé is a pop star actively in conversation with the idea of country music, and traversing the distance between those genres seems to have made her consider the existing relationship between them. In two moments on the album, she enlists singers who have been blurring that binary for quite some time: 

. Miley, of course, is the daughter of "Achy Breaky Heart" sensation 

, and in her own pursuit of a pop identity, fiddled with Mike WiLL trap, 

 psychedelia, glam rock and country pop before settling on the centering sounds of last year's 

, which earned her a record of the year Grammy for "Flowers." For his part, Post broke out as a watercolor trap rockstar and has since shifted toward a sound more in line with his Texas roots. Both seem to resonate with the ambiguity Bey sees running through the music.

10. There's more beneath the rhinestone jewel case.

Beyond the many featured guests, other behind-the-scenes contributors help tell the story. 

 all helped produce the record. It also boasts an incredibly accomplished cast of supporting players: Pulitzer-winning folk revivalist 

, session luminary Nile Rodgers, gospel pedal steelist 

. The incredible variety of names and skills is the secret sauce behind 

Sidney Madden

Is the much-hyped sequel to Renaissance a country album? In many ways, yes — but it's also a sprawling collage of disparate references, while remaining a Beyoncé album at its heart.


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