After years of gagging us, something finally gagged Beyoncé. It all happened so fast: Seconds after the debutante smile she often wears at industry events gave way to genuine shock at hearing her name, Beyoncé was reminded by her eldest daughter, Blue Ivy, to get up and take the stage. As she stood at the podium of the 67th Grammy Awards, the first Black woman to win the award for best country album quickly caught herself up to the reality of the moment. "I think sometimes 'genre' is a code word to keep us in our place as artists, and I just want to encourage people to do what they're passionate about," Bey declared. "And to stay persistent."
It wasn't long before the significance of those words doubled over on itself. At the evening's end, her 2024 album Cowboy Carter, which had also won best country duo/group performance for the Miley Cyrus duet "II MOST WANTED," turned Beyoncé into a first-time album of the year winner. The arena, of course, erupted: Bey's peers cheered for her victory in the crowded category against albums by André 3000, Billie Eilish, Chappell Roan, Charli XCX, Jacob Collier, Sabrina Carpenter and Taylor Swift. Beyoncé is now the fourth Black woman in Grammys history, behind Lauryn Hill, Whitney Houston and Natalie Cole, to win the top prize. During her acceptance speech, the Houston native dedicated the award to Linda Martell, the first Black woman to play at the Grand Ole Opry and a featured collaborator on Cowboy Carter. The nod to Martell was a reminder of the album's thesis: that there are color lines in music that have attempted to erase Black history, and that she won't let that history be erased.
Looking back, Bey's been working toward her thesis for a while — even longer than she's explicitly let on. Cowboy Carter is the fifth album from the 43-year-old 's discography to be nominated for album of the year, and with each one she has been uncovering, marinating, molding and refining the creative drive that brought her to this point. There was 2008's I Am… Sasha Fierce, the two-disc release that introduced an alter-ego and the first obvious breadcrumbs of her cross-genre aspirations. There was 2013's Beyoncé, the surprise album that diverged from the single-driven format and altered the entire music industry in its wake. There was 2016's Lemonade, the prophetic concept album that injected the sociopolitical with deeply personal pain and hopscotched between R&B, rock, blues and gospel. (It was the country track off this album, "Daddy Lessons," performed at another award show that shunned her, that would later become Cowboy Carter's origin story.) Then, there was 2022's Renaissance, the post-pandemic disco and house party that reclaimed dance-floor joy and paid tribute to Black queer pioneers of the genres. With each album, she's dug deeper into her familial well, refreshed herself with new splashes of artistic weirdness and emerged more cleansed in the knowledge and spirit of her vision. If the Recording Academy's problem was failing to see that vision as essential, Cowboy Carter made it blisteringly clear.
The shockwaves of her snubs have compounded over the years, to the point of creating a lore around her relationship with the award. Time and again, we have watched her watching the stage, while the artists she motivates — "You are our light," as Adele put it in 2017 through uneasy tears — accept the honor. Cultural critics and the singer's fan legion, the BeyHive, have debated whether she should boycott the Grammys altogether in response. She referenced the narrative herself on Cowboy Carter's "SWEET HONEY BUCKIIN," framing the slight as powerless to stop her artistry and hustle: "A-O-T-Y, I ain't win / I ain't stuntin' 'bout them / Take that s** on the chin / Come back and f*** up the pen."
Still, the story of Beyoncé at the Grammys has been a perennial lightning rod for conversations about the institution's fraught relationship with Black music in general. Last year, as he accepted the Dr. Dre Global Impact Award, Jay-Z chided the Academy onstage for failing to recognize Black artists, using his wife's omission from AOTY status as a prime example. During Sunday night's ceremony, there was at least one moment where the institution spoke back: Harvey Mason Jr., the CEO of The Recording Academy, made an appearance to welcome back another Black artist, The Weeknd, who had previously boycotted the awards in part because his music was not nominated. Though Mason distilled the Canadian musician's grievance to "a lack of transparency," a tidy turn of PR speak, The Weeknd's broader appeal pointed clearly to the show's routine of marginalizing artists along race and gender lines. "Over the past few years, we've listened, we've acted, and we've changed," the executive said, referencing a diversified voting pool and new initiatives like the Black Music Collective, Women in the Mix and Academy Proud.
While it's not clear what Beyoncé's big night means for the Grammys going forward, I have some guesses about the role it will play in her own mythology. Adding this year's wins to the tally, Bey holds the title of the most-awarded artist in Grammys history with 35 awards. Trophies aside, she has been setting the standard for creating culture-shifting moments in music and pop culture for years now. Her influence, artistry and power have been certified. But when we look back on her career from this point on, many will label Cowboy Carter her magnum opus because of this win. Thirty years from now, in the inevitable biopics and documentary series about her life and work, this night will be immortalized as the moment of climax. Like Toni Morrison's 1993 Nobel Prize or Martin Scorsese's best picture win in 2007, this will be positioned as the long-overdue lifetime achievement, the institutional breakthrough of all breakthroughs.
The real gag is this: The scenes chosen as climactic by those who write history are often slightly ahistorical, slightly askew, blinded by the light of a superlative. So don't confuse this moment with Beyoncé's apex. Don't forget everything else it took to get her to album of the year — and don't forget the shaky history of the Grammys, the pricklier cultural story entwined with hers. Cowboy Carter is part two of a three-part suite rooted in the history and legitimacy of Black-birthed music genres. The superstar will head out on tour this year, after which she's expected to deliver the closing chapter, for now known by fans as "Act III." When she does, don't be surprised if the institutions tasked with recognizing and celebrating music are still getting their act together.
Copyright 2025 NPR
