If you ever scroll through my music and get confused, don’t worry — I am too. One minute I’m two-stepping to Conway Twitty like I just time-traveled to 1978, and the next I’m blasting Florida Georgia Line like I’m at a tailgate on a Friday night. My country playlist doesn’t really flow… it kind of argues with itself.
I grew up on the old stuff — the real storytelling kind of country. My grandpa used to play Merle Haggard and George Jones out on the porch like it was gospel. He’d sit there in his old recliner, sip sweet tea from a mason jar, and hum along like he personally helped write “He Stopped Loving Her Today.” That’s where I got my first taste of country music that means something — songs that sound like they came from real people living real lives, not a Nashville marketing meeting.
But then there’s the other side of me — the one with Bluetooth speakers and a soft spot for Thomas Rhett’s love songs and Luke Bryan’s summer anthems. That’s my windows down, hair in a knot, Curtis driving too fast down a dirt road kind of country. It’s fun, loud, and a little messy. (Which, coincidentally, describes us as a couple pretty accurately.)
Then there’s FGL — Florida Georgia Line — the band that made me realize it’s okay for country to flirt a little with pop and still hit you in the chest. I know the old-timers might roll their eyes, but come on, “Cruise” still goes hard. I’ve seen more people dance to that song at weddings than any slow ballad ever written. And now that Tyler Hubbard and Brian Kelley are doing their own solo things, I can’t even pick a side. It’s like trying to choose between biscuits and gravy — you just don’t.
And let’s talk Brantley Gilbert for a second. He’s the kind of guy whose songs make you feel tough even if you’re just cleaning out the fridge. There’s this grit to his music that feels like a little rebellion mixed with a whole lot of heart. Curtis swears he only likes the “rowdy stuff,” but I caught him humming “One Hell of an Amen” once and didn’t say a word.
The truth is, my taste in country music is kind of like life out here — it swings between loud and peaceful, new and old, soft and strong. Some days I want the comfort of the classics. Other days I want to dance barefoot in the kitchen to Thomas Rhett and pretend like the dishes can wait.
And maybe that’s what I love about country music in general. It’s big enough to hold all of it — the heartbreak and the happiness, the steel guitars and the electric beats, the small-town memories and the new roads we’re still figuring out.
So yeah, my playlist might be a little confused. But if loving Merle, FGL, and Luke Bryan at the same time is wrong… then I don’t want to be right.