Zach Bryan’s anti-ICE song drew ire from Trump officials. Is country music waking up?
Emerging stars are starting to critique Trump’s immigration crackdown – defying the genre’s legacy of conservatism
Thanksgiving did not go the way that Frank Ray had anticipated.
The country singer had invited his family up from Texas to Tennessee for the holiday, with plans to deep-fry a turkey, explore Nashville, and take in a show at the Grand Ole Opry. But on Thanksgiving morning, Ray received an unsettling call: TSA had flagged his sister’s husband, Juan Nevarez-Porras, at El Paso international airport due to insufficient documentation required to fly.
Born in Mexico, Nevarez-Porras has lived in the United States for 20 years, is a green-card applicant, and recently received a renewed five-year work authorization – which is still listed as an acceptable travel document, according to the TSA. ICE detained him shortly after, while his son, who is 16 years old and a US citizen, was taken into the custody of border patrol. In Tennessee, Ray’s family was at a loss as to how to remedy the situation.
Frank Ray. Photograph: Ari Lyon
As the US immigration crackdown continues, stories like Ray’s have become disturbingly familiar. They also have all the makings of a country song: snapshots of American hardship and heartbreak, of working men and women whose oppression is laid bare by guitar and melancholy melody. Decades ago, Merle Haggard’s The Immigrant and Dolly Parton’s cover of Woody Guthrie’s Deportee advocated for the rights of Mexican immigrants in America. Ray himself waded into the topic of immigration in 2023 with Jesus at the Taco Truck, written and performed with Shy Carter, about a man named Jesus with scars on his feet and hands from crossing the Rio Grande.
Did you hear it on the radio? Probably not. That’s because anything considered mainstream in the genre shies away from social commentary that doesn’t pass the sniff test of conservatism. On the Billboard Top 20 for country music, heartbreak is served with a shot of tequila. Country’s most powerful names – Lainey Wilson and Ella Langley, Luke Combs and Morgan Wallen – make reference to Texas but shirk addressing the immigrant experience there. (Ironically enough, the only politically tinged song charting right now is Cody Johnson’s cover of the Chicks’ Travelin’ Soldier; more on them later.) For a genre that gestures at being the voice of Americana, country seems determined to ignore one of the biggest stories in America right now.
Bryan AndrewsIt’s like the Toby Keith-ification of country music
This makes Zach Bryan’s recent foray into anti-ICE territory all the more interesting.
At a Bryan concert, you’ll find rough and tough blue-collar guys, as well as an army of young women, fervent as the Swiftie fanbase, screaming out lyrics about grief and loss and military service. Though largely shunned by country establishment, Bryan’s honest storytelling and Americana bona fides have struck a nerve: he recently broke a US concert attendance record previously held by George Strait, and his new album debuted at No 1 on the Billboard 200 chart this week.
In October, Bryan teased a verse off Bad News, singing that “ICE is gonna come bust down your door / Try to build a house no one builds no more,” to the ire of Trump administration officials. The homeland security secretary, Kristi Noem, told the rightwing podcast host Benny Johnson: “I hope he understands how completely disrespectful that song is not just to law enforcement, but to this country, to every single individual that has ever stood up and fought for our freedoms.” For context, Bryan served in the US navy for eight years.
Bryan answered by explaining in a post that the song “hits on both sides of the aisle”. He later added: “Left wing or right wing, we’re all one bird and American. To be clear, I’m on neither of these radical sides.” But this both-sides-ism felt incongruent with the song’s scathing message, heard in full for the first time on 9 January: law enforcement, ICE, and the onslaught of gun violence in America are contributing to the “fading of the red, white and blue”. (Bryan’s team declined an interview offer.)
This was a clear criticism of ICE raids and the fractured state of American communities, from a genre all but devoid of them. Was it enough to overcome the muffling effect of Bryan’s call for unity?
“For artists of his size, yeah,” said Bryan Andrews, an emerging Missouri-based country artist. “I mean, he might’ve lost some fans over it, but he put the song out anyway, so it’s not like he gave a fuck. I respect the hell out of him for doing it. I just wish he wouldn’t have followed it up the way he did.”
Andrews has gone viral for his TikTok tangents skewering Donald Trump, ICE and bigotry in a thick southern drawl – he calls them “crash outs” – and he has released politically charged songs that reference the Epstein files and wealth inequality. But he recalls a period when he felt it was more advantageous for his music career to stay quiet. Last year’s ICE raids changed that. “I was like, I have to write about this,” he said. “Whether you’re here legally or not, we still have to offer due process because we have a constitution.”
His message to the country genre now is: “Grow some fucking nuts.”
Bryan Andrews. Photograph: Claire Schmitt
“I’m sick and damn tired of watching people like Jason Aldean say stupid shit like, ‘If you don’t like it here, leave,’” Andrews said, referring to Aldean and his ilk’s protestations against woke-ism and outsiders. “It’s like the Toby Keith-ification of country music.” After 9/11, Keith helped popularize an onslaught of patriotic fervor, with singles such as American Soldier serving as propaganda for the war in the Middle East. In the years since, country has been littered with tracks like Aldean’s Try That in a Small Town about old ladies being carjacked and unnamed authorities rounding up people’s guns – a fearmongered mythology of a community coming together to protect itself from the monsters of sensationalist headlines.
“What I see in a small town [is] single moms who have to work two jobs because the corporations they work for don’t pay them enough to fucking be able to feed their children,” said Andrews. “I see farmers who fucking end up having to file for bankruptcy because they can’t afford the fucking trade war that Donald Trump has fucking put us in.”
In 2003, the Chicks’ lead singer Natalie Maines spoke against the war in Iraq and declared: “We’re ashamed that the president of the United States is from Texas.” The band became pariahs overnight. “Country artists saw what happened to them and went, ‘OK, I’m not doing anything controversial. I want to have a career,” said veteran journalist and country music historian Robert Oermann. “That has only intensified under the Trump administration … Popular culture is something that he cares about, and he wants to restrict it.”
Verified federal accounts have liberally used unlicensed music, including Bryan’s fan-favorite hit Revival, to soundtrack its anti-immigration propaganda. In doing so, the administration has run afoul of artists such as Sabrina Carpenter, Olivia Rodrigo, SZA and Jess Glynne, who have sniped back. But country’s legacy of outspokenness still rests on a select few. Like Tyler Childers, who seemed to stand in solidarity with immigrants when he performed Long Violent History – a song about racism, largely influenced by the Black Lives Matter movement – for the first time live at his Los Angeles concert after Trump’s deployment of national guard troops there. Or folk singer Jesse Welles, whose witty protest songs have gone viral a few times over, and who performed his pointed track Join ICE on The Late Show With Stephen Colbert in November (sample lyric: “If you’re lackin’ control and authority / Come with me and hunt down minorities / Join ICE”).
Oermann believes we have only started hearing timely immigration narratives play out in country song. “Today, the genre evolves faster because of the internet,” he said. “But to ask somebody to have an ICE song out already besides Jesse [Welles] is asking a lot.”
That might be setting the bar low for what was once music’s most in-the-know genre. Loretta Lynn’s The Pill was banned from radio in a time when radio was the main conduit to reaching fans. Keith’s Courtesy of the Red, White and Blue (The Angry American) debuted on the charts eight months after 9/11.
And, it took less than a year for Bryan to write and tease Bad News in response to the mass uptick in ICE raids kicked off by Trump’s second term.
In the immediate aftermath of his brother-in-law’s detention, Ray started making calls to arrange for his father to pick up his nephew. The exchange with a border patrol agent was tense. “We got into this little spat about policies and procedures, and then he wound up saying: ‘Hey, how about this? You want me to play the immigration card on your dad when he gets here?’” Ray’s father, also Mexican American, is an American citizen.
Frank RayI feel like if you’re here and you’re hardworking, you’re contributing to society … then you’re good enough to be here
After Ray leveraged his social media platform to spread awareness of his brother-in-law’s story, the assistant DHS secretary Tricia McLaughlin issued a statement painting Nevarez-Porras as a criminal with a “rap sheet” that “includes battery, assault, criminal trespassing, and disorderly conduct”. Ray has acknowledged the instance of trespassing, but he maintains that the current system is one that “forgets that people are human”. While his nephew was reunited with the family, his brother-in-law remains in ICE custody in New Mexico.
Before switching to music full-time, Ray served 10 years as a law enforcement officer. He says the identities he holds – Mexican American, former police officer and country singer – are complicated, with people assuming his stances on immigration or law enforcement before he can vocalize them.
For instance, he won’t go so far as to call for the dismantling of ICE. “I believe you can have problems with particular ICE agents or you can have problems with particular border patrol agents, the same way you can be pro-law enforcement but have a particular issue with a particular law enforcement officer,” he said. His pride in law enforcement will be on display in his upcoming single Hard to Be a Hero, which is about “what we consider to be traditional country music values … pro-law enforcement and pro-America and pro-God and Jesus”, Ray said. “Those are things I genuinely believe.”
But his family’s run-in with immigration enforcement leaves him feeling frustrated. “I feel like if you’re here and you’re hardworking, you’re contributing to society, and if the government feels like you’re good enough to be taxed and they’ll take your money for it,” Ray said, “then you’re good enough to be here.”
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you know The Conway Twitty Song That Sounded So Real His Wife Wanted Him to Stop Singing It
INTRODUCTION
Few artists in country music history could tell a story the way Conway Twitty could.
His voice wasn’t just smooth. It wasn’t just emotional. It had a way of making listeners believe every word coming out of his mouth. When Conway sang about heartbreak, audiences felt broken. When he sang about desire, people could almost feel the tension in the room. And when he sang about love, it sounded so genuine that many fans wondered whether he was reliving a real memory every time he stepped onto the stage.
But there was one song in particular that created an unexpected problem at home.
According to stories shared over the years by those close to Conway, he performed the song with such passion, such conviction, and such intimacy that his wife couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable.
In fact, she reportedly wished he would stop singing it altogether.
Not because it was a bad song.
Because it felt too real.
A Voice That Didn’t Just Sing — It Acted
One reason Conway Twitty became one of country music’s greatest stars was his ability to disappear into a song.
Many singers perform lyrics.
Conway lived them.
Night after night, audiences watched him close his eyes, lean into a microphone, and deliver lines as if they were personal confessions.
His performances often blurred the line between entertainment and reality.
Fans believed him because he believed every word he sang.
That gift helped turn dozens of songs into classics.
But it also created moments where the emotions on stage felt almost too convincing.
One of those moments came whenever he performed one of his most romantic songs.
The chemistry wasn’t with a duet partner.
The chemistry was between Conway and the lyrics themselves.
When Art Starts Feeling Personal
Being married to a performer isn’t easy.
The audience sees applause, fame, and admiration.
What they rarely see is the emotional complexity that comes with watching the person you love sing passionate love songs night after night.
Imagine sitting in a crowd while thousands of people stare at your husband as he sings words of longing, devotion, and desire.
Imagine hearing him deliver every line as though he were speaking directly to someone special.
Now imagine that he does it so convincingly that people begin asking whether the song reflects real feelings.
That is where the challenge begins.
Those close to Conway often remarked that he approached certain songs with extraordinary emotional intensity.
The more believable the performance became, the harder it was for listeners—and sometimes even family members—to separate the artist from the story.
“The greatest singers don’t perform emotions. They become them.”
Conway was one of those singers.
And that was both his greatest strength and, occasionally, a source of tension.
The Song That Sparked Jealousy
Country music has always thrived on emotional honesty.
The audience doesn’t want perfection.
They want truth.
Conway understood this better than almost anyone.
When he stepped onto a stage and delivered a romantic ballad, he wasn’t trying to impress people with vocal technique.
He was trying to make them feel something.
The problem was that some songs required him to become completely immersed in the role.
Fans would watch him sing and swear he was reliving an actual relationship.
The tenderness in his voice.
The longing in his eyes.
The subtle smile during certain lines.
Everything felt authentic.
So authentic, in fact, that stories emerged suggesting his wife sometimes became uncomfortable with how deeply he connected to the material.
Not because she doubted him.
But because millions of women watching those performances felt as though Conway was singing directly to them.
And Conway’s ability to create that illusion was almost unmatched.
Why Fans Couldn’t Look Away
Part of Conway’s appeal came from the fact that he never sounded like he was performing for a crowd.
He sounded like he was speaking to one person.
Every fan felt chosen.
Every listener felt seen.
That intimacy became a hallmark of his career.
Women packed concert halls.
Couples danced to his records.
Radio stations played his songs endlessly because audiences connected with them on a deeply personal level.
When Conway sang a love song, listeners weren’t hearing a celebrity.
They were hearing someone who seemed to understand exactly what they felt.
“A great country song tells your story better than you can tell it yourself.”
Conway mastered that art.
And because he mastered it, people often forgot they were listening to a performance.
The Fine Line Between Reality and Performance
The greatest entertainers walk a dangerous line.
If they don’t commit fully to a song, the audience doesn’t believe them.
If they commit too completely, people begin wondering where the performance ends and reality begins.
Conway lived on that line throughout much of his career.
His romantic songs carried a level of emotional authenticity that few artists could match.
That authenticity generated record sales, sold-out concerts, and one of the most loyal fan bases in country music history.
But authenticity comes with consequences.
The stronger the emotional connection becomes, the more people project real-life meaning onto the performance.
Fans speculated.
Reporters asked questions.
Stories circulated.
And occasionally, those stories reached home.
For Conway’s wife, hearing her husband pour so much passion into a particular song may have felt less like watching a concert and more like witnessing a private conversation unfold in public.
Even if it was only acting.
Even if it was only music.
The emotions felt real.
The Secret Behind Conway’s Genius
Perhaps that’s what separated Conway Twitty from so many other artists.
He never treated songs as products.
He treated them as experiences.
Every lyric mattered.
Every pause mattered.
Every glance toward the audience mattered.
He understood that country music isn’t about notes.
It’s about emotions.
That’s why decades later, fans still remember how his performances made them feel.
They remember the tenderness.
They remember the vulnerability.
They remember believing every word.
Whether the stories about his wife’s jealousy have grown larger over time or not, they reveal something important about Conway’s artistry.
No one becomes jealous of a performance that feels fake.
People react when something feels real.
And Conway had an extraordinary gift for making songs feel real.
LEGACY
Today, long after the lights have dimmed and the stages have gone quiet, Conway Twitty remains one of country music’s most beloved storytellers.
His voice still fills dance halls.
His records still play on country radio.
His love songs still resonate with generations who were born long after he first recorded them.
And perhaps the greatest compliment any singer can receive is this:
People believed him.
They believed him so completely that even those closest to him sometimes forgot where the song ended and the man began.
That is the power of great country music.
And that is the legacy Conway Twitty left behind.
A voice so convincing, so heartfelt, and so emotionally honest that one romantic song reportedly stirred jealousy at home—not because anyone doubted his love, but because he sang it as if every word came directly from his soul.
