Joseph Pack/Mustang News

Editor’s note: These views do not necessarily reflect the editorial coverage of Mustang News. 

Everyone has music they love. Everyone also has music they hate.

Personally, I hate it all.

In this column, I’m going to explain why country music sucks.

Country music sucks.

Ask anyone who enjoys country music to explain what makes it so good, and they can’t.

“Um, it just is.” “It’s wholesome and good.” “Luke Bryan is so hot.”


The first one isn’t an argument.

As for the second, it’s not wholesome, nor is it good at all. See Jason Aldean: “I can take you for a ride on my big green tractor, we can go slow or make it go faster.”

No, Jason, I’ll pass. Also if your dick is green, you should probably see your doctor.

And to the third point, fine. I’ll give you that one. His ass … damn.

The classic country artists:

Willie Nelson: Sucks.

Dolly Parton: The original Silicon Valley.

Hank Williams: Killed himself because he couldn’t stand his own music.

Old country music songs all sound the same, and for the few we like — and I’ll admit, I like a few — there are so many bad ones we choose to ignore.

The shitty stars have continued into present day — take Taylor Swift, a.k.a. Taydolf Swiftler, for example. There is so much to say about this psycho, and sure, a lot of country fans will argue she isn’t country anymore, and they’d be right. However, she would never have been popular if it wasn’t for you hicksso go to hell.

Everything is the God­damned Same

Great music is new and innovative.

Thriller. Dark Side of the Moon. The Chronic. These albums changed their genre forever. But the best country has is a Shania Twain album that’s a half-decent “women are strong” thing, but Shania’s in a genre that hates women almost as much as rap does.

Also, what does it say about country men when all these country women are singing about cheaters and assholes? Ponder that shit. Yeah, rap is vulgar and sexist and racist, but at least Nicki Minaj still wants an anaconda and Amanda Bynes wants rapper/singer/sensitive-sad-and-­unnecessarily-scorned Drake to “murder her vagina.”

But I digress.

Country stars aren’t true artists because they don’t progress. Picasso had a blue period. Kanye had a sane period. My mom didn’t have a period, and then I was born.

But no one acknowledges the progression in the country genre because there isn’t any.

It pains me to say this, but the country singer with the most career progression is Satan herself (Taylor Swift), and that’s because she discovered other music — albeit nearly shittier stuff — and got the hell out of the region that expects her to birth her brother.


Every country song has the same formula, which is why nothing innovative ever amounts from it.

Each song opens with an optimistic, twangy intro, usually slow and with a nostalgic sadness that isn’t quite sadness but more like a fond memory of things that happened in like the early 1980s.

The opening lyrics pertain to one of the following: a girl the singer met/lost, the greatness of the United States of AMURICA, drinking beer in some cabin/bar/rural area, kicking back and having good times with friends and drinking cheap beer or “getting down” while being a cowboy/talking about a particular prominent feature of a woman, Jesus or the South.

Also, for loving America so much, these people love being in Mexico, drinking Mexican liquor and ravishing Mexican women but hate all immigrants and everything to do with not­-America.

Every country song is trying to be Travis Tritt’s “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive,” which is the chief metric by which every other country song is written. The first two verses are slow, describing his average­ American life. Then, he goes into an anthemic, catchy chorus. The next two verses then progress, leaping 10­-20 years into the future and establishing the singer’s next steps in life and what he’s done with himself since then. Finally, the bridge indicates struggle and the following verse and chorus reveal him as triumphing over the various conflicts in his life.

Because of this, country music is a producer’s wet dream. Actually, I’m not sure if country music producers even exist. If they do, sign me up.

In Spotify’s “Related Artists” section, the listed artists are always the same, and they all have two first names: Luke Bryan, Jake Owen, Toby Keith.

Attempts to change

Country artists know their music blows, so they try to inseminate it with “persons of color.” I want to know how much money Tim McGraw had to pay Nelly like 10 years ago to do that “Over and Over” song.

Like, seriously, is that why Nelly hasn’t had to work again in his life? And that other white guy who brought in Ludacris last year. Man, I thought Luda was better than this, but he gets a pass for the Fast and Furious series (RIP P­Walk).

Speaking of people too good for country: Hootie.

Why Hootie, why did you leave the Blowfish and enter this realm? No one enters country music unless they’re not good enough to succeed in other genres. Carrie Underwood and Hootie — lets just refer to him as Darius now — knew this and took advantage of it. I love that wagon wheel song, though, so I had mad props for Hootie (Darius is a dumb name), but then I found out it’s not even his own song. Negative props, Hootie.

Still, it’s the only country song that doesn’t make me want to go full Beethoven.


If I met any famous country music star, it’d be hard to not say, “I’m so scared that you’ve been present for the community-­killing of someone who ‘doesn’t belong’ at some point before the recording of this song you’re about to sing.”

“Music” Festivals

Stagecoach is the worst, and please, for the love of God, please don’t call it “Ragecoach.”

The festival doesn’t even allow its visitors near the stage. There’s this buffer zone between the cattle watching, the show and the performers, which I guess makes sense because country stars hate their fans even more than they hate themselves.

Every guy looks the same: just a step from buff, jeans with no holes, jeans with holes, sleeveless leather vests, crosses, flannels (no flamboyant colors), cowboy boots and a cold can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Meanwhile, the women are wearing short shorts (that show a little too much unwanted booty), a flannel (exclusively flamboyant colors), cowboy hat (also flamboyant colors), a tank top exposing a lot of side boob and enough makeup caked on their face that their fat cousin Chet nearly cuts it open for his first slice (it’s Chet’s birthday in this fictitious scenario).

Stagecoach sucks.


Banjos. Die.

Assorted hate

Listening to country music is like dropping your brain into a tapioca pudding you can only find in a nursing home pantry: brand label and expired in 2005.

Listening to country is like playing solitaire. On the computer. Alone.

End notes

As we finish up, I acknowledge this may be harsh and you may disagree, but just know that I’m smarter than you and your dog hates you.

The next edition will feature rap/hip­-hop music, so if this infuriated you, don’t worry your tiny inbred heart — you’ll enjoy the next one.

As a final note, I’ll leave you with this piece of wisdom:

”You got the beautiful, I got the cooler full.”
“Girl you’re looking so fine with your beer in the headlights.” ­
—Luke Bryan

Will Peischel, Annie Vainshtein and Drew Gorman contributed to this article.

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