Three Chords And The Truth About Lies In Country Music

Trending on Billboard The truth hurts. Sometimes it’s the listener who feels it, sometimes it’s a third person who’s victimized by the pain, and sometimes the truth-teller suffers worse than anyone else for having to say it. But people lie. Regardless of their reasons or their intent, that creates drama. And that drama is ripe for country songs. Explore See latest videos, charts and news Lying is an enormously popular topic in country. It was in the music even before Hank Williams blasted a dishonest lover in “Your Cheatin’ Heart” in the 1950s. Lies remain at the core of the genre now. “I think you always come to country music when your heart is broken, and lying is usually the biggest reason that a heart gets broken,” suggests The Band Perry’s lead vocalist, Kimberly Perry. “We have those standard topics in our format. We write love songs to beer. We have a lot of gospel-adjacent themes in our music, and then cheating and lying and heartbreak would have to be the third tier of that trilogy.” Or, perhaps, the third tear. Lies are, once again, earning attention in the genre. The Band Perry’s “You Lie” has been reimagined as a new collaboration with Kaitlin Butts. Morgan Wallen’s “Lies Lies Lies” and Jelly Roll’s “Liar” both topped Billboard’s Country Airplay in the last 20 months. And Zach Top’s “I Never Lie” peaked at No. 2 while snagging two nominations each in the Country Music Association, Academy of Country Music and Grammy Awards shows. Corey Kent’s current “Empty Words,” at No. 39 on the Country Airplay list dated Aug. 1, provides a particularly detailed understanding of lies and their consequences. Its protagonist has shape-shifted his stories so much that now “even the truth sounds like a lie.” The guy is left to himself, forced to wallow in his self-created, negative consequences. The scenario in “Empty Words” doesn’t match Kent’s experiences exactly, but he’s been banished to the couch in his marriage, so the song is based in a reality he’s lived. “Contrary to popular belief, I think that truth still sells,” he says. “Making up a story about meeting a girl in a bar, when you clearly didn’t live like that, that still works, but I think this works on a deeper level. Like, everybody’s been there, even if it’s not this exact storyline, even if you didn’t mess up to the point where she left forever.” A night or two on the couch may be a transitory condition in an otherwise stable relationship, but when lying becomes a long-term problem, it also yields long-term results. “Trust is a toothpick,” “Empty Words” co-writer and co-producer Austin Goodloe suggests. “It is very easy to break, and when you put it back together, it doesn’t really go back the same.” That’s an issue in interpersonal relationships, but this current round of country hand-wringing about truth and lies may symbolize a greater urgency in the country at large. “I’m a big believer that whatever’s happening in culture, music is just the mirror of that,” Perry says. Dishonesty is arguably pulling the country apart. An Economist/YouGov poll released July 21 found that only 24% of Americans view the current president as honest. In perhaps his most divisive issue, President Trump still claims he won the 2020 presidential election, though courts have determined otherwise. Still, through constant repetition of the story — frequently referred to as the Big Lie — a chunk of the American public has been persuaded to support the narrative, creating enormous tension as the U.S. looks to an important election in November. “That’s kind of what’s been in the zeitgeist,” notes Chad Karger, co-executive director of Porter’s Call, a Franklin, Tenn.-based non-profit that provides counseling for recording artists. “We have a president who seems to play pretty loose and fast with the facts. And in his case, all these [supporters] who espouse some sort of Christian belief [are] making accommodations for that… but in their personal life, they probably don’t tolerate the same [behavior] as they do [from] their president.” No artist is grappling with the trust issue more than Bryan Andrews, an independent act whose first album, Independence Day, employs the word “truth” three times across eight tracks filled with political vitriol. Most of it is directed at the president, but some is also focused on the system at large. As a 20-something progressive from red-state Missouri, he shares a frustration that crosses party lines in his age group, as current economics make it difficult for many young Americans to see a future as promising as their parents’ lives. As he intimates in “The Older I Get,” the first political song he released last fall, the life he anticipated turned out to be a lie. “You expect to have transparency with people that you trust, because at the end of the day, whether it’s your government or your partner or your family, they’re supposed to want to have your best interests at heart,” Andrews says. “It hurts to find out that sometimes they don’t.” Trust is a fragile state that develops differently based on childhood dynamics. Children who grow up in dishonest households have difficulty trusting as adults, while kids who come from homes where their parents were honest and reliable frequently go through painful adjustments once they’re out on their own. They may be misled by phony romantic partners or acquaintances when they simply don’t anticipate lies. “Because my mom ingrained that into me, I would forget that people could do that,” “You Lie” collaborator Butts concedes. “Like, that wasn’t an option [for me], and so I get taken advantage of or lied to… I had no idea that people did that.” As a teenager, Butts was particularly drawn to The Band Perry’s original version of “You Lie,” belting it frequently around the house, even though she didn’t have firsthand experience with a conniving boyfriend at the time. The song contains plenty of humor, enough to offset some of the more pointed anger in the second verse that now features Butts as the soloist. “I love that it’s tongue-in-cheek,” she says, “a little bit of murder, a little bit of everything.” Humor, it turns out, is a great way to address deception in art. Collin Raye’s “That’s My Story,” Terri Clark’s “Girls Lie Too,” Kenny Chesney’s “Out Last Night” and Lefty Frizzell’s “Saginaw, Michigan” all weave some form of deceit into a lighthearted plot. They can be thought of as the country music version of a sitcom, a TV format that often relies on miscommunication and/or lies to set up the schtick. Andrews is taking that humor to heart as he creates new music. He’s spent several days in Nashville writing new songs in July, and suggests that his next round of material may be less harsh than the current release. Independence Day, a mix of metal and country, is notably biting, but it also couches some of its anger in clever wordplay. He’s purposely attempted to approach this new music with a lighter touch, believing it will make a better connection as he continues to deliver his message. “Truth looks a lot different to everybody,” he says. “It’s a subjective term. But for me, especially when I was seeing other artists speak about things that they were passionate about, even though I disagreed with them, it gave me conviction to be able to speak my truth, you know, and talk about the world that I see around me, and it ain’t so great right now. Truth hurts sometimes.” Part of what has made perceptions of the truth so volatile lies in the skills of public figures and digital creators. The Oxford Dictionary named “post-truth” the word of the year a decade ago, recognizing the proclivity of people to ignore provable reality and believe in fluid narratives — such as conspiracy theories — that mirror a gut feeling, even if there’s little factual support for the position. “We’re in a post-truth era,” author Will Kaufman says. “So how can you claim to be singing three chords and the truth when nobody knows what the truth is anymore?” Kaufman’s next book — American Song and Struggle from World War II to MAGA: A Cultural History (Oct. 31, Cambridge University Press) — has an entire chapter titled “What is Truth,” named after Johnny Cash’s 1970 Vietnam War commentary. As in the current cultural scenario, that era had a conservative president overseeing an unpopular war while using heavy-handed tactics to vilify his critics. Cash played the White House at the time, and President Richard Nixon requested he play “Welfare Cadillac” and “Okie from Muskogee,” songs by other artists that supported Nixon’s politics. Cash declined and instead closed his set with “What is Truth,” which includes a verse in which a hippie is required to tell the truth under oath in a courtroom. The substance of his words, however, is missed by observers focused on his appearance. “It’s really interesting that [Cash is] speaking truth to power by letting power know that truth itself is open to question,” Kaufman says. “It’s okay to question someone’s version of truth.” The truth one interprets from the world may vary, but the underlying reality does not. Whether it’s a politician, a stranger on a dating app or a country artist presenting themselves on social media, a lie is an attempt to make someone else believe in something that isn’t real. And many lies — perhaps most — are destined to be revealed. “Is there a difference between truths and facts?” Kaufman asks rhetorically. “Maybe there are competing truths, but I don’t think there are competing facts. A fact is, you know, two and two is four. When Kellyanne Conway says there are alternative facts, a fact is a fact.” Still, not all lies are the same. While Miranda Lambert’s “White Liar” is bitter, a typical white lie is more likely well-intended. “I feel like lies are on a scale,” says songwriter Matt Alderman, a co-writer of Mitchell Tenpenny’s “Truth About You,” which peaked at No. 2 on Country Airplay in 2022. “Not all lies are bad. Like, if your wife asks you if she looks pretty in a dress, and you don’t think she looks pretty, you lie. I would say that that’s a good lie. You don’t want to just insult people all the time.” Arguably, the worst lies are the ones directed at ourselves. George Jones’ “She Thinks I Still Care,” Deborah Allen’s “Baby I Lied,” Alan Jackson’s “Someday,” Ricky Van Shelton’s “Somebody Lied” and Clint Black’s “We Tell Ourselves” — much like Wallen’s “Lies Lies Lies” — capture an inner voice that has denied a deeper reality. “Over time, one of the most detrimental lies that we can tell is the one that we keep telling ourselves,” Karger says. “Whether it be a counselor, or a guide, or a coach, or a friend, or a pastor, a spouse or whatever — having someone who has the fortitude to speak to that and to call it out is, I think, incredibly important to having a really happy and well-adjusted life.” The truth is elusive. But it’s worth seeking it out, which is why country songwriters devote three chords or more in search of it. “Yeah,” Alderman says. “People want to hear songs about it.”